Epiphany

Have you ever started something, like running or cleaning or reading, and even though it's painful, after a while you just fall into this trance? It becomes natural. Almost like you're a factory worker, your task is to screw three bolts on every time a car comes down the assembly line. At first, you really concentrate on what you're doing, then your arms grow heavy and your mind feels exhausted, soon you both feel and think nothing at all, and yet you somehow continue to do it. That's the life that I've been living lately. We all know what’s been happening in my life lately. The pain that I’ve been asked to endure for the past month. I haven’t really dealt with it though, instead, I put it on the back burner and just let it simmer. After a while, the simmering turned into boiling, after that it became scorching, and after that, there was a full kitchen fire. The fire began eating away at the oak cabinets, engulfing the photograph Grace by Eric Enstrom, burning through the sugar and flour and spices tucked neatly away. How did this happen? Moments before I had been cooking a meal, one presumed to be good. But I decided to throw out the food, and instead of cleaning up the pan of leftover grease, I decided to move it out of my sight but still leaving it on heat just in case a five-star meal decided to cook itself. Hot grease, however, is not something to play with. I tried to start cooking on the pans previous eye. It still being hot from what was now in the trash. I thought I could recreate what I’d been cooking before, maybe even make it better. The new food started to simmer and pop, as all grease does, all while the only pan was still burning the remnants and grease left in the bottom. I stuck my hand too close to the new pan, and when I was burnt, I reacted too fast knocking both pans over. Grease spilled onto the hot eye, and before a reaction could take place there was smoke. A flame soon illuminated from between the dark clouds, and all it took was a tiny spark for all hell to break loose. I watched the red turn to orange, the orange to blue, and eventually the blue to white. Panic does that, it causes the body to shut down, the mind to be sent into overdrive, and the soul itself to be cast from the being, left floating above the scene to watch the destruction occur. That’s how I’ve been living. With this fire inside of me, all while my conscious silently floats above it all. And don’t get me wrong, fire can be an amazing thing. It gives warmth to the cold, the depraved. It gives light to the wandering, the lost. But left unchecked it can quickly turn against one. Leaving their insides blackened and charred. It turned against me, and now I am tasked with knocking down the ruined walls, scrubbing away the layers of ashes, rebuilding the temple meant to always be maintained within me. God, would it not have been easier if I’d given that damned pan a little more attention. If I’d cleaned it, dried it, and placed it back in the cupboard, good as new. I wouldn’t be left to have my lungs filled with smoke, my lashes covered with the peeling paint floating through the air as the heat lifts it higher, the hair on my body quickly falling off, left in a smoking pile of red by my feet. My life has been full of this growing epidemic, this kitchen fire soon turned wildfire, this pit that will never stop being dug, this deafening silence, this loose strand on a favorite sweater, this throbbing headache, this peeling Band-Aid, this burnt letter, this torn photograph, this constant fear, this pained heart, this whisper of doubt, this self-questioning, this last kiss, this shade of red, this sunburned skin, this pain, this anger, this lost love. My life has been full of hate. My actions have been determined through hate. My thoughts formed from hate. My essence itself seems to be pure hate. They say we all bleed red, but I fear that a pricked finger might expose me for what I am, hatred. My blood would run thin, flowing black, never clotting. The world would know the truth. … How can one live like this? Simple, by living. It’s taken me so long to realize that not only I but all people live this way because it’s easy. No effort is required to live this way. It’s as if we are walking through a forest, surrounded by the good, surrounded by life, and the elusive hunter known as Society has dug a pit meant to trap unsuspecting prey, the inattentive human. As one walks through a pile of leaves their legs are pulled out from under them, they’re falling and flailing and flapping their arms trying to slow the moments of weightlessness. Then they are lying on the dirt. Surrounded by the rest of Earth’s population. Everyone has a shovel in hand, and in almost perfect synchronization they are digging. With no ladder insight, one simply joins in. That is how hate works. It takes no effort to fall into the trap, then the wiring of our brain tells us to do as others do. Soon that fire has spread to all parts of us. Soon we are the workers on an assembly line. Soon we just are and is and do and want and don’t and were. All predetermined. And it’s terrifying. I’ve decided to quit my job at the factory. That kitchen fire is finally being put out. I’m crawling my way out of the pit. And it’s hard. But I don’t want to be numb anymore, I don’t want to be on fire or charred, I don’t want to be in the bottom of the pit. I’ll sit in the shower and let the water wash it all away. The callousness encasing my heart, the pain tattooed on my skin, the hurt between every joint, the poison that flows through my veins, the cells that are dying, clustering, like the thoughts that are equally becoming as cancerous. A hot shower, filled with soft music and soft thoughts, to wash it all away. Every drop breathing life into my shriveled cells, erasing the time spent dehydrated, asphyxiated, malnourished. Water will creep into crevices, removing dust and dirt, long caked together. A hot shower, to strip it all away, to leave me reddened and raw and naked. To leave me completely exposed.    Then it will no longer be about hate. It will be love. Love will liberate me from that job, save me from that fire, lift me from that pit. It will do more than just set me on solid ground. With a being full of love, how could I sit and watch? Instead, I will pull others from the loop. With them, I will stare at the moon, bake cookies, drive fast, dance in the rain, pick up trash, write love letters, sing loudly, read often, climb mountains, speak boldly, release others, and love openly. As for love, it’s hard. Loving people is hard. You’ll feel some people are more deserving than others. You’ll want to dole it out in quantities of uneven proportions. And you’ll have to stop. Because living a life filled with love isn’t about picking and choosing, it isn’t being a victim of circumstance, it isn’t cursing the universe, or spitting on graves, or self-pity. It’s about putting love above all else. Even when it hurts you. Even when you feel someone is undeserving of that love, you still show them mercy, forgiveness, and grace. It’s about stepping aside and putting others happiness above yours. It’s not the easy path, no, it’s the path of most resistance, but even as the thicket closes in, the thorns tear and scrape, the mud becomes deep, the light becomes dim, the accompanying becomes few, you keep on. You face forward, you place one foot in front of the other, you pick yourself up when you trip on a root, you trust that you’re reading the map correctly, you ignore the parched feeling in your throat, you breathe through the aching lungs, you keep on.    Loving is hard. Every fiber in my being screams for the familiar numbness. My tears spill as I finally open my mind up to what’s happening and what’s happened. Every thought is flooded with negativity. My heart longs for all that is lost. Every breath is strained. My arms ache from the last embrace. But I correct my actions, I apologize for wrongdoings, I rethink my once assured thoughts, I reevaluate my morals, but most importantly I step aside. It’s time I put his happiness above mine, it’s time I hug more often, it’s time I smile wider, it’s time I cherish often, it’s time I appreciate all, it’s time I laugh longer, it’s time I give all of myself for others, it’s time I love deeper. I choose a life of love over one of hate. And people won’t understand the drastic change, and that’s okay. I will continue to love and change and try.