I can barely live in my own skin
My muscles underneath quiver with fear
Potential pending doom grows without restraint in my head
But I cannot find the dangers
They are myths I believe
They are myths I created
But I feel that they are true
Consequences to things yet unoccurred
A tragic story of life events yet unlived
Tense thoughts lock my back and shoulders in a prison of panic
My hands tremble with fear
My breathing quickens, and I feel like I'm going crazy
My body is prepared for a war with my mind
I debate myself over self-worth, value, and lovability
They say I'm too hard on myself
That I'm good for people, funny, and lovable
But what if they knew me better?
If they saw me now, shaking in the fear of nothing?
I talk to them and they ask me what happened,
What happened? They say,
And I just want to cry, I don't know
Nothing, everything, just happened.
I feel stuck under a black umbrella of my own thoughts
With sunglasses so dark they can block out the sun
I cry out of sadness, a deep grief for my life
I'm sorry I have hurt, been immature, and used you all
Be merciful and lock me up so I cannot hurt another
And so I do not hurt myself
I need deep truths
God, give me something I can grip firmly
Hold on to for dear life, dear trust, dear intimacy, love
Would you like my vocal chords so I can actually hear you?
I can give you my anxious skin so you can touch me, give me a hug perhaps?
A set of clothes that I can touch?
I feel ill, sick with sticky worries
And I am tired, giving too much credence to my mistakes
I have invited fear and hurt into my home
And it has stayed, now unwelcomed, but burrowed into me
I have tried to smoke it out with cigarettes
Drown it in alcohol
Loosen its grip with sex, careless decisions, and positive self-help books
I feel too much
I need deep truths, deep magical thoughts
Grounded in a constant source of comfort
But I feel so much
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Loving Another
"Love ceases to be a demon only when it ceases to be a god." - M. Denis de Rougemont
I wholeheartedly agree with the maxim that "it is not good for a man to be alone." We are, as people, meant to fulfill each other's inherent needs for companionship. The denial of this fact, like the manufacturing of illusionary feelings that we are "blessed" or "gifted" with being single or celibate, also denies the need we have to find someone to love. Frankly, the denial of this need makes us unstable and insecure. As Carl Jung said, "what you resist persists." As such, we should first simply acknowledge our need of this love in our lives.
No doubt most people believe truly corrupted love is sex without love or commitment. This makes perfect sense, but it must also be said that truly romantic love is not present in such activity. True love dominates sexual desire, refining and reorganizing our thoughts and behavior. By itself, sex desires something. If sex persists without love, then we tend to fall in love with the "loving", not the person herself, based on what we get out of it. Love, on the other hand, desires the object of love, the beloved herself, someone in particular.
Love makes a man not just want any woman, but one particular woman. Furthermore, he does not want the pleasure he gets from her, but her in authentic form. This is not a calculated decision, or a product of will power, it is a simple pre-occupation with her that develops. He did not choose her, nor did she him, based on comparing other women to her. In fact, his needs here are entirely a distraction from appreciating her as admirable in herself. Very simply, he is quite intoxicated by her, without giving any regard to his pain or pleasure. She is undeniably separate from him, like the beauty present in a colorful sunset, but he cannot (and would not dare) take it with him.
It is so important to keep the separateness or otherness of those loving relationships at the forefront of our minds. Because if we were to allow our pre-occupation with the beloved to take control, it would soon become an obsession, and then a burden for the lover and the beloved. In fact, I have found that such a process ends up with the worst sort of selfish behavior, where I would not care about the beloved at all, except that she were to make me feel complete and met my needs for intimacy. Such a thought turns her from what was once specifically beautiful and valuable into even less than a woman. She would become any woman, nothing special, and there to make me feel better. Granted, it is wonderful that she can do things that mean much to me, but we must resist loving those things more than her herself. We must maintain gratefulness rather than expectations.
That, in fact, is how I want to be loved and not loved as well. I want to be loved as a special, unique, and independently wealthy poor man who is, in and of himself, full of worth and potential. I want to be loved truly, as I myself am, with appreciation for what I do and freedom to grow up from my mistakes. But specifically, I want to be loved as another, from only one other, who is incredibly grateful for me.
