THE CLOSET MYSTIC

reality itself, to the philosopher’s mind, 

was like an encrypted riddle, 

to be studied, wrestled with, pondered, 

and mulled over — 

but oh, at last, I found the cipher — and why,

why oh why, 

is the very cipher,

your own eyes?

I can tell you this:

If, no matter what life has thrown at you, you’re singing to your favorite songs;

you’re dancing in the mornings;

you’re admiring and smiling at the Sunset;

you’ve won.

we made it. We made it. We made it, we made it, we made it. 

Here I stand. Here do I stand. Here do I stand, so so close to the very top of a soon-summited mountain, a treacherous mountain, a mountain I’ve known my entire life, such that I’d not known I was on a mountain until the meditative aerial mind granted me glimpses of what else could be. 

Here do I stand. It’s almost finished. Graduation is near. I can see the mountain’s peak. 

What have I learned? 

How can I put it into words? What I can say is this:

If any of my suffering has granted me the ability to be more compassionate to other people’s suffering, then it will have been worth it. 

If the pursuit of healing my own pain has granted me the ability to help others heal their pain, then it will have been worth it. 

If my home life has merely granted me a wider perspective of how humanity can express itself, to see some of the shadows of humanity and learn to love it anyway, then it will have been worth it. If it’s granted me the ability to see light in shadows, then it will have been worth it. 

Because all of these “ifs” ring true, then I can say, definitively:

It has all been worth it. 

My own struggles, unseen by others, has granted my life depth, meaning, and purpose. What is so bad about suffering? Is there such thing as suffering well? Is there such thing as healthy suffering — can suffering bring forth the potencies of the spirit? Can strife beckon us to call forth our natural talents, to hone them, to sharpen the sword? 

I know that my life has meaning. I want to bring love into this world. I want, I will, and I am. 

My future home will at last be a sandbox for my hands to do the shaping. These hands want to create good works. They will.

At last, it will be a place of my own creative light to shine forth. The way that I know a home should be run, it will be run. The peace I know a home can bring, it will bring. The healing and respite the home front can be a lighthouse of, it will. 

It’s time to leave the cocoon and spread my wings.

It’s happening. 

This is what I want:

to live an honorable life. to bring love and goodness into this world, to humble myself and live better than I’ve seen. I have overcome certain circumstances; I want to empower others to do the same. I want them to know that I see them, I see their suffering, I see their pain. I want to grant them love, a light, a helping hand in the midst of their strife. This life has meaning, and that meaning is in loving and being of service to others. It is a humble privilege to be able to help others. What else could grant a life deeper meaning and beauty than that? 

It’s happening. About a single month. A month. How can this be? I am going to have my own home in one month. 

Just… wow. It’s here. I am so beyond grateful. 

If I had not gone through anything — if I didn’t meet challenges in the home front — what would my life be? Would I have dug deeper into my soul without the pain? Would I have wanted to do anything beautiful with my life without that pain? Would I have a fire lit under my ass to create something good? 

I really don’t think I’d be who I am without certain trials and tribulations. I don’t think I’d have certain critical character traits that I value without the struggles. 

I can honestly say that I am grateful for it all: I am grateful for the love and immense blessings my home life provided. I am grateful for the suffering and hardship it provided. I am grateful for everything, good and bad, light and dark, that has created who I am today. 

This is something I know about myself: when I say I am going to do something good, when I say I will bring love and healing into this world, I will do it. 

I love every single person that has ever been a part of my life. Every single individual, every person I’ve ever come across or will come across. I am immensely grateful to all of them. I’d be nothing without those in my life who have granted a helping hand, a shining light, along the way. 

I want to thank them by doing something good with my life. 

Actions speak louder than words. May my actions, may the product of this life, howl with fury my gratitude — my own unique “thank you.”

Is this real?

It’s… it’s happening.

I have enough money to afford a one bed one bath apartment. I’m crying. It’s happening. I can create the happy home I always wanted. It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening.

Thank you God. I love you

Edit:

I… just… submitted… a real life application to live at an apartment complex nearby.

This is happening. This is happening.

My happiness is coming

How strange is it that it is myself who prevents myself from knowing myself.

How strange it is that it is myself that desires to know myself.

It is like looking for your phone, using your phone’s flashlight to do so.

I think I am having the “a-ha, silly me, it was in my hand the whole time” moment right now

My Lord, it is you that they have said

bears the power of resurrection — 

here do I lay before you a youth, 

awfully in need of your attention.

Long ago was I charged to him,

My duty to offer protection,

But look at him now — 

The shadow of death is cast over his complexion.

Do not let his light

be lost to oblivion — 

I’d pay any price to save him — 

the ultimate, if needed. 

There is nothing in this world that can grant me satisfaction;

As soon as I realized that, I became satisfied,

For the walls were mine to dissolve.

