It’s not like I’d have to kill you. But it could make you cry.
It’s not making me cry. It’s exactly the life and the level of work and love and fear and excitement that I always dreamed it could be. If I ever did dream (and I did) no wildest hope, no fantasy of independence, no dream of true love could ever have approached the depth and thrill of what it’s actually like to be here, now, after this life, in this space, with this mind and this heart.
I feel like I am in the center of a universe of possibilities, and in almost every direction is a skeletal framework of something wonderful, and everything connects to everything else, and every drug experience, every epiphany, every ache, loss, and thrill, it’s all intertwined, and sort of bonded together, like some crazed Fuller structure. I don’t have to start counting corners to know that everything will make patterns of six, which will bifurcate neatly into triangles of three, which will reduce into one, which will become round, and hold light.
I’ve spent enough time watching to know that I don’t have to know that anymore, because it’s just how the universe is put together.
Magically, I’ve been graced with the puppet-cross this morning, and I hold the wood in my hands, and it’s like weeding the morning after an afternoon of rain… if you wait until things slide on their own, they move when you touch them and they go where they secretly really want to be. And when you get things where they really want to be, then, my God, you have really done something good with your time.