I wholeheartedly agree with the maxim that "it is not good for a man to be alone." We are, as people, meant to fulfill each other's inherent needs for companionship. The denial of this fact, like the manufacturing of illusionary feelings that we are "blessed" or "gifted" with being single or celibate, also denies the need we have to find someone to love. Frankly, the denial of this need makes us unstable and insecure. As Carl Jung said, "what you resist persists." As such, we should first simply acknowledge our need of this love in our lives.
No doubt most people believe truly corrupted love is sex without love or commitment. This makes perfect sense, but it must also be said that truly romantic love is not present in such activity. True love dominates sexual desire, refining and reorganizing our thoughts and behavior. By itself, sex desires something. If sex persists without love, then we tend to fall in love with the "loving", not the person herself, based on what we get out of it. Love, on the other hand, desires the object of love, the beloved herself, someone in particular.
Love makes a man not just want any woman, but one particular woman. Furthermore, he does not want the pleasure he gets from her, but her in authentic form. This is not a calculated decision, or a product of will power, it is a simple pre-occupation with her that develops. He did not choose her, nor did she him, based on comparing other women to her. In fact, his needs here are entirely a distraction from appreciating her as admirable in herself. Very simply, he is quite intoxicated by her, without giving any regard to his pain or pleasure. She is undeniably separate from him, like the beauty present in a colorful sunset, but he cannot (and would not dare) take it with him.
It is so important to keep the separateness or otherness of those loving relationships at the forefront of our minds. Because if we were to allow our pre-occupation with the beloved to take control, it would soon become an obsession, and then a burden for the lover and the beloved. In fact, I have found that such a process ends up with the worst sort of selfish behavior, where I would not care about the beloved at all, except that she were to make me feel complete and met my needs for intimacy. Such a thought turns her from what was once specifically beautiful and valuable into even less than a woman. She would become any woman, nothing special, and there to make me feel better. Granted, it is wonderful that she can do things that mean much to me, but we must resist loving those things more than her herself. We must maintain gratefulness rather than expectations.
That, in fact, is how I want to be loved and not loved as well. I want to be loved as a special, unique, and independently wealthy poor man who is, in and of himself, full of worth and potential. I want to be loved truly, as I myself am, with appreciation for what I do and freedom to grow up from my mistakes. But specifically, I want to be loved as another, from only one other, who is incredibly grateful for me.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Seriously Silly Daydreams
It seems to me that history's most ruthless tyrants were those individuals whose professional egoism did not allow themselves to be laughed at. One cannot laugh about all of the circumstances in life or characteristics of self, but certainly there are a few that are quite entertaining. In fact, my most humorous characteristics are those that would otherwise appear as the most serious flaws.
For example, I have developed the habit of associating a self-centered daydream with ever song I listen to. The daydreams typically involve myself as the center of attention and a selected audience. For John Mayer's “Your Body is a Wonderland,” I am singing said song in a small club to an audience of fond friends and one particularly impressed, attractive woman. For ACDC's “You shook me all night long,” I am singing said song at a karaoke night at the local bar. Of course, David Crowder's “Obsession” I sing in front of church at a special worship night. For the Last of the Mohican's Soundtrack (track two in particular) I am part of a special operations unit in the Army defending the homes of some friends from brutal ninja-like terrorists.
Through these and other childish imaginations I have fought a starship in an X-wing, beat an Ethiopian in a cross-country race, outdanced the best breaker on “So You Think You Can Dance,” tackled LaDamian Tomlinson for a prize-winning rookie opportunity, used The Force to make my friends fly, shot a bee off a deer's butt at 1,000 yards with my own rifle, kicked the crap out of some high school bullies as Raiden from Mortal Kombat, took friends on a joy ride in an F-22 Raptor, etc. This list truly never ends because it is always being created. I can be a hero, a saint, a lover, a wise man, a legend, or even a superhero. Truly, if I were to take this too seriously, my egoism could make even Hitler blush. There is only a slight seriousness in that I am able to see the weaknesses in my own self-worth through my dreams. I can look at these dreams and know my insecurities without even thinking hard. But even these cannot be taken too seriously. One does not see a child being condemned by their parents for a having dreams of what they will be when they grow up. And, in fact, I am still growing up.
