An Essay A Day For A Year
By Roe
Day 42, February 11, 2012
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As I sit here beginning my essay, I am requesting that my soul, heart, brain, and body give me my whole person. It is hard to do anything, let alone write an essay with only a partial soul, brain, heart, and body. Of course I have all my parts, and somehow I manage to navigate this challenge we call life, but I’ve been looking for my soul for a long time. My heart hurts a lot after all I’ve been through, and so I keep the memories of it all hidden away from myself. I use all my brain, contrary to the myth circulating out there, but I use it poorly since I can’t remember what I used to do to be lucid again. My body is slowly deteriorating, and despite sort of taking care of it, I still use up a lot of energy just complaining about the suffering of so many parts of my body. I have a feeling that I am going to write another dysfunctional essay with all the lost and hidden and suffering parts of me struggling to be whole.
There is no doubt that I have a soul. When Mommy and Daddy reached out for Me I said OK, and my life spark that I borrowed from the universe, or some funny gods, soul-ed me out into just one of His sperms, and of course Her miraculous egg. I am the spark, and those two lovers gave me the shopping list to become me. Towards the end of my life inside Her, before my journey to the center of this madness out here, I had a keen idea of Me and my soul. I remember that when I smiled that the whole universe smiled with me. I just knew that everything was going to be alright. I also remember the facetious smile on the look of the universe, and I remember wondering what was so painful and funny about how perfect I felt. The facetious smile said “life”, and here I am in the middle of it. I have a facetious, painful, funny look on my face now too.
Next in line is my heart, for once you have soul baby, next comes pure heart. I remember clearly all the Motown songs about how painful and sexy a pure heart can be. My heart used to be whole, and when I used to smile at the universe I could hear my whole BOOM-boom, THUMP-thump, and PITTER-patter. I remember loving so strong that my smile could orgasm the stars, and the stars only twinkled because I was taking a breather to wind up for my next adoring and grateful smile. My heart used to have a clear memory of all the love in the universe, and the brightness of love over there on the left, and then the darkness of love over there on the right. My heart used to pendulum left to right just loving everything and everyone, and I mapped all the love in the universe on my radar screen. I remember coming to shine on the dark love on the right and make it smile again, and I remember how hard it was to feel so powerful, yet powerless to make the universe accept my love. I remember the sound of my heart dying little by little as I ran away headlong to protect myself. It was the sound of silence. Now I struggle to remember to hear my brightness and power again, but the memories of being hurt and disappointed precede the memory of me. Why does my universe want to hurt me? Why is the dark love over there on the right so dark, and why is mean love so mean? I remember when “duh” hit me, and I remember disappearing in silence with all the other disappeared ones in silence. The joy of my “hello!, I’m here!” in my pure heart turned to, “goodbye”, and I clearly remember not hearing that, and it scared me into hiding.
Now I’m here to talk about my brain. That is really funny, a brain that talks about its brain. It’s even funnier that my brain thinks it’s Me, and that it owns and employs my body. My brain thinks it’s funny too, and that is arrogant too. Brains are good at being arrogant. I can see the facetious, painful, and funny smirk on my soul and heart right now as they watch my fancy brain think and speak of itself as if it’s Me. I suggest one day removing the spark of Me from my brain, hopefully when I’m happily done living. It will be funny to see Me as a lump of arrogant gooey brain mass with no life spark. How Me are you now brain? I suggest one day removing my body from my brain, hopefully when I’m again happily done living. Go ahead and talk and type now fancy-pants brain, how Me are you now?
What I don’t ever hope for just as a demonstration of my brain arrogance is to keep my life spark, and keep my body, but let my arrogant brain be Me, and without a heart. A brain without a heart that is alive and can do shit with its body is a very scary prospect indeed. I looked up the synonyms for the combination of arrogant and capable and heartless in my thesaurus, and it said, “watch the 6 o’clock news”. Lucky for me I am keenly aware after too many regretful mistakes, that my brain is simply a very elaborate toolbox employed by my soul and heart to operate my body. The problem is that when my heart had to run away and hide from the threats upon me as a little lover, I lost the manual of how to operate my brain. I used to have lucid intuition and I could feel compassion and empathy for all living things. Now I can think those things, but the lever of how to live it has disappeared with my loving heart.
My body is a miracle, and I love miracles. My favorite part of my body is the part when I misuse it and disrespect it and don’t maintain it, it fixes itself. Or at least it used to. I always wanted a race car like my race body. Drive the shit out of it by day and night, fill it with junk gas and never change the oil, and then don’t let it rest long enough. Nevertheless, in the morning it grows a new fender and crankshaft, makes winning gas out of nothing, and doesn’t send me the bill. That is until now. Maybe the too many hours of poor wine, worse women, and deafening song have taken their toll on this miraculous body. Fights and falling down and mistreating my classic race body really hurts now. Here I go again with another of life’s “duh’s”. I don’t ever seem to get to the duh’s soon enough. I might even suggest that my brain is arrogantly faulty, or that my heart isn’t doing it’s share.
So my arrogant brain has conceded a dys-functional role in my present soul, hidden heart, and wore out body. I am in fact a mess, and ain’t it grand. Life really sucks a lot of the time, and now at the end of this essay I deeply hope and desire that it keeps on sucking. Please don’t let me be a mass of brain mush yet. I promise I’ll take better care of this old Ferrari body of mine. But most of all, this arrogant brain of mine is waiting for instructions from my hidden heart for what to do next. Most of all, please don’t let me end up on the 6 o’clock news, not as victim or perpetrator. As the Motown philosophers say in the trenches of life: “Baby, if you ain’t got heart, you got nothing”.
See you tomorrow.
yourpersonalmuse@gmx.com
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