Games at Dawn

She smiles at my gamesmanship, all the while plotting my defeat in the rising light of dawn. Two beautiful smiles upon me. Win or lose, I win.

Dissolution

“You think it will never happen to you, that it cannot happen to you, that you are the only person in the world to whom none of these things will ever happen, and then, one by one, they all begin to happen to you, in the same way they happen to everyone else.”
~ Paul Auster

By middle age, a myriad of wounds had accumulated, one on top of another; the sheer force of their emotional weight clarifying my predicament, that no matter what I do or where I go, the “road of dissolution” is beneath my proverbial feet, poking holes in my existence; an inexorable progression of decline, moving me forward like a conveyor belt, from cradle to grave.

There was and is no turning back, no stop button on this road, no return to the garden of blissful ignorance—AKA childhood—despite my resistance and great protest. The long, painful takedown being an incurable, terminal condition of existence, shared by all of humanity.

Oh yes, the demons of Thanatos are lurking from beginning to end, lining our roads with their pitchforks, poking holes at will; tasked with disassembling and removing the many pieces of human lifetimes.

If I’d avoided my road for a time, then it was only through the wishful illusion of invincibility and immortality, set against the background of my all too human fate: the slow dissolution of body, mind, and spirit.

Butterflies and red flags

“When all you know is fight or flight, red flags and butterflies all feel the same.”
~ Cindy Cherie

The more you desire someone, the more you fear being ruined or destroyed by your vulnerabilities to them. Your early butterflies, slowly but insidiously, transforming into red flags. In the heat of your desire and need, your fear becomes exaggerated; and you make the decision to either fight the invisible enemies within, take flight from them, or do both. The irony being that either way, the fight or flight pushes away what you wanted or thought you needed, your fear being the real enemy.

Alternative version: Free verse

The object of desire is your greatest vulnerability; the path to your elusive joy or inevitable ruin: recycled and reimagined.

Early butterflies—slowly but insidiously—transform into the red flags of paranoia. The fear of loss and humiliation enclosing you like a vice grip.

In the heat of desire and neediness, you fight or take flight from the invisible enemies within: the delusions of demons who would steal your joy or facilitate your shame. And this will assuredly keep you separated from your object of desire; your fear and paranoia being the most crafty of enemies.

No surrender

It was your neediness against her lovelessness. You reached and she held back, sometimes dangling, but never bestowing, not to where you felt bereft of loving kindness.

So many iterations of reaching versus dangling, but never the bestowing, never her surrender. Love was her commodity, her convenience, to be withheld for fun or bartered on the run.

The spiral of pain

Often, we obsessively seek love from the people who find it the most difficult to love us. Their holding back, mirrors where we feel the least loved and most needy, committing us to the long, painful, downward spiral of pursuit, seemingly without end, until at last, at the lowest point of our despondency, the spiral itself reaches its end, mercifully kicking us to the curb.

Screams in the night

It keeps me awake some nights, a chorus of screams, pitching up and down. It is not heard, but rather felt as a dreadful depression of the gut, weighed down upon by the memories of abruptly terminated pasts, the cries of a dying present, and an infinity of aborted futures. All of this accumulated and gathered upon me within the night, packed into a chorus of silent screams: An endless, collective reverberation of all that happened and never happened; paths taken and not taken; and my fate having been indifferent to it all, as if nothing ever mattered, despite what I’d once wished for, had hoped for, prayed for, and strived for.

Note of hope:

I was once told that my feelings of distress is a form of depression known as Weltschmerz, or world-weariness, meaning that my vision of how things should or could be, is not compatible with reality. However, it seems to me that reality always defies us on some level, shaping and reshaping itself to avoid the complete fulfillment of our needs, wants, desires, and idealistic visions.

Consider the possibility of this defiance being a kind of soul moving resistance. One that challenges us to continue evolving and reaching for something better, higher, or more humane, rather than it being a force of malicious intent, or an obstacle course of random obstructions.