ode to the nihilist and the chronic quest…

i am learning a lot, even though it’s the same old lessons.  walked to the aquarium yesterday to lift my darkened nihilistic spirits.  entering the void is a scary place sometimes…when you see how all meaning is meaningless, and there is not enough of the kind of love you think you need to support the emptiness that stems from seeing through the veil of truth.  what i mean is…i suppose i need to let go of my grip of the story of pain and the wanting of the creature.  that for as much as i see that transcending the creature’s desires in order to clean the mirror of my heart, and feel complete unconditional love within, is a meaning i am creating to annihilate a certain pain….i still need to do it.  because the void is dangerous.  losing control is dangerous.  not dangerous to anybody but myself though.  i can get really really dark…and when i lose control, the slow unraveling of order into discordance imitates the subtle nightmare of a woman who disengages from human warmth until she relates only to being an illusion, a particle, a witness, somebody who does not touch, but watches cooly from above.  can i be anymore dramatic?  not as dramatic as my dreams of being in prison, being homeless, and filling the bath tub too much with luke warm water, in the middle of the living room, lost.  don’t worry.  i am going to yoga, eating super healthy, listening to kd, and i am walking on the tight rope like a skilled acrobat.  i could never get too lost.  and the suffering, it’s just in the area of romantic love.  my continual quest for the holy grail, and the continual lesson of having enough self worth to say no to crumbs, and to say no to being needed and not chosen, and having hope even though it’s always crumbs and neediness, no matter how much self work i do.  fuck self work, says the adolescent punk, while the nihilistic particle watches the punk from a tree branch rolling her eyes, and from the sea deep, my soul calls to the seahorses to bring in more love because this michelle creature is cracking…and let’s hope like an egg birthing new fresh life.  one day i will be cosette and not eponine.  one day the cast of moulin rouge will turn to dust.  or maybe it wont, says the nihilist…as soul says, love is within.  i know i know.  i think of frida khalo.  she never got a break from the pain.  she painted the pain.  get back to the devotional priestess place and make the nihilist creative.  do both.  there is no turning my back on the fact that meaning is meaningless.  at the same time, if the creature was happy, i wouldn’t even care.  the important thing to understand, is that no growth comes from a pleasured creature.  only when pleasure and ease is removed, does the human being step out of her comforting lull to overcome, transform, understand, get angry, cry, heal, forgive, let go.  this is all happening for a reason.  my inner nihilist and my inner mystic make love like life and death, and all polarities creating the madness of being human.  the seahorses, they make these inner thoughts vanish.  all it takes are the seahorses.  that and kd’s maha mantra.  feet on the ground.  today i will be dutiful.  go to yoga.  eat vegetables.  read souls.  give love to friends.  write.  thank life for this chronic, severe, painful quest.  so mote it be.