I remember what it felt like

Recently my whining/sniveling/anxieties/fears have been called out and exposed. At Mayra's graduation ceremony the other day, the guest speaker said success lies hidden underneath the spot where our fears lie. And a week ago, Saul Williams wrote the following:

"Can you clearly articulate the vision of the self you wish to become, the dream you wish accomplish, the community or relationship you wish to belong? To be present & in the moment is essential, but if the future is now, then mind is a time machine and your vision can project you into a brighter now. If your vision/dream hasn't come true yet, maybe you haven't come true yet. How do your actions or beliefs lead to or contradict your journey?"

I've finally become broken and pulled back to Earth. You would think that by the time I bought the plane tickets, the aforementioned events would have already taken place. But still I cannot specifically articulate anything right now. I've just got these impulses and notions, leadings and nudgings. But that's as far as I can take them.

The other night I tried praying again. At first I thought it would be selfish to pray for something specific. And I suppose that by human standards it would be impolite to ignore a relative for so long and then show up asking for money or food. But of course we are then reminded of the story of the prodigal son. And then we realize what a great act of humility is required before one can lean toward the ear of God and ask for something specific.

And I couldn't do it. And I still can't. I can tell you where I want to go, or the company I wish to keep. I can give you vague generalities that would seem to hint toward something, one way or another. But I cannot step out vocally and enumerate just what it is I want.

When I was twelve my dad wanted to help me become a better basketball player. I wanted to be better too, but he wanted to make sure it was what I wanted, rather than merely imposing his will on me. So he told me that he would help me train when I wrote down exactly what I wanted to achieve. I couldn't do it. And I never could. And at some point I quit playing basketball.

I don't know what it is. I don't know if I feel I don't deserve it. I don't know if it is that I question my competence. I don't know if it's fear of failure. But I am absolutely paralyzed. This has plagued me all my life, and resurfaces at every possible opportunity. And it's even harder now that my first dream to come true is destroyed.

This is typically when the hero gets it together, does a gut-check, and pulls out a renewed, realized man. And now that the honeymoon phase of newfound freedom is over and everything runs together and begins to resemble a small, flatlining vibration, I find that my only immediate desire is to insulate myself from everything. Every feeling, every breathe of air, the sting of misplaced trust.

The funny thing is tomorrow I could wake up on top of the world, ready to go. This has been me seventy-five percent of the time lately. But a month ago it was me ninety percent of the time, and before that, a hundred. And so I must decide whether my dwindling enthusiasm is fear, doubt, and deception sinking in, or whether its reality slowing but steadily making itself known.

But then I remember this: "Remember the heights from which you have fallen. Repent and do the things that you did at first."

And then I think of my first instinct, my most pure impulse. The rhythm of my heartbeat that was set in motion in a sacred time and place. Captured by dangerous wonder I was the truest I had ever been. I remember what it felt like.