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i am noticing the shame that rises.

i post something. (in a hiding-ish way.)
i check if any kudos or notes of encouragement/acknowledgement arrive from outside my small and separate self.
shame rises:
‘people feel embarrassed for you.’
‘people think this is lame.’
‘noone resonates with your expressions.’
‘noone resonates with you.’
‘noone cares’ or ‘loves’ or ‘gets’ or ‘wants’ you.
‘you are all alone in the Universe.’

i am laughing
typing that rabbit-hole procession of thoughts (obsolete voices) out.

_i_ am my enjoyer
acknowledger
lover
& witness.

i
quietly
& RAVINGLY to the SKIES (!)
adore
this heartbreakingly
perfect
Light
within ‘me’
and in ‘you’
because there is neither
just the eclipse
of ALL
shining
in all ways
always.

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2 thoughts on “in all ways, always

  1. No one wants you for what? Aren’t you in two loving relationships with your partner and child, or do you want to be wanted for some gap that they cannot fill? I know what it is, though, you want to be broken and beaten up, because it affirms your own self-flaggelation. It just occured to me that you remind me of Charlie Brown in a soliliquy asking for the real meaning of Christmas. In your case, Christmas means a Vanessa Dao song, “Alcestis on the Poetry Circuit”…..inspired by Erica Jong.

    The best slave
    does not need to be beaten.
    She beats herself.

    Not with a leather whip,
    or with stick or twigs,
    not with a blackjack
    or a billyclub,
    but with the fine whip
    of her own tongue
    & the subtle beating
    of her mind
    against her mind.

    For who can hate her half so well
    as she hates herself?
    & who can match the finesse
    of her self-abuse?

    Years of training
    are required for this.
    Twenty years
    of subtle self-indulgence,
    self-denial;
    until the subject
    thinks herself a queen
    & yet a beggar —
    both at the same time.
    She must doubt herself
    in everything but love.

    She must choose passionately
    & badly.
    She must feel lost as a dog
    without her master.
    She must refer all moral questions
    to her mirror.
    She must fall in love with a cossack
    or a poet.

    She must never go out of the house
    unless veiled in paint.
    She must wear tight shoes
    so she always remembers her bondage.
    She must never forget
    she is rooted in the ground.

    Though she is quick to learn
    & admittedly clever,
    her natural doubt of herself
    should make her so weak
    that she dabbles brilliantly
    in half a dozen talents
    & thus embellishes
    but does not change
    our life.

    If she’s an artist
    & comes close to genius,
    the very fact of her gift
    should cause her such pain
    that she will take her own life
    rather than best us.

    & after she dies, we will cry
    & make her a saint.

    © Erica Mann Jong

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