THE CLOSET MYSTIC

“Every time someone says who they are, the world becomes a better, more interesting place.”

and I asked her:

what is the love of God like?

and she told me that the love of God is found in all forms of creativity. Love is creation and creation is love.

and then I understood what self love was:

to allow your creative spark to flourish.

when did kindness start to feel unsafe?

like I’ve said before

It was gold placed in their hands

that fell through their fingers as ash.

I kept trying, trying, trying,

and watched it disintegrate,

all for naught.

so I held onto my gold,

failing to recognize

that loving kindness

is the only resource 

that grows and multiplies 

the more you give.

the only resource of which you have more

the more you pass it out.

here’s to a reclamation of that secret 

defying that law

that claims energy cannot be created or destroyed

only change shape.

no, I’ll conjure this out of thin air.

and that is the magic of love,

the magic of kindness.

ponderings on the cycle of life

a child seeing me hop the fence and pointing to his father 

his squeals of innocence

his father enjoying him riding his bike 

and here I am pondering it all

a few minutes running witnessed ages rising and falling

and all of the fractals within each

the rise and fall of a man

the birth of a child

the child becomes the father

the father and the child

the perishing of the father

the child as the father once again

and I saw my own life 

a blip. a bubble. 

popping.

the breath of life filling

the breath of life released.

and I simply watched

its beauty. it’s beauty

its futility. it’s futility.

its beautiful futility

its futile beauty.

it’s beautiful futility

it’s futile beauty.

2024.

i’ve often been part of the party that eye rolls when people make a huge deal about the new year. it’s imaginary, the date and calendar is imaginary. what’s so phenomenally different about 12/31 11:59 PM as opposed to 12:00 AM on 1/1? 

and yet, here I am, feeling awfully sentimental and even emotional considering the tremendous changes that 2024 brought. the most tremendous year of change and growth in all of my life. 2024 fundamentally transformed me. a process of exponential evolution that began in 2023 reached its pinnacle in 2024 — and yet how can I speak on what the peak truly is, what will this next year bring? the cliff and precipice I stand at the ledge of is imaginary, and yet it moves me to tears all the same. 

2024 — the year I was broken into a million pieces, but rebuilt taller, stronger, somehow more whole than before.

2024 — the year I took the leap of faith and moved out, the beginning of the rest of my life. 

2024 — the year I lost more than I could have anticipated, and yet gained more than I ever could have imagined.

2024 — the year I was set free.

What will 2025 bring?

“Lost” in daydream?

“Lost” in fantasy?

How far from the truth that is! 

What is daydream and fantasy but one’s innermost compass? Where else can the soul truly come alive? Where else can the longings from the deep be given shape? 

Lost in daydream? No, there am I truly found.

Lost in fantasy? No, no, no. When one is lost in life, how else can they find their way but through fantasy? When all hope seems lost, what is it but fantasy, a dream, a spark of the creative imagination that lets us find our way once more? 

Here’s to fantasy. Here’s to the “unreal.” Here’s to the dreamers, here’s to those with inner worlds home to riches unseen. 

When I’d feel bad, or down, or sad, or off emotionally, I’d say nice things to myself. Then, I’d feel better. 

I used my Mercurial nature to shape-shift. I’d become my mother; I was my own mother. I’d become my father; I was my own father. When others weren’t there for me, I’d be there for myself. I found something resembling wholeness. I’d tell myself: I am whole. I am complete. I’d tell myself: I love myself. I am worthy and deserving of love. If I was crying about hurt feelings, or if the world was too painful, I’d speak soothingly to myself, like a mother consoling a small child. I’d quite literally tell myself, “it’s ok baby. Everything will be ok. I am here for you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I remember at the very beginning of my spiritual awakening. It was intuitive. I uncovered past trauma and emotional baggage. I saw myself as a child being hurt by any number of things. I spoke to that kid and gave him the words he needed to hear at the time. I gave myself truly unconditional love; I was warm and kind to myself. 

Eventually, I grew so in love with the world that I saw all beings as young kids trying their best. I saw all mistakes as impersonal, all beings as children worthy of love. I fell in love with the world and felt unconditional love for all of humanity.

What does this tell us about self love? 

In my experience, it corroborates the idea that loving oneself allows one to love the world. It lends credence to the idea that one can only love another as much as they’ve come to love themself. 

Do you understand that this was work when it began? Do you understand that self-love is work? Do you understand the feelings of tremendous discomfort that would at first arise when I was kind to myself? Do you understand the genuine pain that I experienced being loving to myself, the aches being drawn out, brought to the surface? Do you understand that I relived all of the pain? I relived all of the sorrow, the anxiety, the ache — and yet, my awareness was split, between affording myself the basic kindness to feel my feelings, and being the mother or father I needed at the time, and soothing myself lovingly as it was happening. Do you understand that I purposely excavated every limiting, negative belief about myself, these constructs of our personality that are unwittingly built as a result of our life experiences, with a slight of hand that can fool even the sharpest of minds? Do you understand that I noticed the discomfort and disbelief that would arise when I told myself “I am worthy of love,” or that “I am worthy of respect,” and trudged on anyway? That I let the love win? I let the love win. I let the love win. I fought for love. I fought, I pushed, I strained. I used the newfound love in my heart and fed it to every different area of pain in all the corners, each nook and cranny, of my psyche. 

