I’ve been lurking lately, watching women on my friend’s list go through questions on love, direction, decision, choice and creation..all very familiar as I myself question what is really important for me, challenge the pressures to career-pursue against the biological whispers of becoming a mother, commiting to the deathly real loves of my life knowing that to follow my passions means the risk of being dragged down by them.
The last couple of months, and particularly the last couple of weeks, have been very very strange. Assumptions have been shaken, viewpoints scattered and strange moods abound. I’ve been very quiet because I’ve been trying to DO, and simply I just don’t quite know what to say without sounding like an insane person. I still don’t trust my words.
One day Zak announced he wanted to reclaim his real name, Michael, that he was sick of being Zak, a created character, a fool, a scorned one, and whilst his general public demanour is similar, when we are alone the difference has been remarkable, and very positive. The whole thing made me dizzy, since with discarding the name, so goes all these memories and associations, mostly negative, I have attached to the name. If Names have a power at all, it lies somewhere here.
Last night I cried emotion; just raw emotion, he always tries to stop me but I have to tell him – sometimes I need this. It realeases monthly tension rather than winding it up into a tight ball, and I am not ashamed. I’ve been thinking about love, and loyalty, and that sacrifice might be involved to be with a person or to develop any one talent or direction. No-one can have everything, at least not at once.
I feel both at the top and bottom of a mountain. Standing on the fence between civilisation and wilderness,madess and sanity, child and adulthood, underworld and light.
Last night I found myself crying “the life I have to sacrifice to be with you is the one I don’t even want!” what-where did THAT come from!? Life is a strange unpredictable thing indeed.
It’s very hard to explain where I am now. The image that comes to mind is holding a moth in tightly cusped hands, feeling it battering and crawling inside. I’ve just stopped feeling I should crush that moth, wipe my hands on my jeans and carry on with things, forgetting all about it. But yet my fingers are stiff from tension and knuckles white from fear, and I’m not sure how to open my hands..it should be easy. All I know is one thing – I want to see the moth flying again.
That probably sounded pretentious but I dont write this for respect. I write because maybe one day I’ll see the words echo what I really mean.
As I said, strange moon. This month has been an odd one. I wonder who will replace the pope?