wound 5

(a follow-up to http://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2011/03/wound-4.html)

It's time to walk away from a spirit quest that can only end in death.
For years i've been pulling back the veil, trying to perceive reality without the filter of socialization with which we are all indoctrinated...while simultaneously re-awakening the feeling part of my spirit, long numbed by the desensitization we go through in this inhuman world. And i do mean inhuman, not inhumane. Our species has strayed incomprehensibly far from its natural state.
This week i realized i was literally dying from emotional openness. I've carried a sickened feeling in my stomach. This feeling is the start of ulcers and other maladies which pave the way to death.
It's time for sheer force of will to restore me...to rebuild the myriad walls we all need to protect ourselves and function in this world. Nervous breakdowns are not a sign of weakness. It's the people who never have a breakdown who are more fascinating, clinically.
It's time to resume the quest for laughter. I have long known that a child laughs out loud fifty times a day, and adults only thrice - and that any grownup who restores what was lost, will not be in need of medical attention for a long, long, long time. Don't take my word for it, here's Mr. Cleese in India: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXEfjVnYkqM. I've also long known that post-infancy humans are so touch-deprived, we all become adults touched by insanity.
Restoring the laughter will be easier. We're so afraid of being hurt that we either shut down our emotions, or only allow someone to touch us after a protracted "negotiation". Our inner natures scream at how wrong this is...were it not so, billions of people wouldn't be off to the ol' watering hole every night. Bars serve a dual purpose. They dull our pain while putting us in the company of dulled, uninhibited people. Bars offer some of the human touch we so desperately need (even if it comes with an undesired price tag the morning after).
I want so much to lay down my psychological garbage, to love and be loved...yet finding people or a person who is undamaged enough do the same is a tall order.
It was nothing earth-shattering that pushed me over the edge, it was normal life. I had two ongoing contentious discussions, one with dad and one with a friend. They weren't even overtly malicious...but my sensitivity to psycho-spiritual aggression has become so attuned, that each talk required an immense effort of will.
And i was reading a book. "The War Against Women", by Marilyn French. My tipping point came on the subway. I opened the book, and began a chapter on genital mutilation. After less than fifteen seconds, all i could do was lean forward and quietly gasp, head between my knees.
Even writing about it now brings back the pain. I don't know how long it will be before i can finish the book.
I'm no good to the world dead (although that would make a fun debate topic, on several levels). So i'll take a few steps back into that place of denial and self-absorption where we must live. I'll not forget the lessons i've learned. The path i walked is one that claims us all, in one way or another.
Look for me in the meadow. I'll be the one giggling or humping.
Maybe both.
Somebody loves you all.
Very soon, it might be me.