Once, I spent an entire year of my life opening up to a man who in the end failed to tell me he had a rabbit. How in the world do some of us end up so fucking blindsided? For some it is a rabbit, for others, it is a wife. I should count my blessings. Most of my exes were good at loopholes, masters really. Maybe the rabbit got stuck in one? Perhaps the rabbit meant more to him than he was aware, and he was protecting the rabbit from my existence. Maybe the coat that blankets relationships I previously questioned if I was is made of fur. In that case, kudos to you sir for shielding this rabbit and saving its hide. If only it knew how close it came to harm and that it had intimately been dancing with danger for 365 days. 365 days that came to an end in a chaotic exhausted state of mind alongside some bushes, dim street lamps, and bikes. There was a backdrop of smokestacks at a nearby factory that indicated even to my virgin eyes I was only going to be partially returned safely. The rest was going to be up to me. Partially was par for the course, I just refused to see it. However, once I did, it stung like hell but it was so much quicker of a recovery than holding on required.  

I often hold myself very still at specific moments, close my eyes, tune everything out in my head, hone in on the sounds around me one by one, take a deep breath, smell deeply, and then calmly but quickly wrap it all up in a gold silk scarf and lock it all in some vault in my brain. If you are reading this, you are likely in some gold scarf in my head, wiggling around tempted with the idea of freeing yourself but loving the way the silk feels as you do so you stay…just a little bit longer. You can stay forever if you want, and apparently, I won’t even ask you to walk me all the way home. You too can leave me under a lamppost and later tell me to choose happiness and enjoy the sunshine instead of complaining about common courtesy and actions needing to match up to words and their definitions. Knowing about the rabbit would have made him too real anyway. Hearing how he knew how to tend to its ailments but never to the ones we caused in ourselves probably would have made things too real sooner than I was prepared for. Ok, I am back to being ok with things playing themselves out in due time. Yes, even with the birth of a 9 year(?) old rabbit in my world. I should have just had birthday cake for that fucker and walked myself all the way home. 

Alright, so where am I going here? I will tell you…eventually. Most of us lack balance, yet most of us also are aware of how important it is to have and to constantly work towards it. We each have things we strive for, aspects of ourselves, our desires, and ways of life. Being too zen is being too fucking zen. Being too much of an asshole is (yup) being too much of an asshole. Although, I am pretty certain I would take an entire asshole over an entire zen person. I have known-ish this about myself for a long time. I remember this dude said something at a holiday gathering of sorts years ago. I was a bit miffed and (I am guessing, but likely not too far from the truth) said something along the lines of “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” This man put prayer hands up in front of his chest, did the tiniest little bow to me, and said “Namaste.” Ever since this experience I have used the word in the same way. It is like this egotistical, self-serving, better-than-thou “fuck you”. Yall know I prefer a solid “fuck you” or any variation. But “namaste”? And namaste with prayer hands and a bow. Get the fuck out of here. And he did. 

It is just like anything in life, you cannot cover something up and call it something else, it is a whole and it consists of so many moving truths. I mean, you can, but come on, you are not fooling most. Although maybe that one man did, because 365 days later, he pulled a 9-year-old (?) rabbit out of a fucking hat, and instead of saying “namaste”, he said, “ta-da!” Speaking of magic makes me think of cards and this seems like the perfect opportunity to say “a spade is a spade”. Why on earth I take my tiny little wonky eyes and try and see a fucking diamond is beyond me. Well, that is not true. It is because I too have zen and prioritize it way too much at times for the better good. I see the good in people, the good in experiences, the good in life. And then when I finally see the spade, the bad, the rabbit, the remaining sidewalk from where he left me to my place, the lack of true kindness, friendship, honesty, and a willingness to communicate, I am out. I am “out-out” which is pretty much like saying “namaste” while frantically shaking you hoping you can at least wake the fuck up from your delusional meditative state if only just to address reality for a moment because let us be honest…your magic hat is empty and it is time to start facing something other than your yoga mat, perhaps a mirror? 

I had an interesting conversation the other day, talking about the kind of person we each would want if in a life or death situation and other various ones. And maybe I am always operating in this state of mind. I love some meditative people, but I also love some get your hands dirty-don’t be so fucking serious-say it like it is-giggle to the sound bowl and chimes and have some drinks instead of hot tea kind of people. I like a mix of it all, so the latter part of that list is not longer to show my preference. It is longer to paint a better image of the tug-o-war that takes place in my head when meeting people. And only now am I realizing how terrible of a painter I am. Although when I was in high school several of my paintings were put in the hallways in glass cases and later stolen. I took it as a compliment, but now I realize it was probably just some stalker. The same one who broke into my house took my underwear and wrapped my car with Christmas lights. Whatever. I hope they enjoyed it all. I certainly don’t miss any of it and I learn to let go quickly. Let go, obviously not forget.

I think for some people it seems quick and hasty when I let go, but it is not. It is a constant process in my head. There are people I meet that I just know instantly they are a part of me. Then others nuzzle up and in and I am like okkkkkkkkk, you don’t even have to tell me if you have pets (insert eye roll, NO I am not done yet). But when something ends for me, believe me, it began many moons before it actually did and way too many moons after I knew it should have. It begins before my silver tongue hits the road and I say what I feared saying before because I was fearful of losing you. The pain for me took place throughout it all. I cried, healed myself, and tried again. I cried harder each time after and more privately. I started talking less to you. Stopped opening up. Stopped being me. I started to see grey, the colors had all left, and I prayed for them to return. But then eventually the zen in me kicks in and I accept what was, is, and what is to come all without knowing. Except for another fucking rabbit. That was some serious fucking bullshit. Namaste.