Today was tough, but I’ll live.
I’m supposed to construct what an ideal situation would look like for me, but I’m not sure I have that capacity for the suspension of disbelief left. If all my present difficulties were lifted tomorrow, I’d have no more idea what I want than I do tonight. I used to construct all sorts of ideas to move toward. At present, I just keep moving forward incrementally toward whatever is coming. I’m not unhappy. I’m not particularly anxious. I’m just at one with my dread and my big emptiness.
I’m not sure that this is at all a bad thing. I am more interested in who I want to be than in what sort of circumstances I’d like to create or find for myself. I do know that I would like to be free again.
The time is fast approaching when I will have to find a new home for Otis and Buddy. I should do this perhaps before the new year begins or just after. Buddy shouldn’t be difficult to re-home, but Otis may be a challenge. I’d like to find a foster home for each of them, but I could be gone more than a year, even two or three perhaps. I could be gone for anywhere from three months to twelve years, and that’s about as specific as it gets until I am standing in the courtroom. I should be realistic about it, I suppose. I wanted to care for both of them until they were gone or I was. They are all that remains of my attachments to any kind of former life I knew. We have our routines, and we have an understanding, and I talk to them. This is perhaps the most difficult part of all of this, and it is all my creation.
I want to be kind. I want to be quiet. I want to be still. I want to be free from the tyranny of my impulses, my emotions, my appetites, my desires. I would like to be free of my fears, and I am beginning to think the path to that is to see them all come true and to keep moving forward. I have little choice. My current circumstances are having a paralytic effect. I can move forward only in moments.
So my perfect world, my ideal, is to finish this school and have Otis and Buddy return to me. I would read and write and support myself and learn to live again. I will continue to pray, with or without consciousness of any Presence to affirm that. I will behave as if what I have always doubted and discounted were true.
I think I came up here to buy a farm and live that dream I’d always had. That all seems so remote this evening – the sound of running water, the market garden and the orchard.
The truth is that it was always coming to this moment. That un-purposefullness, that “nothing” that has always driven my movements, that noise between my ears, has impelled me here.
Is there a God? Anything? I am willing to believe in something, if only to see what happens if I do. I am willing to see what kind of person I become. I am willing to let go of everything I thought was important to me, that defined and informed my life. At the moment I am dogged by a spiritual lethargy, partly because I’ve been convinced for some time now that I will die soon. There is a juvenile impulse in me that wishes for that, if only because it would free me from facing any more difficulties. However, life still interests me. I’m still curious about what is happening and even what I am doing. I am still interested in my own narrative, despite the fact that I feel largely a spectator to it at this point.
Life is still beautiful to me. I still have a fundamental sense of wonder about everything. I still love people, even if I shrink from their company most of the time. I still wish to be kind, though I am most often abrasive and far too candid in my dealings with others. I still talk to God and consider myself especially beloved while openly talking of my disbelief. And I ignore that bifurcation, or at least I own it as just part of who I am.