‘The world is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are. The ride goes up and down, around and around, it has thrills and chills, and it’s very brightly colored, and it’s very loud, and it’s fun for a while. Many people have been on the ride a long time, and they begin to wonder, “Hey, is this real, or is this just a ride?”
“…I’ve got a lot invested in this ride, shut… up! Look at my furrows of worry, look at my big bank account, and my family. This has to be real.”…It’s just a ride.’
I feel as though I’m pouring out of myself. As though the dams on some fermented, stagnant fjord of solvable karma have slid down to a gushing release of swollen, pent up misfortune.
What remains is a cool, calm, bubbling deep blue teal; a tranquil bath for the soul.
I continue to shed hang ups and snags at a rate that amazes me, layers of myself peeling and papering away, catching and tumbling in the almost autumn breeze that’s rushing past.
I lose a cat, and the Universe decides that’s a mistake and sends it back, then changes it’s mind again and takes the other cat instead♦. The backdrop of my writing salvation becomes unrecognizable♦. I stealthily siphon off a car my husband bought♦, a lounge he once slept on… a person he thought he knew. (you didn’t know me, that not much, not at all… you couldn’t possibly have, because I didn’t even know me, then, so how on earth could’ve you?)
And the world around me, it clangs again. Coincidences that are far too big to be simple coincidence hit and split in the air like atoms, spreading the dust of their consequences around and leaving illuminated trails to ensure me that something bigger is happening here, something is working even more silently than I am behind a huge drop of scenery that looks just like a real world should. Names and dates and songs and images intersect and intertwine, obscure references finding companions in conversations and happenstancials that occur within the tightest of timeframes, creating fluorescent gunpowder sparks of tiny awe into the everyday-ness of common existence. They feel like signs, a mystical illumination of stepping stones set in a Grimm’s fairytale– but this time the breadcrumbs are leading out of the dark impending doom of a thick Black Forest. Not into it.
And I’m beginning to believe in fairy tales again, maybe. Perhaps not the Grimm Brothers variety, this time around.
This time around, I’d prefer the Disney version. Please.
I find someone, just when I thought no one like him existed.
He takes me as I am, and I don’t scare him even when I try, when I push him with knowledge I thought he already knew. I tell him “I am broken”, waiting for what I thought was the perfect answer (“I will fix you…”), and instead he looks at me in genuine disbelieving amazement and says “No, you’re not.”
And for the first time in a long time– since before the sky fell in, probably since before post natal depression sucked the color from the world– that feels true. The world opens up again. There are the sweetest melodies exist in the air I fill, and some kind of light shines from within me when I’m with him, arms and legs intertwined, skin flush as though we we’re melting into one another. I think it’s the phosphorescent essence of feeling beautiful, feeling amazing… feeling worth something, to someone, as more than just the sum of the parts that make me.
We exist in a bubble, reality suspended a thousand kilometers away, caught still on spiderwebs of the heaviest silk. I sleep and laugh and drown in his embrace. We watch movies and tell stupid jokes. He makes me breakfast, takes me places, shows me things he thinks I will like and every one of them speaks to my soul. He greets me with the best hug I’ve ever had and a bunch of bright sunflowers– happy flowers, not funeral flowers, and I fall in love with him even more.
I won’t insult the intelligence of my fellow social media junkies by pretending his name is any kind of secret. But, given everyone except myself gets a pseudonym on my blog, it seems patently unfair not to let this new man have an alias, too. For now, I think we’ll just call him ‘The Most Amazing Man In The Universe’.
Because really, that name suits him. More than anything else I can think of.
On a totally different but weirdly related note; there is bitching and bad karma going on. Because this is the Internet, and sometimes that what happens here.
Amongst all the snarkiness was the opinion that reading RRSAHM feels like looking at me naked. I’m assuming it was meant as an insult. (Or maybe a ‘concern’. As seems to be the more PC term for it. Of course.)
I can only say that that is, possibly, the most awesome freaking compliment I’ve ever been given. Because in all my naked, honest reality… aren’t I just absolutely, confrontatingly gorgeous?
♦Due to– well, to be honest, mainly to that bubble I’ve been existing in, but we can call it extenuating circumstance– this place has been sadly neglected. Explanations for all these events and more, later this week. (Really.)