THE CONSTELLATIONS OF THOUGHT 3: THE MOON CRIED ABOVE THE SEVERED SONG

I wrote this between the 8th and 11th of May. I spent those days seeking an answer to a question that drove my writing. Documenting who I am, or who I am becoming all at once, is my path to seeing. The reflection in a mirror won’t help, nor will the laughter, nor will time. This simultaneity defines me. All in a day, all in a night. That is where I begin to see my skin as skin, not as a shell. I want to manage my emotions and embrace a disciplined, spiritual essence. It’s like the deep seriousness Rembrandt showed in his portraits of John the Baptist.

The present moment hit me hard, cutting off all thoughts about how to create a complete image with words. My head is closer to the pavement than the sky. I’m starting to understand why I carry the fear that the sky will fall. Something has pushed in with great force, leaving no space for anything else. If the atmosphere fell into this narrow gap, the pressure would crush everything. The occurrence would end all life. For my own safety, I don’t want the sky to come any closer. I’m not ready to leave the present to find out what has been beyond me. I must let the ink bleed black on a battlefield to understand what I don’t know. Until I know, I may never be ready to interact with the rest of the heavenly bodies. I want to be here, sitting by the lake down the street from my apartment, gazing at the fragments of the daytime sky. I see nothing but the reflection: a body of water, a capsule of heaven. It is a capsule for a vessel to experience the present, shying away from the instant. I am grappling with my internal being. To stare into the lake is to see where I will return, to know myself, and to know I have been born. I want to know how I naturally am. Somewhere between heaven and water. I am using the advice of Helen Cixous to “graze the paper with the soul’s foot.” I use the advice as a sword, because I am only an outsider to myself, to the water, to heaven, and nature itself.

Today is a new day, with a new meaning. Where does it all lead? I will still think of following the ink to its end into the unknown. At the end of all things lies all the truth we sought in the beginning. The end is like the whole pie. The beginning is the layers, spread throughout any shape of creation. I have taken shape. Or maybe I have taken form. We can only find true shape by not seeking. I constantly seek to give shape to whatever is there, reading the form I provided. I understand myself by walking straight into what the heart desires. Many men believe they have taken a shape because they have the means to prove it through things. They live underwater, sinking below our dimension’s base layer. They miss out on forming a true metaphysical spirit, choosing fool’s gold instead. In the end, we all see things fade behind the walls of the sun and moon. This black ink I follow will spark a new start. It will last beyond my end date. That’s enriching. That’s what the new day has already taught me.

I wrote these sentences at the beginning and at the end, before and after the other sentences. I went back into my notebook after my drives to work. I engage with who I was at the birth of every new sun, and remember who I was at the death of an old moon. Who am I now? I am still using the same pen to find the answer. I spend my mornings before my “real job” on this labor. Before work, my work is to remain in search. In search of what? I never know until that tingle in my spine begins to ring. When I call upon my antiquity, it is like discovering a hidden treasure inside me. I read the works of authors I discovered on my travels through places that gave me more than I could ever give back. A dead poet doesn’t know they are giving back either. But the words, the cafes, the nightwalks in the rain bring joy that one can only internalize. Like these authors and all nature, I hope to see a rose petal bloom between the cracks of concrete one day. It’s ten in the morning on Friday.

I am currently recording the old version of myself—the spiritually malnourished one. Earlier, before leaving the apartment, I had already changed my outfit six times. Aside from the clothes I’m wearing, only a few things still weigh on me. These include publishing deadlines and a meeting with Lauren’s parents. We have now been together for almost two years. For the first time, I will shake their hands, and for the first time, they will see me for who I am. But who am I? The best thing I can do is demonstrate my identity by providing the stability I want for the person I love. It’s shallow to link love with a safety net. Still, I feel pressured to show my worth through financial security. But I have to avoid telling her parents that writing is the only thing I want to do with my life. Writing offers no such nets. I cannot tell them I plan to take their daughter around the world while I scatter ashes in every corner of the globe. I’ll tell them I sell suits. Why explain a dream in words when language is too flat to hold my spirit? I let my mind explore through action. Words from the mouth are often equal to error. I have no time or place for error to occur, with words filling up the ground we are sharing. This way, I gain my own respect and start to uncover the truth I seek. This quiet discovery is the only validation I need.

Continuing where I left off, to begin again. Everything I have traced out could be due to the rain last night. The sickness that comes over me after it rains in Texas has no cure. The scent of fresh asphalt sticks to everyone’s tires. It makes Austin smell like week-old cream of wheat. I want to move away to find something more unfamiliar. Once I complete my novel, I will scrape off my arms and dispose of the rest of my body and move to New Orleans. I will leave no trace of my name behind, except for those who have grown dear to me. Only when I am ripe can I leave the world around me. It works the same way for my writing schedule. If I leave the ritual too early, I grow frustrated with all outside life. Kafka said, “All human errors are impatience.” I will know things are right only when I am ripe. For now, I will leave you with this form, as I continue to source and seek.