“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” ~ Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums
“What I am really saying is that you don’t need to do anything, because if you see yourself in the correct way, you are all as much extraordinary phenomenon of nature as trees, clouds, the patterns in running water, the flickering of fire, the arrangement of the stars, and the form of a galaxy. You are all just like that, and there is nothing wrong with you at all.” ~ Alan Watts
Frustration, he boils in my veins. He rages beneath my skin. He shakes loose the truth of the fantasy, the tranquil paradise of the life that I like to call home. I want to run, but I am tired. I want to fight but I am too upset. frustration. he ruins me.
Throwing wrenches in my gears. Burning holes in my shirts. Extinguishing cigarettes on my skin. I lose my thoughts. Even now, he taunts me.
Can I say what I’m trying to say? Can I express it properly? Ughhhh. frustration. he ruins me. He takes from me the very tools I have come to rely on. Where is my wit now? Where is my clarity? He takes me to the depth of my insecurity. He’s taken my curiosity.
“Experience life in all possible ways -- good-bad, bitter-sweet, dark-light, summer-winter. Experience all the dualities. Don't be afraid of experience, because the more experience you have, the more mature you become.” ~ Osho
Frustration. He ruins me. He lurks in the shadows giving no hint of when he will come to visit me. Like a cat in lethal pursuit of the unsuspecting wild bird, he pounces me. I’ve lost all train of thought. Where was I? Ughhhh. This frustration. He reminds me what it feels like to be stripped of everything I’ve grown attached to. None of it matters now. Stripped. Bare bones. Shieldless.
You thought you were clever? You thought of yourself as composed? What are you now? Frustration taunts me.
My most unwelcome guest. My least understood visitor. He drives me mad within my own mind, he gives me visions of tearing at the fabric of my skin. Peeling my layers, unearthing what’s left, ripping it all out. Frustration. Where’s he hiding? I feel him. I can’t find him. The thorn in my side. The infected splinter. The puss won’t push him out. Ughhhh. frustration. He’s ruining me.
He bubbles in my bones. LEAVE ME ALONE!! This frustration. He pays no mind. He does not care. Loki, the trickster. The shapeshifters of Norse mythology have nothing on him. The tempter. Conniving. Insidious. Overwhelming. I wish I could scream.
“It is important to expect nothing, to take every experience, including the negative ones, as merely steps on the path, and to proceed.” ~ Ram Dass
I am tired! Do you hear me?!? This frustration. he does not care. He enjoys this. taunting.
Frustration. He makes me remember. He drags me by my hair. Kicking and screaming. I do not want to go. He takes me to the shed. The one over yonder, just past the oak trees, before the heavily wooded forest. The one I convinced myself to forget was there. He takes me to the shed. Fighting. Scratching. Screaming. Oh this frustration.
Ughhhh. I’m so mad. I hate him. I hate all of him. I don’t have the strength to throw him off. I never do. He knows my weak spots, he’s studied the intricate delicacies of my subtle tides. He pushes buttons and unravels the strings of the weaving I’ve carefully pulled over my triggers. Effortless. He was made for this. Made for me. Disgusting. He knows me, inside and out. Kicking. Begging. He drags me by my hair.
He ties me to a chair. Twine rough. like broken gravel. I don’t want to look. I beg him, please don’t make me look. He pulls out the old projector, covered in insects and cobwebs. Dust and old vacant memories. He carries on. Ughhhh. This frustration. He knows how much I hate being ignored.
"You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens." ~ Rumi
He’s brought me here for the breaking. It’s here, he will be driving me mad. I want to hurt him. I want to bite him and scratch him and run back to safety. Can’t I just move on? Can’t we just forget?
He puts an old dirty cloth in my mouth. It tastes like old blood and rusting metal. I hate him. I’m bound, eyes wide open. Gazing through the images, projected on the wall. I gaze upon them as they dance. Transported. A different place. A different time. Sadly too familiar. Don’t make me watch this. I beg him. Frustration doesn’t care. He enjoys this.
He displays the raw and uncut footage of my life upon the walls within this shed. I am drowning. Surrounded by distant memories that claw beneath my skin. Memories never too soon forgotten. Tortured. I am bleeding.
Frustration never leaves me sweetly. I do not speak to him as he unbinds me. He offers me no comfort when he goes. I do not thank him.
"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will." ~ Mahatma Gandhi
If I’m lucky when he leaves. If he’s been successful in the breaking. If I have the courage to gaze upon the images with every attempt to compassionately understand. I cry. Spilled blood turned to water. Alchemy.
The tears. Cascade from my eyes. I’m silent. Humbled. This breaking.
You see. Frustration. He drags me by my hair to the shed where he shackles me. He puts bloody cloth in my mouth and he taunts me. He binds me to the confines of my own mind where he brings to light all of that, which haunts me.
Frustration. The disrupter. He unearths all that I have buried deep. He shines light on all that I would convince myself that I have forgotten. He reminds me of the work that lay dormant. The cockroaches of my spirit that refuse to die, no matter how many times I gas them from the chambers of my barely beating heart. Parasitic. He shows me where my hatred and my anger have laid eggs, buried between my blood and bone. Burrowed within the muscle.
"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." ~ Nelson Mandela
Ughhhh. Fuck. This frustration. He torments me. I could live the rest of my life and seeing him would always be too soon. For frustration always takes me to the shed. Projecting images of abandonment, neglect, needs unmet, the terror, the insanity. The lostness.
Ahhhhh. There it is. Frustration breaks me until he softens me. Unmet needs. Tireless desperation. Overwhelming fear. Crippling anxiety. Pretending to be okay. Hopelessly hoping for saving. Suspended in limbo. Too angry with the world of the living and too weak to join the world of the dead. This is what he has brought me to remember. what I’ve spent my life trying to forget.
The weight. The lies. the secrets. An impossible burden. The short drive from school back home. “A little bit longer, please. Not yet, don’t take me there, please?” The pep talk in my mind. “You can do this, you’ll be fine. One more day.” Back and forth. Pleading with fantasy for strength. This pleading. Hopelessly. Wishing the drive would last forever.
Survival has a way of wiping you clean with the promises of dirty mop water. Survival stops you from feeling. He closes down the processing of emotion when he knows the emotion would be too much. A hero. A lover. A friend. Survival, he saves.
"There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires." ~ Nelson Mandela
Frustration, when he is successful. He softens me, he opens me. I’m tired. Lain out on the floor. Bloody. Weak. Broken.
Compassion softly greets me. Opening her loving arms. She whispers, gently. patience flowering from the tip of her tongue, sweetly. She smiles and whispers. “I’ve been waiting, so glad you could make it.”
While pain takes from me, frustration gives to me. He brings awareness when I soften to him. I spend far too many days, more than I am aware of and likely more than my subconscious would like to admit. Fighting him. When I’m tired from the fighting. Too tired to run from him. He drags me to the shed and binds me. He make me watch. my heart unraveling. My memories lashing. He tortures me. But. More than pain, he always leaves me gifts. And. What I have learned. Is that. Sometimes. The receiving is harder than the giving. And. Frustration. Is always giving.
"As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn't leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I'd still be in prison." ~ Nelson Mandela
Mhm. Again. Freedom fills my finger tips. Turning me back. To gold. Freedom. Once again. Pulsing. Dripping down my spine. I’m here. Again. The pulling of the tides. Alchemical. I’m here. Again. Grateful.
Where does your frustration take you? What does he project upon your walls?