Thursday, 12 April 2012

Here and There

Self-Portrait by Bikini666 (CC licence)
Believing you can move from here to there is always going to be shaky and wobbly.  Without any sort of safety net, on hypoglycemic legs, you must jump from one place to another that you're not even sure exists.  Fair Work Australia wouldn't condone it, that's for sure.

And so, because leaving here feels impossible, you sit down and begin a scan.  You trust your brave pair of eyes to do the searching and not to flinch.  You'll know the way out when you see it.  And then, ah, there it is.  This file, it turns out, is labelled Victimisation.  It's funny, but you never really thought that you would own a file labelled such, that had contents in it.  You tried so hard to not be a victim in any way.  But then you realised you could see it in others, and when you did you had a strange reaction to it.  A rather strong reaction.  That was the first clue.

To not flinch and to open that file is to access some of the pain that looms so large on some occasions and is entirely unfathomable on others, a continent away.  The shit you sequestered away because you didn't know what to do with it, the way your body takes mercury and lead and sequesters them away for safety in your brain and in your liver.  Opening that file is an act of bravery understood only by yourself, and able to be done only by yourself.  It is difficult to admit to it, because it feels so sort of middle-class.  My pain, my pain.  You're like Dr Smith from Lost in Space and the whirling robot, all in one.  

Opening that file takes back some stuff from your shadow and really makes it yours.  It's the only way that you can leave this place.

This place.  It's strangely compelling, once you're here.  It validates to you what you can't always feel, that those gaping numb punctures, like flaccid truck tyres on the side of the highway, really are real.  But being here is embarrassing.  It's small.  You never thought you would fall into this sort of thing.  You have fallen so far into the vat, you don't know if you can climb out.  Its walls are so slimy, you start thinking that maybe you're always going to be here.  That this is your destiny.

Back here, the vines casually drape themselves around your feet and your ankles and then dig in, like a pair of too-small undies.  When you are over there, you try to remind yourself to remember, as though to a future incarnation pre-Bardo, that though it feels as though you can't move, you have invisible energy scissors.  Because once you've arrived, staying here is sorta warming ~ in the way that pissing your pants in a snowstorm is sorta warming.

Staying here is like slipping yourself a microgram of mercury ~ not immediately toxic, but draining your immune system, feeding the largest dragon in your repertoire.

Leaving again, it's like you've bust your way through a door that you didn't know was going to budge because it's made of steel, like in Get Smart.  But no, not even busting through ~ you don't even need to do that.  You reach out and turn the handle and walk through.  You grab the bottom rung of the ladder in the vat and climb out.  Ridiculously simple.

When you have jumped from here to there, the air is immediately different.  Higher altitude.  You've been there before.  You were there 10 minutes ago.  But when you're back here, you immediately forget that there exists.  When you're there, you can never forget that here is.  You flinch at the thought of returning, knowing that you probably will.  All you can do is hope that with each walk-through the vines diminish some of their hold, that next time you won't forget what you know there.  That nothing can hold you here.  It's just a walk-through back.

Tus Misterios by Alfonso Maggiolo Pierano (cc licence)



13 comments:

  1. More visceral writing from you, Sue. What I notice is that when I'm 'there' I never actually come to any harm, 'cos it's all just a lot of thoughts fighting it out with each other. I can step back from all that, and just be. Then I realise that I'm always 'here', never 'there':)

    I notice you nearly always write in the second person in this sort of post. Is that deliberate?

    ReplyDelete
  2. I feel like I come to harm when I'm "there" just in terms of ... well, not being "here," for a start, and how that feels, and how much freer I am.  And also, being "there" for me recently has been about having fallen into pretty big and valid old traumas and so being in that space is not helpful, is like being in hell.  Climbing out is part of learning to heal from being there.  But yes, all that aside, it's a pretty cool thing to realise that even when you're "there", you're still "here", haha :D

    Yeah, second-person is SO 1867.  I'm SO out of touch with current trends when I write in second person :p  But I love it.  And I've noticed that too, that when I write this sort of thing I just sort of slip into it automatically.  

