Post Pacific Mortem

I still feel the ocean in me. When I close my eyes I see the waves coming towards me, I feel them rise and fall in my chest. The itch of anticipation never satisfied in imagination. Left wanting again.

I feel good, hopeful. I think that spring will resolve me. But fancy this. Maybe there’s nothing to be fixed, in fact nothing wrong with me. What if I went even further to say there is something right with me?

Although a more comforting conclusion, it’s embedded with the same sick streak of self-obsession. The one I try to avoid yet consistently fail to. I pray for realization yet move no finger towards it. The one truth I know finds its way back to me, a reminder, I can’t have anything good unless I create it myself. My inertia a punishment. My fear a prison.

Sometimes life feels young and fresh and myself at the apex of all decisions, my throat burns and I know it will all be okay. Sometimes I don’t want to take part in it at all. But I find myself there still. Confronted by choice, paralyzed by inaction, my desire to change challenged by my inclination towards habit.

Being with life. Not disengaged. Not cool to it. I bite my tongue and it takes me back to a second before. The first feeling immediately one of regret. Perhaps sometimes I would like to change things in the past. I don’t want to admit that, so I’ve resigned to considering myself a fatalist. I had to do it, all of it, don’t question it, let’s leave it back there, perfectly inevitable in memory and truth. There are no lessons to learn.

I got my palm read by a psychic in La Jolla but upon entering I noticed a single Wheat Thin on the floor, in front of her TV on the rug, and I couldn’t take any of it seriously. I sat down across from her feeling emboldened by skepticism. She told me I would find success and ultimately a career in business and my suspicions were validated. I would never go into business.

A recent fear – there is no rule that things have to turn out okay, despite what I thought, and what I tell myself. Is my seemingly inherent belief that things must turn out alright a result of Christian influence? I don’t even think of heaven when I think everything has to turn out alright, it’s satisfaction in the material world, but maybe subconsciously that’s what I mean when I believe everything must “work out”. Or is it a deeper knowledge? Will it all work out? I guess it does or it doesn’t, and there’s not much help in worrying over it.

Anyways, I’m planning on being more dedicated to my life.