Alone, sole. A living label people stick on me. It signals I am different. It scares wives in shakey marraiges. it makes single men fear they are and always will be SECOND choice. It erases my name from dinner party lists. It tells the world I m no lonegr part of a whole. It makess me scarey.
Labels are for cowards, for small people who need to place me in neat little cubby holes so I fit their beliefs. The label weighs me down.
If you look at a photo of a person frozen in a laugh you can see how closely it ressembles agony. Comedians will tell you privately that the only trully funny jokes are the ones that stem from pain, Laughter is the dark side of hurting. Laughing transforms the toxic infrastructure of agony so we can deal with it. It is mroe than necessary - it is vital. Laughing is a way of reducing a terrible world to bite sized chunks made more palatable so we dont choke. The things we accept as "normal" by virtue of collective agreement are often the things that make us laugh the hardest when we are hurting... th total insanity of KILLING for peace?? for example.... of working up to 60+ hours a week for the "freedom" of owning a home.. of imprisoning ourself in hostile "families" so we belong.... laughing is my window into sanity.
Sometimes love makes no sense. It is not reachable from any place in my wounded self. It is a mystery, an enigma reserved for others. As I piece together the bits of my shattered self, loving is impossible. How can this mess of shards and broken bits who was once a person love someone. ? How can I love.
What I know intimately is separation, departure, rejection, abandonment, limbo. What I long to know is communion. Intimacy. Falling backwards, knowing there are arms to catch me. trust. Will I ever know this? I have never learned to allow someone to love me.
I do know what many don't. In the end that is their loss.
