My view obscured by wind forced streaked rain. Through this window a soft focused grey vista moves slowly to the right, everything has moved to the right. The political dogma of money forces urban renewal. I witness it from the train that takes me to my 'worthy' job.
Renewal is just another word for gentrification. The cafes that sold affordable food of poor nutrition to the badly paid descendants of the industrial revolution, are now occupied by degustation stations and gold and platinum cardholders. Those on the lower economic rungs haven't vanished they've been 'moved along,' further from the centre's of privilege, power and opportunity. Back to where they came from? And yet I'm not angry like I would ordinarily be.
My general disgust at the injustice of capitalism is sitting some distance away occupying a sedentary space. It's gone to the chill tent to watch the end of the world in peace. To the fore is a need to simply deal with my own disabilities.
My strongest instinct right now is to sleep for a significant period of time. A longing to be wrapped in feathered bedding for weeks or months while I let go of the trends that have plagued me since my own inception.
Perhaps one of the most important transitions from caterpillar to butterfly is the journey before the chrysalis. We are all too often focused on the period of change or the beautiful conclusion to appreciate all that has passed.
No one ever told me a caterpillar has to digest itself into a soup before it can fly. In some ways I feel that is what has been occurring for me. Metaphorically consuming and liquefying my grief and shame to make it more edible, palatable. Not for others but for myself.
I want to be in a cocoon and let go of every tear, fear, error, success, fault thought, post, article, conflict, punch, scream and skewed hope.
What might emerge? Not even I can knowingly say with any conviction. Perhaps a more positive, capable, functional spirit will flutter towards the next challenge? Or maybe a more selfish, dismissive and protective man? I simply don't know but I'm content to be changing because I'm not sure how much longer I could have lived with the extreme debilitating thoughts and feelings that fucked me only weeks ago.
Maybe I'm doing better at the moment, because eventually something had to give. The body and mind can only take so much anxiety and the only other option is termination of the organism that carries the pain.
But whilst that's a part of this it's not the primary reason for my shift. My spirit had ignored its right to grieve for itself. That ignorance ended about eight months ago.
I've been running from my grief for ever because I knew it would initially destroy me. What I've learnt is that without destruction there can be no rebirth. Yet one can only attempt such a dismembering of the soul if the tools for the rebuild are to hand. Acquiring such tools is a long and arduous process.
Challenges are marginally more bearable now because I am more able to 'accept' the way I am in the world. There is an improved sense of safety. Enough for me to begin an exploration of the world outside. I am perhaps on the cusp of 'living.'
I wouldn't say I was 'happy' with my life. My instinct is to avoid social engagements. Comparisons between me and others rarely favour the self.
I struggle to understand others. I am consistently disengaged from the parts that make up the whole of society. There are a few exceptions. However I cannot comprehend the brutality of our 'race.'
Perhaps 'connection' in a wider context is beyond me. I am finding ways to feel less desperate about being on the outside.
I will of course keep trying to find a way 'in' because that must be preferable to isolation?