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The morning after…

The day before yesterday I got broken up with. In the morning. I died.
Yesterday morning I suddenly had this insight that I’m meant to write. Out of nowhere.
Or not, because that’s what break ups do, they put you more in touch with God. Or your true higher self. Or your Buddha nature. The universe. Whatever you want to call it. You get to get back to you.
And if you only get still enough to listen, in the midst of all this sadness just listen, then you’ll get little hints of inspiration. Little voices that you probably couldn’t hear before.

Yesterday I crouched under the shower and cried. And then I just lay in bed and stared. Eventually I made an outreach call. Then I had a job I needed to do, I didn’t want to let people down. So I did it, partially crying. Then I had a chat. About how special my current location is. How we feel this intensely only every five years. And that the right next thing would be to clean. So I listened to power music and did the kitchen. I wonder if all the breakups and crises we had before were just meant to train me for this? That I’d be able to handle the ultimate pain by having had bites of it, regularly? But if it was just a continuation of training for the end, what was the use, then? To be able to hold that much sensation? To feel that much? Maybe the peaks of love in between?
Or learning how to trust God more. I’m just brainstorming now. I wanna suck his cock. I got a picture somewhere on my phone, he sent me once when we were apart. Anyway.

I think something new is supposed to develop. And maybe whatever we experienced will be in the new thing, too.

5 March 2014


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