There’s an is-ness inside me, some rumbling engine that feeds and creates, that both demolishes and builds simultaneously, the gnosis itself living and breathing within. The trouble is the is-ness wants to come out. As much as I push or shove it down, it swells evermore. There is no dousing out the flame. I have tried days, and once a decade, to remain silent in my ways, and the longer I wait the longer the bubbling-wanting festers, liken to a boil that won’t shrink unless exposed to the elements.
How often I have longed to be that one, that quiet one perched beneath the tree, without a word to offer, just her silence as a reckoning of sorts, her example of fragility and strength established in her stillness. Just once, I have wanted, without effort, to not desire to burst out of the semblance of self into something naught—to not wish to plunder, as I do, as pirate gone sporadic spilling her gold and jewels about.
I have established this is the way I am: harbored into myself.
I am the dock. I am the boat. I am the sails. I am every inch of vessel, and what holds this vessel. And I rock, as I am the rocker, moving myself in isolation. Here is where the trouble comes again, in the want to move beyond aloneness, for nothing seems real or substantial until shared.
And yet there is the catch, the net, so to speak, the daggered questions and the pounding answers. The fingernails to my chalkboard—nailed and pierced at once.
We are told of the worthy ones. The ones who hold their tongues. The ones who are stoically silent. The ones who don’t whimper and complain. The ones that don’t monopolize conversations. The ones who know how and when to stop. The ones that don’t overthink, overrationalize, over-process. The ones that know when to let go and be.
So what does that make me, if not some rigid anomaly?
I can’t surrender to this world because I don’t have the means. I don’t know how to be quiet. I don’t know how to shut out what I see, what I feel, what in a way I seem to somehow ‘know.’ And yet I can’t really blend into this place, either. No matter how much I try, through practice or restraint, or a combination, or by some means of much-studied technique, or even in the gathering of all the circumvented readings, observations, conclusions, and discoveries, I can’t understand where I am, and how to be in a place I do not comprehend.
And that is the trouble as well—for am I built to control how I am to be? Am I supposed to stop who I am? And if I am to stop who I am and be this other form and representation of self, then whose rules and recommendations do I follow? Whom do I uphold? Who is my savior in this world? If I am to follow this someone or even this saint, if he lives, or has died, then still what is the exactness of how I should be? If not me, if not this natural, born-to-be me, then who is it that they at once forbade me and make me be?
Is it not within reason to wonder how I am to move in a strange world, if indeed the way I move is not accepted or understood? And even as I pass often as this extremeness of normalcy, even as I mix and mingle, and bleed into the mass, am I not some ghost on display set out to appease the gathering? Are my ways mere means to escape shielded eyes?
I do not understand the judges. I do not understand the manner in which I am told the right and wrong of things. I cannot. I am incapable. I am not wired inaccurately. I am not misfiring. The truth is that I am not wired at all. I wasn’t programmed to begin with. I don’t have the data institutionalized within my infrastructure that instructs this someone of where and when to jump. I don’t even have the means in which to understand the jumping itself.
I watch, some legless tadpole, in awe of the springing frog, unlimited in its depth and breadth, capable of leaps and bounds that seem a lifespan away from me, an imposter of impossibility without preprogrammed metamorphosis.
And that’s the trouble, the endless trouble:
I am who I am, endowed with an is-ness I neither understand nor recognize. An is-ness I long to share, a knowing I cannot tether to myself alone, in a world I do not recognize, in a place that makes no sense. I am birthed without the wiring or predisposition to comprehend the makings of others’ ways; and ever wondering if I was to jump without legs, if I was to be in this pool of mankind, and swim with my invisibility cloaked, to survive as familiar instead of strange, would I not then forget whom I was to begin with?
13 thoughts on “517: Is-ness”
I am so torn between being seen, and being invisible..equal parts, equal pain equal longing for connection and solitude that I feel insane at times. Is this who I am? Two of everything? It has always been this way..this MUST be my isness. Thank you for your work, it always helps me understand a bit more about myself, always.
I love having you here again; it makes me feel safer 🙂 I live in extremes… I don’t think I know what the middle feels like, or if a middle exists. Maybe the middle is illusion and we are continually swimming out from the center in an attempt to see the truth. All my love. Thank you for all of your help and insights.
Maybe like the infinity symbol laying sideways, we are always at that tiny crosspoint between the knowledge and fears of the known, (The past); – and the future of unknowns. We occupy a tiny but endless space which is always moving. Oh!! 🙂 It is very comphy to be here, home.
hehe LOVE your brain 🙂
Yes. I think of it as seeing and being both sides of a coin. The duality of essence, ocassional flashes of oneness and truth and yet it cannot be just a coin, because that is metal and hard and I am soft at the same time………….and so on. Thank goodness you can express it so well Sam. X
excellent, thank you 🙂
Thank you for posting this, it meant a lot to me.
Isness…I have been struggling with my isness lately…it comes and goes between immense self confidence and feeling alien…Yesterday I was with my therapist talking about my danger gage…how I can sense danger but I can not always gage how much it actually is. SO my gage is accurate in perception but not in weight. Like I am at zero sometimes when I should perhaps be at 30 or so if I have a tooth ache or whatever, but I am suddenly at 100 if someone infringes on my sensory space…so basically, like on a car, the spindle doesn’t really function as normal spindles would…he talked about how I can learn to recognize this and cope with it but that I need to accept that with my wiring I will never fully appreciate spacial or time like normal people nor some sensory things or even things like shutting a car door with appropriate strength ( I always slam them and people get me in trouble and I tell myself not to slam but I don’t know how to gage that so it still slams or else doesn’t shut. Sigh.) Anyway, I just AM and most times it serves me well but in a world where people want to be more than they are, or perfect, or revolve around time and function, my isness becomes very convoluted and perplexing…A paradox. I both love it and embrace it but struggle with it and find it baffling…
Sorry for the tangent!:)
wow you really helped me with that image… now I can apply an image. Yes! I am the same way. I was thinking about it yesterday, but I was thinking about how I can’t my emotional gage.. when do I react? Do I over react? I make things into huge deals that aren’t because if feels so scary to me.. others’ emotions. Thanks so much for this 🙂
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