I don’t know how to classify these thoughts, these knowings that keep tumbling through me. And not just me, this illusion of an island of me, but through those closest to me, and probably through those furthest away, too.
We could chalk this up to Relationship Anarchy, maybe? It’s a good concept, I think, because it eludes definition, and anything too narrowly defined is just not big enough. RA is all about dismantling hierarchies: not privileging one person over another, not privileging romantic relationships over aromantic ones, deliberately blasting through illusions of competition and scarcity. I was communicating with one of my loves about this, and it dawned on me: there is another hierarchy we can tackle in how we relate interpersonally, and that’s the false divide between Self and Other.
I don’t know how many times I’ve said it on this blog, in all sorts of contexts and circumstances: We are not separate. Separation is an illusion. This is not just talk. This is not ethereal. This is the truth. It’s not just between “partners” or “friends” or whatever labels we want to apply; the very labels reinforce the notion of separateness. We are endlessly creating meaning through language, and I think we are well-served to recognize that language is colonized. I don’t know how to write about this without language and words keep coming up short. I keep referring to myself as “I” or “myself” and talking about “you” and “us” and it’s not helping. I just need to point it out.
It’s a material issue, and a spiritual one, and I suppose we could also chalk this up to some kind of continual religious epiphany, except you can see how colonized my language is even in referring to “epiphanies.” I have to laugh. How did I end up with this particular magnetic poetry box? You know, where you get a bunch of words in a box with magnetized backings, and you can move them around on your refrigerator in different configurations? It will never be infinite. I can keep learning new language and new metaphors, but how steeped I am in this culture. I can’t escape it, and I’m starting to comprehend that I don’t have to.
Maybe all language, all culture, all religion, all pilgrimages, all creative and intellectual pursuits lead to the same place? I say that as if I’m afraid to name it. What name could contain Oneness? Do I need to become a theologian? (Something inside me tells me No.)
It doesn’t matter how I got here, because this is where we all are. I keep saying things that I’m slightly concerned make no sense. This “here” is infinite love. It doesn’t eliminate horrors and suffering. It doesn’t erase the vagaries of existence. I can’t really stomach making statements that seem to gloss over reality.
I keep pushing ahead and trying to write about this so I can integrate it more, observe the edges of my understanding. It’s a challenge when edges keep dissolving. It’s part of the lesson. Stasis is an illusion. What isn’t illusion?! We’re clouded with illusions but they are no more substantial than dust.
I’m writing this as me, you, us. This sentience gives us the chance to bear witness and melt in the face of beauty and compassion. We strive; we don’t strive; it doesn’t matter. It all matters. This is energy; this is matter.