Bucket List: Tool

tool is on tour again. yet again i find out late. yet again i’m not checking the box in my bucket list to assist to a tool gig. am i still waiting for the so-mystified new release? am i?

[vicarious]
here’s the thing, tool represents great, good, bad and weird feelings of the past. in my mind, i don’t associate them with events, but with the intensity of love. the intensity of truth. the intensity of self-betrayal. it was a musical road to awakening. an asynchronous road to meditation. a 5/4 metronome tic-tic-toing my mind as i vicarously decoded… life?

[sober]
anyways, it’s morning. shadows fill the day under a rainy sky. water’s everywhere. i try to keep my paws, and my thoughts, dry. as i walk the road less travelled (what a gip!) i remember to stay sober. yeah. sobriety is a boring road, but certaintly is leading me places i would’ve only dreamt about. if anything, i’m relieved to have left so much behind. so much past. so many ideas. so many people. so much of something and nothing. all behind. yeah. it is the futility of thought the one that makes us drunk. freedom is the path of leaving drunk-ness behind.

[the patient]
it’s morning. shadows describe reality through the curtains and windows. i block the light as i sit on an rented bed and my loose fingers type. that’s another thing with tool: unrestricted writing. the feeling of loosing up and write. just fucking write. open the blue box and let shit fly around in written words. i’ve been living a boring life and that’s just oh-key. no drama. no noise. no vigilant thoughts resembling the scary face of pain or the dirty paws of the past. only presence. only marching minutes eating life away, while i still may… wait up, do nothing but remind myself to be patient.

[parabol]
it’s morning. the gray sky and muted rain reminds me of scenes of former lovers. lovers you do more than fuck. lovers you learn to love. lovers you painfully leave. you see? the problem is never loving nor leaving. the real problem is attachment. the idea of perpetuity. the blatant-rebellious-stupid idea that we are immortal in this bodily expression. oh shoot! can we be more disgraceful in our ignorance? can we be so stupidly blind to actually believe this body holding us is, if anything, real? laughing living stock. applause. the illusion pours in cold laughs, and rain. we’re nothing but living human stock wandering the earth. displaying illusions of magnificence, while this body rots. this body stinks. this body becomes a fetish we learn to yearn. carrousel reality. twirl-up, twirl-down, twirl, twirl, twirl, until you throw up. or down? twirl once more and the pieces that once fit, fall.

“fear is the mind killer”

 

I saw the gap again today.

For many years, Maynard sung this line in my head. It played over and over whenever I found myself in situations I could not cope with, reminding me that disassociation was always the best way to deal with emotional pain, creating many, many gaps between me and myself, between myself and the world.

A metaphor or not, the gap is real. It mutates. It widens. It’s dangerous. The gap is dark. The gap is vicious. The gap remains silent and looks at you even when you don’t look at it. The gap is vast, like a black hole in the universe.

I would sit in front of the gap not daring to move, not daring to enter either. “I know where thou ist, gap! Dare I not to enter.” I’d shout at the gap and walk away to find any distraction, like work, friends, alcohol, money / g a p / relationships, fancy dinners / g a p / meditation, breathe in, breathe out, yoga / g a p / food, friends, films / g a p / sleep, family, travel / g a p / work again, blog posts, friends, / g a p / pizza, beer, beach / g a p / Scotch nights, more travel, new languages / g a p /  g   a    p    /      g       a        p. The gap is eternal, all-pervading. It’s always there, silent, all-observant.

“Hello, gap,” I smiled nervously every time I saw it.

By my 26th birthday, the gap wanted me. I was afraid to go through the gap. The truth is that I was deadly afraid of the gap. The gap seemed real and I all I could do was stand in front of it,  frozen, unwilling to cross, unwilling to disappear.

“Take care not to make me enter,” I repeated to myself. I didn’t want to let the other “me(s)” disappear. I didn’t know what the gap was nor what I would find on the other side. To me, it was a giant void on unknowness. I wanted fresh things but known situations. I wanted freedom but safety. I wanted change but to continue wherever I was. I wanted to belong and go away at the same time. I wanted to keep the work, the friends, the love I’d achieved with so much dedication and effort. I wanted to fight for the dreamed world, even if it meant to live vicariously. But the gap was vicious, pushing me, shoving me, bloodsucking my sanity and resistance. That’s when I panicked. I was afraid that my suicidal tendencies would wake up from their sleep and push me hard into real physical harm. I was afraid of a mental break down. Moreover, I was afraid of the gap because I couldn’t find it outside. The gap was within. The gap was me.

A rampage of smoking and drinking made the perfect escape. Isolation was the cherry on top of the cake. What a glorious tool denial and disassociation is. When you detach from yourself and your surroundings, the gap not only becomes unemotionally painful, it fades away under a foggy sky of existentialism. But make no mistake, all the pain you try to avoid, it will come. Pain always comes disguised as change.

Four years have passed, and as change is the only constant, everything has changed. I don’t have the same job I worked so hard to earn. I don’t have the same friends but the ones I keep are the ones I need. I’ve accomplished most of the things I’ve said I would do by my thirties. I’m free to love whoever, wherever I want. Day after day, I struggle with my disassociation tendencies because I don’t want to live vicariously anymore.

I’ve accepted the gap and acknowledged it as it is: a gap. I’ve been standing in front of the gap for a year now, looking to the other side, thinking if I really have to enter. Will I disappear? I ask myself. Most likely not. What’s in me that I’m so reluctant to lose?, I ask.

As an effort to keep me grounded and socialise with other humans, I went hiking yesterday. The place was new and shining. Nature grew wild and splendorous. Humanity was nothing compared to the rocky mountains and trees. There I was, lost in thought when I saw the gap again. For once, I felt no fear. I didn’t want to run away.

For the first time I was able to see the gap  outside. The gap was physical. The gap was rocks. The gap was in fact, a gap.

From the distance, all you could see was the remains of a giant rock, now broken by earthquakes, rain and erosion.

The once solid rock was now a  passageway where particles of dust played in the air between rays of light, creating a martian-like atmosphere. The caverns created interconnected tunnels where you could walk and climb. Walking inside the rock all you could think of was on the other side. Where does it lead? What will I find? Mellow moss grew in the shadows. In the walls, the remains of spider webs. On the other side, a mild waterfall. Small ponds of water and fish.

There was no mystery, only life behind the gap.

The world seems cruel when it comes to change. Sometimes, it can be brutal but it surely delivers the best. Even diamonds were once only carbon.

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