Love and Death and the Constance of Life

I want more.  I want to feel right.  I want it to be better.  I want you to help. 
I keep thinking that another drunken bender is all that I need.  Once more around the bar, then home James.  Like I have a driver.  One more time, I will alter my perception, and it will make it right.

All will align.

I had a dream the other morning-- I think it was after I had fallen back asleep after my working wife had made her way dutifully to work that day...  it was so right.  So complete in detail; so confoundingly correct and righteous.  In it, it was all explained.  Everything.  There were no questions to be had.  It all just made sense.  And happily, that felt good.

There was no need for review or rehashing.  It Just Made Sense.  The powerful creator had identified the bugs in the system and was in the process of remedying the problems.  There was nothing to fear, nothing to worry about.  Evil was at bay, a non-factor.  It still existed, but only to move things around a bit.  The battle, the war, was won.  No longer would there be any doubt.

The problem, of course, with such perfection... it doesn't last.  I woke up.  And that was enough to send a mercy cry out to the authorities, making the comeback of evil justifiable and worthy.  I took what I could from the dream and applied it to the actions of my morning...  and some magic occurred.  I found a way through a virtual wall of resistance and made a progressive stride towards the betterment of existence.  But the evil persists.  And work continues to be pervasive.

I need to make some changes.  I can't continue to worry my wife as I do.  I can't continue to tax my body and my mind as I do, with all of these coersive chemicals and nasty processed foodstuffs.  I must eat my vegetables.  I must find a way to exercise my sedentary body.  I must resist the lures of alcohol.  I must repent my sins and love myself.  I must find a way to love myself as I am.

I feel love for myself.  But it is a fleeting, oscillating sort of love.  It is not constant and true.  It does not leap from the fire like the phoenix, yelling, "A-ha!  Still do I love thee!"  It eases itself onto the stage and yelps of an unsure, unconfident being.  "I think I love you," is the sentiment, unsure and unsteady.  But hopeful and true.

There is spirit there, untold amounts.  There is bountiful potential.  And surmounting love.  It does exist.  And it is strong when it really needs to be.

But as the yin, and also the yang, there is curvature.  There is a cresting wave and the reaching towards shore, only to drag back to the sea.  Movement.  We are dynamic, as we are alive.  For when we stop moving, we die.  And yet still, there is movement.  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  And from that dust and ash sprouts a seed that brings forth more life. Magically.  Infinitely.

As one is squelched, another is born.  And somehow it is balanced.  Energy is conserved.  It all translates.  There is a plan.  The perpetual motion machine.  Always bringing life forward out of death.  Always planting death in life's garden, to grow again.

Or something like that.