white winter hymnal Thursday

I believe that my skin, my body, is not my self. What my physical senses can know is not ultimate reality. That kind of puts a cramp in my earthly style.

I get stuck on the self-preservation issue. Am I not supposed to have it? The instinct to maintain my life at anny cost?? The possibility of attack on my physical life should, perhaps, not bring me resolve to let go of it... In dreams where I am dying, being attacked, murdered- I smile and say 'I'm ready.' 'I forgive you.' 'Jesus loves you.' And I am happy. At peace, I think, is the experience. Then I wake up. I love life. Being alive. It's fucking crazy what life is in this place. Earth. 99% darkness and misery. 1% fucking knock the wind out of you mind-blowing. That 1% light conquers the misery. For me anyway. The Clair de Lune moments. Getting back on the surfboard in spite of the terror of imminent physical annihilation- and screaming with incredulous triumph, riding the waves like a king on a firey chariot; one with God and the smallness of existence.


I live in perpetual 'otherness'.