My most frequent dreams are those involving the women I have loved, or perhaps, wanted love from. Again, a serious flaw if one were to pay too much attention to the negative effects. But the innocence in which I dream about them must be understood in no more serious terms than that of a romantic and oversensitive language of thought. To those romantic interests, at the extreme, I have been a provider, protector, and cherisher of them. I have flown across the world to wish them a happy birthday, given them expensive gifts grown from the intimacy of inside jokes, sang them songs I have written about them while kissing them, worked 60 hours a week in a cubicle just so they could have the car they wanted, been a good father, made them laugh harder than they did while being tickled as a child, played and prayed with them, etc. These are my fondest dreams because they create in me such a blissful feeling of relief.
However, a serious character flaw is represented by these daydreams such that it indicates a desire for a woman, any woman, to make me feel complete. Such is not a desirable quality for any man in a relationship, because the woman would know that she was completely unnecessary, and that any woman would do for him. How would you feel if your partner wanted someone to love and be loved by, but not you specifically? In contrast, how would you feel if they wanted you specifically, with all of themselves, and without any regard to another? To sum up, at the worst, my daydreams are indicative of my desire to simply be accepted and loved for who I am. Surely, this cannot be all that wrong; perhaps foolish, but not evil. It is a delicate balance of egoism and silly daydreams growing up into self-controlled passion. I must not give it its head, but I must also maintain its innocence with a sense of humor. Anyway, I'm working on it.
For example, I have developed the habit of associating a self-centered daydream with ever song I listen to. The daydreams typically involve myself as the center of attention and a selected audience. For John Mayer's “Your Body is a Wonderland,” I am singing said song in a small club to an audience of fond friends and one particularly impressed, attractive woman. For ACDC's “You shook me all night long,” I am singing said song at a karaoke night at the local bar. Of course, David Crowder's “Obsession” I sing in front of church at a special worship night. For the Last of the Mohican's Soundtrack (track two in particular) I am part of a special operations unit in the Army defending the homes of some friends from brutal ninja-like terrorists.
Through these and other childish imaginations I have fought a starship in an X-wing, beat an Ethiopian in a cross-country race, outdanced the best breaker on “So You Think You Can Dance,” tackled LaDamian Tomlinson for a prize-winning rookie opportunity, used The Force to make my friends fly, shot a bee off a deer's butt at 1,000 yards with my own rifle, kicked the crap out of some high school bullies as Raiden from Mortal Kombat, took friends on a joy ride in an F-22 Raptor, etc. This list truly never ends because it is always being created. I can be a hero, a saint, a lover, a wise man, a legend, or even a superhero. Truly, if I were to take this too seriously, my egoism could make even Hitler blush. There is only a slight seriousness in that I am able to see the weaknesses in my own self-worth through my dreams. I can look at these dreams and know my insecurities without even thinking hard. But even these cannot be taken too seriously. One does not see a child being condemned by their parents for a having dreams of what they will be when they grow up. And, in fact, I am still growing up.
My most frequent dreams are those involving the women I have loved, or perhaps, wanted love from. Again, a serious flaw if one were to pay too much attention to the negative effects. But the innocence in which I dream about them must be understood in no more serious terms than that of a romantic and oversensitive language of thought. To those romantic interests, at the extreme, I have been a provider, protector, and cherisher of them. I have flown across the world to wish them a happy birthday, given them expensive gifts grown from the intimacy of inside jokes, sang them songs I have written about them while kissing them, worked 60 hours a week in a cubicle just so they could have the car they wanted, been a good father, made them laugh harder than they did while being tickled as a child, played and prayed with them, etc. These are my fondest dreams because they create in me such a blissful feeling of relief.
However, a serious character flaw is represented by these daydreams such that it indicates a desire for a woman, any woman, to make me feel complete. Such is not a desirable quality for any man in a relationship, because the woman would know that she was completely unnecessary, and that any woman would do for him. How would you feel if your partner wanted someone to love and be loved by, but not you specifically? In contrast, how would you feel if they wanted you specifically, with all of themselves, and without any regard to another? To sum up, at the worst, my daydreams are indicative of my desire to simply be accepted and loved for who I am. Surely, this cannot be all that wrong; perhaps foolish, but not evil. It is a delicate balance of egoism and silly daydreams growing up into self-controlled passion. I must not give it its head, but I must also maintain its innocence with a sense of humor. Anyway, I'm working on it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)