life is cyclic. duh. so am i. rather than try to deny it, fight it, i’m working on accepting and embracing it. so. this. eyeore’s tantrum for equal time, indulged. the bhain sidhe giggles from the corner, but discretely. the cast of characters is growing. genre-bending foolishness, but the process of the one set of labeling i yet permit helps. so, as i need, i do.
it feels odd to be, quite literally, bifurcated. of course i am already laughing because i spent most of my life in just this state and not even knowing it. the advent of ‘meeting she’ and the incorporation that occurred last year was at once a great liberation and a rather severe trauma… something that still echoes and for which adjustments are still taking place.
i call this sliver of self ‘eyeore’ because it so often reminds me of that pessimistic little donkey, always ready to believe the worst, always certain others intend ill. in many ways i blame the ancient history, but to be truthful, it’s just me. just me with my hands all sunken into its shape, refusing to let it go.
i’d like to say i know why. i don’t. and i’d like to say the ease with which quantum thoughts arrive meant they were that simple to incorporate. they aren’t. but their presence bodes well and i’ve decided to stop kicking myself for being unable to immediately absorb it all, unable to make the sharp turns.
this is about the mirror, of course. most recent reflection of ancient ills. eyeore sits by the river, itself a symbol of many things in which that connection was bound. i remember i found a piece of amber in the canyon and put it in my pocket. at the time, i didn’t know about amber or the river. which made it somewhat frightening, even as it was reassuring.
hard to explain.
i’m speaking in analogies for a reason. edging around the flakey pieces and trying not to knock them. hrm. i remember telling him that perhaps the benefit was in our collisions; that we were actively blunting the sharpness of one another and despite the flinching, that could not be but a good thing.
it was silly, of course. trying to find the way to keep a nocturnal creature standing in the sunlight. impossible. but i’ve always been rather stupid that way. not ignorant, mind you. deliberate choice to believe. usually effort. still, mindfully maintained.
i’m almost not angry anymore. which is interesting. i speak of both the ancient and the recent. that’s what makes it interesting. he has been greater help than he could possibly have imagined… and all of it for being self-absorbed, prideful, domineering, and careless.
he would, of course, yelp like a kicked puppy for those adjectives. he never could understand it is possible to say them without making them into a razor. who doesn’t have moments of being each of those things? hah. as if i could ever deny them. yet, he always did… well, no, more the demand that no one else mention it… as if it could be ignored and might go away if only no one would point at them.
most of my friends don’t understand how it is that i still love him. of course, they also do not think i love them. isn’t it funny how words get in the way sometimes?
i remember asking him to just sit with me for coffee. it is impossible that anyone could sit with me and still think the things he has concocted and spread as truth. he refused, of course…. this, long ago, just remembering. markers on the path that i ignored and should not have. mea culpa.
i do sometimes wish he had not been quite so perfect a mirror of history. it is annoying to be unable to put him and all of it out of my mind. but i suppose that’s the point, isn’t it? time to deal… time to do more than pretend it will go away on its own. hah. oh irony. did i not just say it was impossible to deny?
yet i would try to if i thought for a moment i could get away with it. humanity. bleh.
i don’t miss the sick, stones in my stomach feeling that trying to deal with him brought. i don’t miss the sharpness of him. i don’t miss the way he never apologized. i don’t miss the many suspicions and accusations and distrusts. i don’t miss the way he said things he knew would hurt or distance because it was easier than taking the time to do otherwise.
but i do miss the feeling that it was not impossible for him to ever manage it. i do miss the feeling that he could ever just… believe in someone the way they believed in him. despite the adjectives and actions.
actually. that really is the crux of it. the reason eyeore mutters and the reason i still write.
i still believe the ancient ones could have been different. even though they weren’t.
and i still believe he could have been different. even though he chose not to be.
does it really matter what i believe? well… to the extent that refusing to kill it means i continue to carry this knapsack of rattlesnakes, yes.
i just can’t help thinking that if i bury this of me, it is going to change me in very negative ways. and as odd as this may sound… i’d rather sorrow the rest of this life than have that happen, because i know what’s here, and i know the things i am capable of… even if no one else has ever known them.
in many ways, the only reason i’m not precisely like the ancient ones is very simply that i hold them in my memory as examples of what not to be, what not to do, what not to ever allow to stand outside my mind.
i could see those things in him. and i reacted to them. strongly. i suppose i thought if he heard how his actions wounded and hurt, he would want to find the way not to do them. i believed he was that much like me that it would be motivating.
i didn’t realize his only mechanism for change was abandonment. silly me, i should have known that, shouldn’t i? how would a mirror of ancients be different?
eyeore grouses and says that i love what he could be rather than what is. i’m not sure i agree with that. both because there were moments when he was and because even in the thick of the brambles, i always knew he wanted to be all of it.
that’s really it, you know. i still know this of him. and despite all the anger and frustration, i just don’t think i will ever think less than this of him.
eyeore sighs, ‘yeah… shame he couldn’t do the same.’
shut up, you pessimistic bastard.
*sigh*