01.13.02

As well as I remember it, I was with Jeni at her place - but not her present place - maybe some place else that was dimly lit and there was food - we were hanging out and talking - having some conversation about something I imagine - and then almost without my controlling it - I realized I had to vomit. I vomited into a bowl what appeared to be maggots or grub - this scene frightened me so - to see in the bowl maggots and grub writhing in fierce jibberish - to see them hanging out of the corners of my mouth and dribbling down my arms - I realized there were far more in my stomach that needed to be expunged - I realized there was a root cause or problem and that I needed it to be completely extricated. Whatever it was, my insides were rotten with something that had somehow been swallowed down into my stomach - maybe a piece of bad fruit or a mother parasite that took into my stomach creating a home for her filthy haven of maggot babies - and only now I realized them. I wanted to burn my body in order to heal the problem. I contemplated seeing a doctor - seeing what pill or remedy he would prescribe. But suicide seemed so much more pleasant during those moments - to hollow myself out and clean, rinse and dry myself and be healed again - that is what I desperately sought.

When I awoke - and realized it had all just been a dream - I lay frightened by the possibilities of what it could mean. Did it mean that there was something metaphorically that lay dormant within me that was causing me to be rotten, something that needed to be expunged, something that needed desperate healing? How would I know what the source of the problem was? Would I have to resort to a full scale massive purging in order to rid myself or had it completely manifested itself within me that I could not clean it out?

It brought to mind the aura readers I saw this summer. I went into a brief meditation while they were taking the photograph, and when the photograph came out, the man behind the lens looked at the polaroid and just about freaked out at what he saw. By looking at my aura in the photograph, he nearly completely described the summation of my being. He told me to myself who and what I was - that my heart chakra was very open and that I had the capacity to heal and work reiki and energy flows - that I needed to express and that I would learn how to manifest it properly to survive - that I had something very important to communicate that needed to come through me - some act of creation that was very significant beyond just myself and the words or the ideas were pushing in on one side (the left side) of my aura.

When Tod and I awoke this morning, then, together, I immediately seized upon the opportunity to share the dream with him. He found it fantastically fascinating and I asked him how he would interpret it if the dream happened to him - and since he believes he knows how to interpret dreams - he said to me that it meant there was something that I had swallowed that somehow needed to be expunged and healed. Maybe it was intellectual, or spiritual. Maybe it was an idea or a person. Maybe it was that I need to get rid of God. (He seems opposed to God and Religion, Period.) I believe it means that within the context of yesterday - when I finally began writing the essay - THE ESSAY - that I have been sitting on in my head for the last 6 or 7 months - this essay about art and healing and the state of mankind and love and everything else - about the sweetness in the tension of unattainability - all that. Well - I finally BEGAN writing it yesterday - and it came out so well - so naturally. I wrote only twelve or thirteen pages, but that’s enough to see that there’s more to expunge, that there’s more sitting down in that well inside myself that I need to communicate further - and maybe the dream is saying that everything I write will be rotten - but that I must write it completely and wholly in order to effectively heal myself. I believe the act of writing will be my regurgitation.

It’s strange how this is all coinciding at this moment in my life - with Jeff bowing out and Tod coming in - with a new job working 36 hours a week and not having enough time to email or write or be with everyone and everything. With this bourgeoning sexuality that is demanding its attention. With Friday night’s four hour long meditation sitting - where I meditated and felt at times luminous, at times mundane. It became excruciating during the last 45 minutes, especially the last 20 minutes, and profoundly excruciating during the last 10 minutes. I was so ready to get up, clean off my zazen, stretch, prostrate, do some yoga poses to relax my and unknot my body (especially some places in my back) and drink tea - before going out and walking in the January midnight sidewalk streets - where sorority girl and fraternity boy types paraded with 12 packs of beer and prepared to party. It was midnight and their nights were just beginning, but mine was just ending. I bummed a cigarette on the way home and smoked half of it, deciding I’d had my nicotine for the week and it was enough to make me sick, and then I continued on the way home, nibbling on semi-sweet chocolate pastilles, and crawling into bed around one in the morning, finally falling asleep and waking up refreshed on Saturday, ready to be productive and inspired all day long - to not waste a single moment - to be happy and radiant - to write 12 pages and feel that I had truly accomplished a smallish bit - to look in the mirror and be completely happy with my existence - to dance around the room scatting and slapping my thighs - to vacuum my carpet and extricate all the dust and particles embedded into its green lair - to write an antonin artaud quote on my wall - to see Matt Hy for a minute or two and feel a connection oozing out of his hands as he hugged me - to see him radiant and excited to see me - but really the joy was spending four or five hours talking and talking and talking and talking with Tod about everything of the most profound importance - to get to the heart of the matter of art and existence and being and to really communicate and to want to kiss him - to sleep next to him and awake with him next to me - to have that dream sharing the same bed with him. To kiss his cheek and his neck with the softest of kisses. To hold him in the morning and in the evening - to know that I can have a conversation with him for five hours - one that lasted non stop from the first big grins on our faces when he walked through the door at 8:30 pm to the time we finally decided it was time to shuddup and quit talking intellectually and just go to sleep around 4 in the morning. I read him portions of my “raving lunatic” journal last night. The thing that touched me the most was re-reading outloud what I had written in the ecstasy essay, moved to tears by my own words written about Jeff and about being in the moment. I couldn’t believe it - I started to falter in front of Tod - began to weep a little bit and I could feel it in me - the profound love I have for Jeff. But Jeff wants to be lovers or not at all, apparently. We can’t just be friends now - I am the source of all his anguish, obsession, sorrow, fear, anger, jealousy, sleeplessness, hungerlessness, etcetera. So we aren’t seeing each other any more, and we won’t be talking to each other much any more. We both acknowledge the fact that we still really love and care for each other - but I can’t be lovers with Jeff and it’s an unhealthy compulsion / addiction for him that he needs to deal with by not seeing me. So I understand and respect that and know that we have to have different lives for a while, or at least just in the present. But it’s okay with me because now I am working so much that I can’t afford to spend so much time with him or anyone else - and if I have been spending time with anyone, it’s been with Tod and we really just hit it off. We had extremely intimate dialogue last night - but we both get so excited and passionate in our conversations that our voices become exaggerated and we get carried away, speaking too loudly and too much about everything and anything, but mostly art and philosophy.

But we were doing dream analysis this morning after waking, and he went to the bathroom and came back in and we talked, and then I went to the bathroom, shat and brushed my teeth. I walked back into the room, noticing his boots were no longer in front of my door, and his coat was no longer in my room, nor was he. He just left without saying goodbye. I know that it must have made sense to him in some sort of way - that he was able to rationalize it - but I wasn’t ready to stop talking with him. Granted, he needed to go get coffee somewhere, black coffee, and I needed to sit down and write, write, write. Which is exactly what I have done.

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