I am. Billions have conspired to create me, to bring me here, right here at this moment. I am.
I feel like I have awakened from an eternal slumber. How many days, weeks, months, years have gone by, with me trudging along, alone, uncertain, confused, doubtful, nervous, anxious, afraid?
No more. I am.
I woke up today. I was reborn today. I have shaken off (and it took a tremendous, crackle-pop-kra-TOW) all my excess baggage, all my illusions and memories and such. Some may have lingered, but that’s irrelevant.
I exist for my own pleasure. I am flesh and blood, bones and nerves, brain and bile. I am words and songs, stories and structures, places and persons. I AM. I am a forceful reckoning. I am electric. I am alive.
I shake off all the bizzare contraptions I plugged to myself to pitifully attempt to reanimate my dullard corpse. I unplug myself from the newsfeeds and information. There is nothing I need. I AM.
I find myself naked, shivering from the cold of awareness. My muscles flex, clench, relax.
There is nothing that I have to say. I am writing because I have committed myself to writing, and I intend to honour my words. I will continue to write, because that is what I had decreed. I said it, and so it shall be done.
And then I shall move on to doing all the other things that I have said I shall do. Because I said I would do things, and so I shall do them.
It’s really that simple, isn’t it?
I could sit and think for hours about how I got here. But I’m not sure if it really matters. The point is that I’m here, and while I’m here I can do anything I like.
How do I get back here, when I need to? I never want to lose this sense of clarity and awareness that I possess right now. I want it again tomorrow.
It will be here. I will be here. I just need to shake off the old. Old habits, old patterns. They were all a sort of dress-rehearsal for my true self, my true expression.
Shake off the old. Kill the old. Be born again.
I am a writer by profession, by craft. I will write stories. I have many stories within me. I will pull them out of my brain, my skin, and I will write them.
I think I shall write them within these vomits. I think I am done with all the navel-gazing self-examination, I don’t think that will get me anywhere fast anytime soon. I am done with that, I feel.
Perhaps tomorrow I will feel differently. But I doubt it.
I must get stronger. I need to sculpt and shape my body and mind to inhabit the space that I envision for it.
It’s all movement. It’s all vibrations. It’s all cause and effect. It is my mind that moves my body. And my body that, well, embodies the mind.
All of this is really inelegant sputter. But if sputtering is what needs to happen, so be it. I have spent too much time afraid of being silly, afraid of making mistakes or missteps. I have paused and stopped too many things because I was frustrated or upset or angry or annoyed.
I will persist as light and clarity. I am clearheaded. I am a thousand burning suns. I am electricity.
It is late, so when this is done I will sleep. But when I rise tomorrow, I will remind myself that I am Alive.
I will no longer attempt to change the minds of others– that is, I will not seek the validation or approval of others to do what I personally, deeply believe to be true. I will do work that I am proud of. I have come far enough. I have read enough. I have listened enough. I have taste. I have sensibilities.
I ascend into the arena. I am here. I am me. I am in charge. I am in control. Nobody else is responsible for who I am. Nobody else is accountable for who I am. Through a series of improbable, accidental events, I have come into existence.
Now that I am here, I intend to persist. This will not be an accident. This will be deliberate. I do not need anybody’s approval. I will flourish, and my flourishing will be the expression of the answer to the endless questions that I have had prior to my reawakening.
I am envious of no one. I am jealous of no one. My struggle is personal. I have no need to win anybody over to my side. I have no need to argue for anybody. I have no need to argue with anybody. Casual words are meaningless. All that matters is the actual expression, the artful application of force.
How shall I apply myself? Where shall I apply myself? I already know all of this. Everything I need is already in front of me, already all around of me. The challenge is to shake off all the non-essential and prioritize the most important. And then utterly extinguish that as an expression of my dominion.
My only task now is to remain electric. To be able to reinvigorate myself. To be able to come into being, fully, clearly.
And to keep writing. With fervor. Intensity.
Some say you should write what you know. Others say you should write about an aspirational ideal. I think I’ll write whatever I goddamn please. What pleases me?
I will concern myself with that when I’m writing again. In the meantime, it suffices to say that I am AWAKE and ALIVE and ELECTRIC, and I intend to wake up for the remainder of my days if possible. In the fullest, liveliest possible sense. Already I find myself a little distressed and disturbed that I have spent so many of my days meandering in a sort of waking slumber.
But there’s no point crying over spilt milk. The question is, how am I going to stay awake? We’ll see. Goodnight.