Do you understand all that was behind who I became?

And yet, it wasn’t enough — for I had focused too heavily on the inner work. I got lost in myself, a cycle of my life. The Hermit was I. The Fool trudged inward, became the Hermit, left the Hierophant. 

She came into my life and pointed out the external work I had been neglecting. Perhaps one can focus on their inner child only so much until they risk becoming a puer aeternus, suffering from Peter Pan syndrome. The senex presented himself in my life, and off I went to toil. This is work I will carry out for the rest of my life. 

But tonight — oh, I ached. I felt lost, desolate, hopeless. My heart like coal, wrung out of all strength, emotional vitality, spiritual vigor. My heart felt tight, heavy, uncomfortable in my very chest.

Do you know what I did?

oh, I remembered that old magic trick. I talked to myself like the mother I always wanted, always needed. I talked to myself like the father I always wanted, always needed. 

Suddenly, the lights turned back on. What was a night like pitch became a sunrise, and sunrise became beautiful day. 

Self-love. It is work. It is “the work.” It is necessary. It is important. Do not let your self love become indulgence, but do not let your life responsibilities become self-negligence. Balance is and always has been the way.

Tonight, for the sake of balance, I practiced my old magic trick. 

“Don’t you get it?”

I tried explaining to her. She wouldn’t and couldn’t understand. 

“There is poison in my veins. If our hearts became one, you’d inevitably take it in. Save yourself. Walk away.”

She wouldn’t and couldn’t understand, she gave me every reassurance that it meant nothing to her. I could see the folly in her eyes. She didn’t see, couldn’t see. She wouldn’t see. 

But can you blame me for letting her in anyway? I wanted love, too. How could I refuse the look in her eye? How could I deny it any longer?

So began the great exorcism that was my first love.

…

I clung to the ledge. I didn’t know what I wanted. I ended up here, overlooking the expanse of the city, oblivion laid out before me, for a reason. Still, though, I was too disoriented to comprehend what it was that I wanted. Too exhausted, too in pain to make a decision. But it doesn’t require much logical thought to run away — it didn’t require any mental energy to understand the simple truth:

I wanted the pain to end. That was what brought me here. 

But there she was. I could see the hurt in her eyes, the difficulty and pain of seeing someone she held so near and dear to her heart ready to leap away. I knew her enough to realize that her entire life had been like that: those closest to her perpetually dangling by the ledge of oblivion, a pain more chronic and numbing than the acute blow of just losing them — finally, actually losing them.

I think I came to understand her indecision then. Life itself couldn’t decide. Life itself couldn’t decide what to do with her loved ones. All she knew was uncertainty, damn near from day one. What ground, what rock, had she? 

And here I was, doing the very same thing to her. I’d do her a favor if I’d just jump, or if I’d just come climb off the ledge, come back to her, and vow to make my life better, and really, genuinely do it. 

Instead, a deer in headlights was I. One oblivion or another. I looked to the hundreds of feet of distance below me. Then I looked to her. I could have reached out and grabbed her hand if I wished, and yet, the distance between us felt far greater — widening as I took her in — than the pavement that would mean finality.

• the sacred marriage of total invincibility and total surrender. it is ultimate potency, it is to perpetually have a sword’s blade teasing your neck. it is utmost vulnerability and total invulnerability. ultimate strength. total weakness.
• hopelessly blind, and the only thing that allows one to see clearly.
• complete and utter folly, and the only path to wisdom.

how can we differentiate between a want and a need?

perhaps our wants are all of the ways in which we’ve ignored our needs

perhaps the fulfillment of a want is an attempt to scratch need’s itch without braving its full void

and what it might mean

my heart tells me of my needs–

my body wants.

but these wants feel like fear. These wants speak of incompletion, of lostness, of groping in the dark for something, anything to hold on to. 

Why should I want? For what should I want? Is it the desire for a distraction? To give my focus to someone else, to turn away from my self and what my innermost center merely needs a listening ear to communicate? 

What can I do when my desire is not desire, but my refusal to be my own confidante? To drown out the ache that need not be an ache if I’d merely listen —

then i will.

when did i become so afraid of feeling negatively? when did i forget my own ability to listen to myself? i became so afraid of complacency, for i felt as if my unconscious emotional waters were becoming like molasses, and swimming became stagnancy — 

life, still yet, is a balancing act, nothing more nothing less. yea, i waged war, on my self and my self-imposed limitations. was my inner child taken in the crossfire?

here’s to being more careful.