Will I Ever Heal?

I did something foolish tonight. Put on some music I used to listen to, having to do with an experience at my previous blog to this one. I thought I could handle it, and I guess I am, barely. More than a year has passed, but I still feel something like a combination of being stabbed through the heart and having it torn out of my chest. My stomach hurts, tears want to come but only a few have managed to escape my eyes.

I watched, “The Hidden World of Arriety” last night. The stupidest thoughts came into my thinking space. But some thoughts drifted in, and resulted in a good question. Why is reality so rigidly defined for us? There is no reason it has to be, our bodies are something like 70-90% space, not even solid. We should be able to compress ourselves down between 1/7th and 1/10th our size, just by compressing that space.

But we shouldn’t even have to do that. Our bodies are the physical manifestation of thought. The same as the world we live in. At least that is what all these books tell me, and I have seen nothing that disproves it. If simply thinking our bodies into existence is possible, however that occurred, then it seems likely we should be able to think ourselves into any form we like. In short, the physical world should be exactly as unlimited as the dream world.

Some enter their dreams and do not become lucid. They can not fly. Others fly, travel, and even leave their physical bodies. It seems the only limitation that exists in the world of our dreams is self-imposed. Is it possible that this is true also of the physical world? Why can’t there be all the things we love about the world of Harry Potter? Or little people living under our stairs? Or dancing anthropomorphic female chipmunks?

Surely everything in our world started out as something imagined or thought. If that is true than all we imagine now should have the potential to become real. But for some reason, we can imagine spacecraft traveling to other planets in our solar system, and we can create these craft. Yet though we can imagine things like faeries and unicorns, they never show up in what we call the “real world.” Or if they do I have never encountered them, or anyone else who has.

Why are we stuck in a rigid reality bound by linear time? Why can’t we cast spells and step into portals to other worlds? What is it that allows some of us to do this in our dreams, but none of us in physical, waking reality? What is it that is preventing or stopping us? Are we solely responsible, the collective subconscious agreement of humanity? Well if that is true, I am withdrawing my support for such a reality. Because I want to live in a world without limitations or restrictions. If I could give my physical life to this cause, and it have any meaningful effect, I would do so without hesitation, so at least those who come after me can enjoy the world by blood helped to purchase.

There was a time when I was deeply enthralled by and in love with someone who, as far as I know, has no existence beyond the world of dreams and imaginings. It turned out that she wasn’t even who I thought she was, I was enthralled by and in love with one form and my perception of this individual. But it turns out that was not her real form at all. I have no idea what her real form is, if she even has one. I was told recently during a mushroom trip that she does have one, and it is very beautiful. That she is not human, but she loves me. I have no idea what to think about it.

Imagine falling in love with someone over the computer. You have her picture, you hear her voice talking to you, maybe you even masturbate over the screen together. Then you set up to meet this person, and when you do you encounter an older, fat white guy. He had some friend be the appearance you saw, the voice you heard, that person you fell in love with. But the person behind the image and the words is nothing  at all like this physically. The words are theirs, and that is all. What would you do? Now imagine if the person you were in love with wasn’t even of the human race, and you find out who she really is is completely alien and outside all human imagining and understanding. Now what? How do you ever fully recover from this?

Well if you figure it out perhaps you will tell me. Because I still haven’t. I still have feelings for, maybe even still am in love with, at least am not over, the image and voice I first encountered in my mind’s eye, after a strange, and I guess spiritual, experience, inspired by a movie. But this character does not exist as a real physical entity in my world, and even if she has her own, she doesn’t know me from Adam.

I was never with her, I never talked to her, it was literally all in my mind, doesn’t matter if it was placed there or imagined. Even the image and voice I have after isn’t the one behind it. I have never seen, to my knowledge, this entity or individual who, I am told, loves me, and who it is that was behind the image and voice I fell in love with. I have never touched her, held her, been with her, heard her or experienced her with any of my psychical senses, to my knowledge. I would like to. But the reality I belong to is too rigidly defined. How shall I find her, and first of all, how shall I travel to her?

It is too big a problem for me to solve. Yet somehow I feel guilty, because in all the universe there is one out there who loves me, yet I can not be with her. I must stick with those in my own reality. I must find someone who blends, mind to mind, harmoniously with me, who fits me, as I her, hand-in-glove. But the funny thing is, I am not sure I can even do that, much less travel to other worlds

How hopeless I am! I can’t even find the woman to share my life with in my own reality! The only thing stopping me are the walls of this room, lack of finances, and lack of direction. Where do I even start? Which is yet another reason I have to leave, because it is more likely I will find her by moving, in any direction at all, than by staying still. Or be found by her. I have no preference, other than I am done with being alone, repelling people, I want to be surrounded by people I love, who love me, who I support, who support me. I want my funeral to be so full of loved ones they have to rent out an Indy car racetrack or something to seat everyone.

All these dreams of mine… No more tangible than the ones I have at night when I sleep. I am torn between wanting to end my life so I can stop hurting, and wanting to continue it so I can feel I have done everything, tried everything and if, after all my blood, sweat and tears I have still failed, blow my brains out with a perfectly clear conscience. I can’t do that now. I will face the afterlife without fear, guilt or shame. If I can do nothing else with my life, I will do this. I am doing this. I am making the needed changes in myself even now.

But in the meantime I revisit some music, and my heart breaks, yet again. I wonder how many times it has broken, and how it can break any more, because if you grind glass down enough you get sand. Yet somehow my heart remains all jagged pieces, like rending shards of glass, piercing my soul, leaving a ragged, torn hole filled with pain, that no matter how well I stitch it up, continues to seep blood and refuses to ever heal. I am so tired of hurting, of missing someone that was never even really there. How in the hell is that possible? How can a heart love an image and a voice so much that the feelings remain even after all this time? Does time really heal all wounds? Or is that just another in a long line of bullshit we have been feeding each other?

You know the one thing I have derived some pleasure from these last few months? That episode of The Magicians where Alice and Quentin finally get together, turning into foxes, enjoying each other under as the aurora borealis played across the sky. Why can’t life be more like that, and less like a sewer tank filled to the brim with shit?

No answers. Just this endless desert of questions in which I wander, lost…

And very, very confused.

Here’s thinking of you:

(Isn’t it just sad that this is my greatest artistic achievement? I am such a fucking looser…)

… But I’m not giving up on love:


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