I don’t write in my journal all the time. Night’s like tonight I do write.
My current condition. I wish I could share what it is. You would probably laugh if you knew what it was. But to me it’s not funny. Not tonight anyways. I start feeling like my spirit has been taken away and somehow put in another place. It feels like maybe it’s the payload of a quadcopter, flying around in the ethereal, and I’m stuck with just my body and the accents of my spirit are all that is left. It feels like the walls around me are closer than they should be. It makes me feel all alone. It feels like that.
It makes me miss the people who I have not met. All the beauty they have and are, living in their perfect circles and giving remarkable insights because of the tightness of their clique. I am missing them doing what I used to do and see and respond and behave. The entire thing is beautiful.
Have you ever been beautiful? It’s intoxicating. All of your peers and professors in college look at you, and they treat you as, “Look everybody. This is my guy.” Everything that comes out of your mouth is profound and the way you carry yourself is cause for either admiration or fear. lol…. How did all of that even happen? You dazzle filled lecture halls with prepared, whip smart, breezy presentations; they will say your eyes look timeless. lol They give you winning lottery tickets called letters of recommendation. “This one’s special.” You begin waging war on top graduate schools admissions.
All the girls invite you into their lives, starting with their eyes and flirting in the study library. They begin to show you public aggravation for not giving them your attention, the kind that they want. Because in previous classes they tell you they wish to be your muse. So I started to keep tallies and checklists. “No more worrying about the future; No more looking for the right girl; No more ghosts from my childhood.” And it is beautiful.
And you start to believe that you are beautiful. All you begin to see is beauty. There is no room from mediocre happenings in this life you say with your walk and words. All is beautiful. You came to conquer the trivial fears and insecurities of this life. You utterly destroyed them. The girl’s heart that was given to you in Geography class that won’t go away, you attempt to destroy that, because what is it doing here in my bosom, burning comfort into my soul that feels as though an angel is carrying you everywhere you go? Why does it not go away like all the others? You appreciates its warmth, its draw unto peace unspoken. You can read it with your heart. But she is not perfect. You come to learn that with His sword you are now able to destroy everything in your path that you perceive a threat to future perfect. You are champion. You are brilliance. You are walking genius. You are the wrath of beauty.
Everything goes perfect. Your life is perfect. In your beauty you might start to ask, “What is going on? Am I His elect?” You’re so used to the world telling you that your beautiful. You have grown content in believing that you’re beautiful. You cleanly forget to ask Him whether or not you are beautiful elect or just on some mystic holiday, where everything goes mythically well. You start to forget about Him. And in the enjoyment of my own life, I walk on because that’s the thing to do. You’re that kind of chap.
And tonight I remember all of those things here in the dark coolness of my front porch, sipping on tea with lots of sugar in it. The quietness out here is like excuse to wonder about those years when I was “beautiful”. I get scared when I feel like this. It reminds me of my current condition. But remembering how I was, somehow is like a comforting novel, being read in perfect lighting with my head resting on my favorite pillow, with my best blanket besides. It relieves me from this holy loneliness. I miss my close friends and all the friends I was sure to meet and surely impress. I am beautiful. I am brilliant. I am perfect tragedy.
When you feel like this, you make a pact with yourself to forget how you feel. You cling to familiar faces and hearts and voices. They are comforting. They still see you as you. They still see me as me. They are with Him who I fear has left me. So it must be safe there with them. I’m not as scared as I was when I started writing this. 🙂