    Does it make it harder to read, for you as a reader?  Because if it does, if it's distracting to people, I think I would like to begin disabusing myself of its use :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. That were quick:) There's a lot of emotional energy that's finding its own level, and that causes much psychic 'weather' until it achieves equilibrium. But as we stay with the flotsam and jetsam of it, it gets where its going and our essential nature shines out unharmed and unharmable as it ever was.

    I've no problems with 'persons', Sue. It's just something I noticed as part of your style. Go with it:)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Sue Stevenson12 April 2012 17:32

    Yes, I generally respond quickly when I'm working and therefore procrastinating, haha :)

    You're so right about the energy.  It's an amazing thang, isn't it, the way we work?  That level is so little understood by us ... and yet there has been an explosion in understanding and studying the whole energy field in recent years.  It's really exciting.

    Yeah, I know you don't have a problem with second person, first person, whatever.  I'm just interested on your take, being a reader of my blog.  It's very difficult when you're writing to know how something reads to other people becuase you're too close to it.  And feedback is always priceless :)

    ReplyDelete
  5. Yes, I generally respond quickly when I'm working and therefore procrastinating, haha :)You're so right about the energy.  It's an amazing thang, isn't it, the way we work?  That level is so little understood by us ... and yet there has been an explosion in understanding and studying the whole energy field in recent years.  It's really exciting.Yeah, I know you don't have a problem with second person, first person, whatever.  I'm just interested on your take, being a reader of my blog.  It's very difficult when you're writing to know how something reads to other people becuase you're too close to it.  And feedback is always priceless :)

    ReplyDelete
  6. How's the work / study going? Everything is energy, and if it builds up in one place, in one form, then it's godda go somewhere else sometime in some form or other. This is our general experience, and explains A Great Deal:)
    Don't change to try to please us, Sue. You're doing just fine:)

    ReplyDelete
  7. No, no.  Not changing to please anybody.  That wasn't why I asked the question I did.  It's a little different than that.

    Study is going really well.  It's great being in a class with other people who are all doing this scary thing together.  Very inspiring.  I'm also looking forward to my next semester's anthropology classes :)

    ReplyDelete
  8. Ok Sue. It's more refining your style in order to communicate better, I take it? I'm pleased you're finding such stimulation and support. From what you've told us, you'll be able to contribute a great deal to the anthropology class.

    ReplyDelete
  9. so that self portrait grossed me out, but it is amazing!
    as is your labyrinthine journeying from there to here

    ReplyDelete
  10.  'tis, Mr Riley.  Thanks :)

    ReplyDelete
  11. I know, it is gross, isn't it.  But very compelling. 

    Thanks, Kel luv :)

    ReplyDelete
  12. I don't find the second person distracting, Sue, not when it's used like this. Disturbing, yes, because there's a kind of tacit assumption that one's in this too, in on the whatever it is, one of some kind of us, and it's very unsettling. Powerful stuff, Sue. Keep on doing this - it communicates the interiority of the (?)condition - (?)place - far more powerfully than a straight first person narrative, let alone the disconnect of third. Whew. All of that...

    ReplyDelete
  13. You just described very succinctly why I like writing in second person, MIke :)

    ReplyDelete

About Me

I'm Sue. I'm a writer and a thinker, and I veer from whining to exulting about a mishmash of topics on this blog ~ from creativity to the future to spirituality to health issues. I have had chronic fatigue syndrome/pyroluria for the past 14 years so there's a bit of whining.

I also venture into the territory of pondering God on here, though I have never known what that/she is, and I know now even less than I did before. I'm even cool with there being no god at all. I find fundamentalists in whatever part of life to be ultra tiresome. I once would have called myself a Christian but I have never held to any kind of organised religion. I think religion is really ultimately about story.

But then, I tend to think everything is about story.

I hold the belief that one day scientists and mystics will meet in the centre of the room and kiss each other, and discover they have been exploring the same thing all along.

Please feel free to drop me a line at susieq777@dodo.com.au or share your thoughts in the comments.

Previous Posts

Blogs Oi Loike