I'd come back

In a recent epiphany, I felt to my core the strangest sense of complete willingness to go through life on Earth again if it meant a shot at something that seems not likely in this lifetime. It felt to me like a particular definition of love. Would you be willing to come back for it? Yes. The yes was unequivocal and unconditional. It was a strange and luminescent moment. 

But: YES, definitely and absolutely, yes of course. 

And it was such a strange commitment, considering how tenuously attached to this life I am, and how much of a relief it is to imagine that, sometime, probably not all that long from now really, the bullshit will cease. I mean, even if my natural span is out to 90 or whatever, that's not all that far off, in the big scale of things. But given this ill fitting life, and the sense of things being amiss, how weird to be visited by any kind of unconditional yes, let alone one toward the imaginary proposition of having to do this whole shit show over again just for that shot. 

It reminds of Jesus saying: Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.  But isn't even bigger to stay the fuck alive for one's friends? and then to be willing to even do the whole fucking circus over again? That feels bigger to me. Maybe it was what he meant, too, somehow. 

Another thing that hit me hard recently was moving from wishing something would manifest to realizing that I had to find a way to just keep the memories and treasure those and that was that. It hit me very hard that I had been fighting this fact that things just become a memory, that there is no "more" but only never anymore, except for what we remember. The OK Zharp/Manthe Ribane song, Treasure Erasure, captures this evocative holding to what we have had, but have no more. 

Don't forget. Don't forget to remember. 
The time we shared will always last forever.
Don't forget, don't forget to remember, 
The time we shared will always be my treasure. 




And it helped frame for me a lot of what I have been fighting, not that the insight was pleasant or made anything easier, but simply, time was, rather than anything possible or even present. All time was. Accepting time was is the grieving process, basically. Coming to terms with never again. Never ever. And the plain fact is that what is, just as soon becomes never again. This is the weird world in which we live all the time of course, but when what is was cherished it's "never againness" is extra rough. I think there's a moment in every grieving process where it really gets into one's cells. It's gut level truth. It's inescapable. 

Never again. 

Which makes the weird epiphany of hell yes, I'd come back and do all this stupid shit again in the bother of being alive, just for that shot, extra surreal and odd. It felt like it had space because of the acceptance of never again. 

I lay no claim to understanding any of this. I do know, however, a new meaning for the word "unforgettable."