Dud Sea Scrawls The Writing, clearly, is not on the wall!

-“Ode to…” from Happenstance

On my way in to work, completely irresponsibly, I was listening to Rachael Yamagata. As I do. She is not the kind of woman another woman prone to melancholy should be listening to and, sometimes, crying over when on her way in to teach very young children. No matter how much more difficult it is for me, everyday, to assume the mask I must assume in order to earn my living, I must hear her sing [the lyric in the title space above] before I can take a deep breath and go into the luminous, white, sterile, peaceful schoolhouse where I speak in a voice that is not my own…where I walk a walk that is not my own…where I also think very subversive thoughts. Mine only, in that building. The only thing I have, really, to remind me that I am hidden there somewhere under that cloak of grace and humility I have become very good at acting. Well. It is not that that I began typing for.

It is the “dark instead of light” in the lyric above. I am very forgiving, there. I do know that it is difficult to choose the difficult option. That is me, I’ll state plainly, for those who hadn’t quite caught on yet. I do not hold it against anyone who can’t, in the end, choose me. It is what I expect when the getting to know me goes beyond a certain point. I can only be loved so far by the average human being.

The weight of all the demonic thoughts I share, of all the self-destructive desires I breed, of all the self-designed paralysis I am building up and up and up…that a body would want to move away from that lest they become bogged down in it, forever, themselves…well. I can’t blame a body for opting for a wide berth around the mess that is me over the cool breeze that other people blow across your cheek when they kiss you.

The risk is too great–kiss of fire versus kiss of flower. Easy, easy. I might choose other than me as well…if I were not me. But I am me. So, I go in for the mysterious, the dangerous, the deeply unknown in most things. Especially other human beings. We could also call this substance. Yes. Or thickness. Or layers. Or exciting. Or hard. Or…whatever.

But when people turn away, it becomes easier everytime it happens to bear it.

That is why I hold on so tight, you know. Because I know how hard it is for you to stay with me, those of you who stick it out. When I can, I try to be sure the rewards of the sacrifice you make rain down. Because I know the thunder in the background of the times where you wonder why you made the choice you made is almost deafening.

So…I was listening to the song above on my way in to work…not crying, this time, but serious as serious can be about a choice of my own I need to make that won’t let me rest like I should be resting…but then I actually got to work and there it was.

My virtual flower. A MAC one. The most beautiful flower I’ve seen all my life. One that, just in case, existing in nature I would steal and hoard all the seeds for myself. And I would plant a garden. And learn to grow things in a garden. And learn to keep alive things in a garden. Mmmmm…

Sometimes, it is like I am Shere Khan–hunting the man-cub of myself. And I might say, as Shere Khan does, “Ye choose and ye do not choose! What talk is this of choosing?…It is I, Shere Khan, who speak!” And then Greenhushpuppies, who will henceforth be referred to as Raksha (on this blog) would say, as Raksha does, “And it is I, Raksha [The Demon], who answers. The man-cub is mine…mine to me! He shall not be killed. He shall live to run with the Pack and to hunt with the Pack; and, in the end, look you, hunter of little naked cubs–frog-eater–fish-killer–he shall hunt thee! Now get hence, or by the Sambhur that I killed (I eat no starved cattle), back thou goest to thy mother, burned beast of the jungle, lamer than ever thou camest into the world! Go!”

And I would listen, too. As I do. Because if anyone wants to know anything about me I will say, “Go to Raksha, and ask her! Though she does not trust me with my own life, thank god, she knows much-much, that one.”

None of the gods meant us to come here and live alone. I am not. I know it.

I thank thee, Raksha! I love thee more than thou knowest for the loyalty that does never go slack! Don’t ever let me drown you out…

…but, if you want, you can stop yelling at me. Me not like this so hot.