There is no one in this world that can make me feel loved;

As soon as I realized that, I felt loved,

For the walls were mine to dissolve.

Why should I seek 

what is right under my nose?

My mind questions —

But it is my heart that knows.

I just really, really need to share song lyrics that moved me deeply this morning:

From Such Great Heights, by Iron & Wine:

I am thinking it’s a sign
That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images
And when we kiss they’re perfectly aligned

And I have to speculate
That God Himself did make
Us into corresponding shapes
Like puzzle pieces from the clay

And true it may seem like a stretch
But it’s thoughts like this that catch
My troubled head when you’re away
And when I am missing you to death

And then Wings for Marie, Pt. 2, by beloved TOOL:

We listen to the tales and romanticize
How we’d follow the path of the hero
Boast about the day when the rivers overrun
How we’d rise to the height of our halo

Listen to the tales as we all rationalize
Our way into the arms of the savior
Feigning all the trials and the tribulations
None of us have actually been there
Not like you

…

High is the way, but all eyes are upon the ground

heaven and hell coexist within me. Siddhartha is teaching me this is okay. 

being given the ability to think and reflect does not spare one the experience of the follies of human passions. 

[redacted]

The complete and total awareness of how foolish one is acting; the complete and total separation between the wisdom one knows they should act with and the total autocratic rule that the heart holds. 

the experience of having regarded “worldly people” with a certain distaste, even a feeling of mental superiority; seeing their foolishness and blunders; always looking at humanity with a critical eye

then he experiences deep love, and thus also deep folly; hopelessly rendered a fool. 

the object of his affections — his son — leaves. he knows what fate wills; still, he rebels regardless. he knows he must let go; he knows how powerless he is; he knows, he knows, he knows; still, his heart rebels regardless. he knows how foolish his thoughts are; still they pervade. 

then, he feels a sense of solidarity with the rest of the world. he… gets it more, now. he understands. the passions, vanities, and anxieties of worldly people no longer appear to him as being beneath him; no, instead he says that he regards them all with respect. he gets it, he loves them for it.

oh, how i have experienced this. that fundamental split between the wise mind and the foolish heart; engaging in folly myself, stripping me of the alienation i lived with my entire life. i am human…

heaven and hell coexist within me. Siddhartha is teaching me this is okay. 

It’s even teaching me that there is hell in heaven, and that there is heaven in hell. if one regards hell as samsara, the wheel of worldly passions and suffering, but that it is love that keeps one attached to the wheel, then it is easy to see that there is heaven in the love found in the hell of samsara;

and yet if one regards heaven as the wise and illuminated mind, looking upon samsara with a certain distaste, to penetrate the illusion and see past it — to look at the earth from the heavens — it is also easy to see how there is hell in that alienation and separation. to look at the world in this way is to be without love, without connection — and what could be more hellish than that? 

that river, that parable, that metaphorical river, it exists within me. the divine, it is all here. eternity exists in the now. i can see it, it is palpable, i get glimpses of the heavenly; then it vanishes, and my worldly sorrows come, then i see them both at the same time. 

i see that i am both the destination and path; i am the spiraling labyrinth and its center.

Christ teaches us that to love at all is to let ourselves be bound to the cross. Every time we allow ourselves to love, every time our heart grows in affection, another nail is driven into a hand or a foot. To love is to allow our spirits to be bound to the cross that is corporeality, that is spacetime, that the wisemen regard as “illusion” — then we suffer, for to love is to suffer, and yet, we would do it gladly — and I find it beautiful. I’ll never pass up the opportunity to love, to suffer — it is enriching, it is meaningful, it is purposeful, it is beautiful.

My life is just… so, so, so fucking weird. A weird, weird life. Went through childhood memories, when things were simpler, when things were infinitely more confusing. Things are also infinitely more confusing now, and infinitely more simple, too. 

Does it have to make sense? Has anything ever?

[redacted]

Love and hatred, fondness and resentment, strange bedfellows tucked into my heart. The pillow conversation I’ve had to bear witness to, laying between them, talking over me like I’m not there.

Why must rationale and feeling be in such disagreement? Why must emotion and mind be playing a tug of war with me in the center? 

Why am I always the mediator? Always? Always the diplomat. Always the messenger. Inside and outside. Always mending through others’ disagreements, always in the middle, the middle child. Always mediating my own polarized inner universe. When will harmony be given birth to? When will peace reign, when will peace rain?

I look back. Oh, how little has changed. Everything has changed and nothing has changed. Oh, Siddhartha: how beautifully did you put it. How beautifully. That life is a river; every moment made completely anew, its rushing waters before you replaced entirely with each second; and yet it is the very same river. Return after years; it is the very same river, yet entirely, completely different — transitory and permanent all the same.

Yes, this is my life. Looking upon those memories of my youth tonight — nothing has changed. I’m still the same as I was then, yet so vastly different, utterly transformed. But the exact same, all the same…