“He sees that his grasp upon the world is his strangle-hold about his own neck, the hold which is depriving him of the very life he so longs to attain. And there is no way out, no way of letting go, which he can take by effort, by a decision of the will. . . . But who is it that wants to get out?” p.66 (Alan Watts, “The way of Zen”)
Turning blue. Always was my favorite color. Jimmy’s dead. So what else has changed, really? What else of any significance has happened as of late? I love Mary Alice as much as I’m capable of loving another person. Just thinking of her makes me smile. And yet that’s not enough it seems. I still turn blue. I still feel like a liar and a fake. A counterfeit nickel. Reading all this Zen shit reminds me that there’s nothing to really do about it. What could I possibly do? This is it, this is me. There’s no two ways around it. I’m no different from the rest of the rats out there. I want to feel more vital, more awake, more like my life matters even if, as a matter of fact, it doesn’t amount to shit. All these kids doing dope day and night, aren’t they trying to get to the same place? My friends are busy making babies and taking care of them by any means necessary. Any means necessary. Isn’t that how far I’ll go, if pushed to the edge? Am I there yet? Haven’t I always been there? In a few minutes I’ll shave, take a crap, and then jump in shower. I won’t enjoy any of it though, because to my way of thinking these are all just chores eating up time, eating up my real life, which somehow is supposed appear on the scene during moments such as this, when I’m being creative, when I’m somehow being more inviting to the grace of the Almighty.
Dear Almighty, I cordially invite you to make your presence felt at any and all times, whether in the shower or on the shitter, when typing or flossing my toes. I’m tired of turning blue. Tired of waiting around for something to happen. I may as well just come right out and ask you to please pay me a visit sometime, anytime, all the time. Okay, I get it. Keep asking, right. “Ask and ye shall receive,” eh? Alrighty then. I’ll ask you day and night motherfucker! I’ll ask until I turn purple.