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Crave you

Why do I crave you in the way that I do? What is it about you that has me so strung? Caught so hopelessly in your line; I am better than whatever you were fishing for, but I am camouflaged as a rock in the rain, steady, solid, and does not sustain a hungry body; However, I do. I would. You just don't care to look deeper. That's okay with me- it has to be. I have no say in the matter. If I did, you would see my true worth, and no less. You would cast your net around me quickly, for fear that someone else soon would discover this treasure. I am going off on tangents I've covered at this point.
What I'm here to explore is; Why do I crave YOU!? Not why you should value me, for I know extensive depths on this topic already.
To begin: Your eyes. They are like a soul vacuum; Sucking me viciously into a vortex within you. I am kept there, allured by your artistic delight. Your intelligence, and your (seeming) gentleness. The intonation of your voice is musical. Your wordless gaze makes me feel beautiful. Now...for the stuff that isn't in the sky: The fact that I get to make up anything I want about you, and have it feel true. I seem to have an issue with being pursued. As soon as someone starts to chase, I feel the urge to back away- further than the typical way of 'love tango': I abscond from the dance floor as if my carriage is due to turn into a pumpkin, and my beautiful gown, to lowly rags barely suitable to wear into a storm cellar. I run so fast; So far, as if I am eluding the plague. The plague! As long as you are far enough away, I don't feel the urge to escape. Since you don't make an effort to come even an inch closer; Rather, you go further; Stimulating my taste buds. Weaving my perceived need for you. Teasing my sense of rationality.
Most importantly: You give me the chance to explore myself through fantasies of you. I can know for sure that they are only mine, because there isn't a trace of you left near to me at all. It's impossible to credit you for the slightest part of my musings anymore; SO, I can know beyond the shadow of a doubt: These fantasies belong COMPLETELY to me. This should keep me from entangling my identity with another being. No ex, No why...no 'we' disease: Just me.

3 New rules from Pema

1. No struggle
2. Poison as medicine
3. Every occurrence is a manifestation of wisdom

These rules are so difficult to naturally live by, that I have to actively explore how I am going against them every day.
1. I am struggling against the possibility of losing my grandma, I don't think I could survive it happening so soon. I am still so weak and not even starting to recover from the double wounds of losing Papa, and then losing Imprint, so abruptly after. I feel their pain fresher than most others around them. I am struggling to be okay/ yet I have no idea what 'being okay', entails. Being okay might actually mean: To try and stop this struggling. If God takes Nana, I know it will hurt tremendously, but I also know I will survive. She and Papa had to endure the loss of both of their parents. At least they had each other =/. HUMBUG. I am struggling with my forgiveness toward Bob. He pissed me off BAD. And again. He didn't even try to call to tell me about Nana in the ER. I think that was pretty shitty. The next day, he messaged me about sweat pants for her, and I straight up ignored him- provoking this. I didn't intend to ignore him at first, but I could've acknowledged him at some point. But wtf? He wasn't willing to set the BS on the backburner even in the case of an emergency? I am astounded by this. WTF!?? God, help me let go of this. I know that it is inconsequential to the love we share.

I am resistant to the sight of Papa's chair on the curb, waiting to be picked up by the trash. Pema says that when we feel inadequate, unworthy, and afraid of losing any more than we have already been forced to give up; We hoard things. This directly applies to the feelings I have regarding my grandfather, and his chair. I understand that I have no room for his chair, nor do I sincerely have any affinity toward it, other than for the reason that it belonged to him, and the sight of it reminds me of him. It is a misconception for me to believe that parting with this object requires me to let go of my grandfather any more than I have already. I remember the first chair that sat in the living room when I was young- it was lime green like a tennis ball; It had a recliner and a rocker. The next chair; my true favorite, a pea green leather recliner. After that, there was a chair that is similar to the one we just parted with. The seat lifted the same way, and it was close to the same color, but much less comfortable. Finally, there was the chair which I am now forced to part with. Since I have proven that my memories do not correlate with my physical possession of the objects in question, I should take relief in the safety of those memories. I will attempt to release my grip on any perceived attachment to the chair, which technically doesn't even belong to him anymore, it's my grandma's. I have plenty of her things to cherish. I don't require this object to remain in my possession in order to successfully retain the clear memory of the chair itself, or what it symbolizes: The esteem of my grandpa. I will remember Papa dearly, and each chair, clearly.

I am struggling with my path. My next move. I am daunted by confusion. I am struggling against the assault of 'change'; Which pulls the comforter from atop my shivering body, and directs an overwhelming beam of bright sunlight right into my eyes. I squint and scowl in protest of this.
Poison as the remedy is a progressive perspective. Always demanding meditation and further cultivation of wisdom.
(Male pronoun= Teacher; Female pronoun= student)

3. The evolved bond between student and Teacher.
Not only has the student demonstrated an instant of unmitigated trust for the Teacher; The teacher now trusts His student to maintain, and build on her trust in Him. Instead of satisfying her yearnings; The Teacher allows her pleas to expound on the nature of their roots, alluding the profoundity of His lesson for her: Which entails the answer to her every question .


Blue Jam Tunes
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