Watch the dance

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I have made friends with the losers in my body. The fat and the lazy. The anxious and the jealous. They were misunderstood. I try and tell the characters in my head about letting go. About faith. I tell them it is all very nuanced and the written word does not have the capabilities to… to, well, you know, know.
To see the patterns you must let go of all your ideas. Then when you see, when you observe without the judgment fuelled by fear and hope, then you can understand the way the machine works. The whole machine. The faith to just let it be, to just watch. Till eventually there is nothing left to hold on to, eventually you are just everything, doing what it was always going to do. The fear is that what it is going to do is not that great. And your books aren’t very good and you never found love and you are actually living within a delusional self medicated neurosis. Then I let go of that too. The hope that you will be something, finally, after all this suffering and pain there will be the lotus flower in the sun. Rewarded with warmth. An I told you so, an interest in all those thoughts. There is too many cycles around me. Too much already observed. Death is everywhere in life. How long in life are you going to battle with what is, with your idea of what should be, blinded by your romantic lies of what was? The weather is perfect. The weather is death. The weather is birth. The rain is not for you my droplet. Yet you complain because it disrupted your walk. As thirsty blades rejoice, as the smell of colour flexes, you bow to naivety. And you are nature too, your ignorance, your love, you are nature too, you are rain elsewhere, you are colourful, you are the smell of spring drying on the road. You are the balance of pressure. You are the release. The burn. The rise and the fall. You are all with surrender.
But how can you let go and surrender with the contracts formed to ensure consistency within your relationships?
Loneliness rises like a tide after the moons whistle. The eyes of others holding on. They aren’t looking, they are holding on. All of us holding on to nothing in fear the struggler beside you is watching. And as you fall into the abyss hoping to land somewhere softly, you cannot express that you are okay, because it is faith that pushed you backwards. It was the history of the others. And you can try to express but nobody asked. You are somewhere deep whilst conversing in shallow metaphors.
I don’t think there is any hope of finding love now. As the formless cannot find a shape for you. The women say they are looking for something more serious whilst I am trying to just look at what is in front of me, what is in me, what the difference is. I have the humility to say I don’t know. I don’t, but as I fall backwards I see more of the sky. Consciousness expands and I do not know what is best for a wiser me. I only know this me, and tomorrow lets allow a new one. Lets not die during the day when death is promised in the night. Lets not expect lies. Lets not spray flowers with perfume out of fear. So I let them walk away, with my pride constantly wounded but my soul in tact. I can lend it for a while but it’s the devil who I work with to get it back.
So how can I show something for all this love in my heart when my craft died long ago? I cant.
I have to give up on you for me. For people I have not met yet, for a me that is waiting for this suit. For death of my body is promised, I have seen them decay.
Death has slippery hands when it comes to the soul. You cant grasp everything. So I help by not. By not grasping. By not becoming death myself. By not knowing. There is not great joy or happiness there for me. This is not a preach. I feel a failure. I let go of that too. I let go of what I want in the future, knowing I will be different by the time it meets me.

The devil can only take a soul that does not belong to you. And if you have it, then you took it, and if you took it, then who are you?

Let me try and summarise the scribble of a sane man. He is in the phase, the experimental stage of letting go. This, like everything, is a paradox. You must let go of letting go to let go. But, I am watching. I am letting go of control and giving it up to god. And when I am a fat disgraceful retard, I say, god, this is you. And two days later I am making wise and profound decisions, I say, god, this is you. Then, the aggravated assault of the opposite sex who has my desires in a vice. They tighten that vice. And the more I tug away the more I feel the grip.  I want them. I hate myself so harshly I need a woman to love me, I need to see my reflection in her eyes, I need. But my force of me. The man who lets everyone down. The man who cannot change. Cannot change for evil either. And I surrender. My greatest act of bravery. To give up on the idea of a true love. Of a child. Of a home. Of something bigger than me. I let go of an idea. An idea of happiness and comfort. Someone loving a body I cannot seem to. Someone to kiss when nightmares awaken me. Someone to kill for. Someone to die for. I give her up. Because the her I want so bad I lie for. I change for. And time, the healer of all wounds, creates gashes through my ego, through my bravado, and my disgusting black shadow filled soul devours the universe I created. And I give up on something I want so bad for something I want so bad. I die so I cannot be killed. I stay formless so the knife I prepare for my own back has no where to enter. Because the only hope of true love and longevity is to surrender to oneself, to be, to just be. This is me. And yeah that’ll take a few years to iron out the creases but he isn’t such a bad guy. But maybe he is, maybe that is my fate, gods will, to constantly prove I am, and when death comes I will say take me, for my thorns have broken too much skin. And the beauty they grew to protect was only in a world I could access, was only in words I thought but never conveyed, was only in ideas I didn’t have the discipline to abide by, and like the rest of those who filled the soil with nutrients, I was nothing but a consumer, a vomiter of disguise, too fantastical to be where he was. Well, I will be what was always going to be, watching, saying in my filth, “God, this is you.” And I say all of this with faith, as I watch the cycles devour dreams, as I watch the truth rot illusions of Eden, as I sit alone, falling through the currents, in hopeless hope that my hopelessness lands somewhere better than I could have hoped. As the serpent of truth injects venom into a world I pretend to love. I let go knowing death is around the corner, waiting to ask all about life. And by the time he asks, ill have an answer. But for now I let go, I watch the dance. I dance. I be. A flicker of colour from the deep seas below.