Editor’s Note: Dear Reader, I know there is no need for me to ask your permission or apologize for what I do on my own blog, but I am who I am, so sue me. I have NO IDEA what I am doing on my blog this month, ever since my birthday. Mid-life crisis maybe? I’m just writing, with little editing or thought. I’m in a bit of a state at the moment. So, instead of falling apart in real life, I am trying to manage my life while going a little bonkers on my blog. If you are a troll, fuck you, but if you are a friend who feels the urge to make fun of the pretentious nature of my posts, feel free to mock away in a friendly way. I always make fun of you on your blogs. Fair is fair. I am enjoying playing with “earnest” writing, something that is not my usual cup of tea. Unlike some of you wimps, I am not afraid of failing on my blog. I am quite proud of that, actually. And besides, there is something personal that I am trying to express here. I’m just not sure what it is as of yet. I really appreciate you reading this, knowing that it isn’t particularly entertaining, or even good, and might be as painful for you to read as my eighth grade poetry. But it is therapeutic.
I re-write over and over again, trying to strip away the excess fat, in the misguided attempt to reach some point of pure honesty, to catch a glimpse of my soul, or the face of God, thinking it the ultimate goal of writing, not the mere use of words, pedestrian tools found in any magician’s bag, used for manipulation. So I was completely shocked that, while writing in a black and white notebook, I reached that point of complete emptiness that few every see. It was a 7:45PM EST. It was as if I walked through a golden light that went from paper to pen to soul, and transported me into a zen retreat on a silent moutaintop. But rather than feeling ecstasy or a sense of wholeness, I felt alone, even with the bright colors of the rainbow sky surrounding me. This is not who I am, where I belong, born to a Jewish family from New York who love the hearty stories told that fill the thick air, like letters emanating from the Torah. I turned back. I love the earth, the senses, and the illogic of everything real. I respect the solitude of nirvana. I am impressed that I came this close to knowing it. I feel older now, more experienced with life. But I would be crushed under the weight of NOTHING. I returned to immediately make a joke about the food in nirvana’s cafeteria, just to comfort me like a goose-down blanket. Back to writing.