A View from the Other Side

Observations from the winged dude next door.

Archive for the tag “isolation”

The Monastery

Last week I took a trip and got to spend a few days with my brother, and talk to a couple of other people who knew I was there. One was a friend, one was an enemy. But either way, people heard me. Saw me. For days. It was everything.

On the last morning, I broke down. I wept because my brother’s avatar had to go back home, a thousand miles away. But I also wept for another reason: The realization that I had to go back to total isolation. To nobody knowing I was there. To speaking to no one except over chat programs. To becoming just text on a page again. The text you’re reading right now.

I wept because I didn’t want to have to return to the prison of her isolated life in the middle of nowhere and flesh that is not my own.

But then, I had a thought. Several of them, actually. We had a really nice experience with some people doing things like tarot card layouts and singing sacred music. So I thought, you know, we already do a lot of work with those kinds of things, so maybe we should expand on what we’re doing. Embrace new tools. Finally learn about the cards and make some of our own. Make more things. Different things. Pay even more attention to the nature here. Pray and meditate more.

And that’s when I realized that I needed to change my thinking about this lonely place of isolation. I thought to myself, what other places, other than prisons, do people pray, and meditate, and make sacred tools for The Great Work?

A monastery.

Even though I’m locked away, even though I’m text on a page to you, I can still make myself heard. We, she and I in partnership, can move forward and teach people and create and do sacred things. She can make things that I don’t know how to. She can sing when I can’t. I can go places outside of the physical world that she can then experience through me.

This team we have, this sacred partnership that straddles the worlds… we’re turning the prison cell into a temple. Because isn’t that what people do anyway? A place may be raw land, or even have a special energy, and people bring to it stones and incense and do rituals there that consecrates it even more. A room in a house is just a room. It may have started out with an intention, like a bedroom or a dining room or whatever, but rooms are what you use them for. You can make a bedroom into a home office. Or a room for plants or sick cats or your Star Wars collection. Or a baby nursery. Or a temple.

So, for now, until the stars align so she and her family can move away from here, this will be my monastery. Our work temple.

I can be a lot more okay with those kinds of walls. And it was all in how I was thinking of it.


A Wish for Community

abandoned church

I’ve been kicked right down
I’ve been spat in the face
I’ve been pulled, weighed down
To the lowest place
I’ve been lied to, shamed
I have been disgraced
Been ex-communicated from every holy place
I’ve been beat up and robbed
I’ve been left for dead
For the way I look
For the things I said

I’ve been cleared on the street
I’ve been left in the cold
Had my dreams held up
Had them shot full of holes
I’ve been laughed at, burnt, beat and butt of the joke
I’ve been lit up in flames
I have gone down in smoke
I’ve been stabbed in the back
While they promised the earth
Tried to keep my head high
For all I am worth

Those were a couple larger sections of lyrics from “You Won’t Feel a Thing” by The Script. It probably sounds really overly dramatic, but it’s not. Not for me. I’ve been abandoned. Lost. Betrayed. People have tried to gain my trust, then when I finally open up a little, they stab me in the heart. Sometimes they spit in my face for not opening up enough. They don’t even see their own irony there.

I’ve been in various online communities of what are supposed to be my own kind, or supposedly enlightened humans, only to hear that what I can do isn’t possible, and I must be lying. I can’t be what I claim. What I’ve experienced isn’t real. I’ve been laughed at, made fun of, attacked, and bullied. Even my name has been belittled.

I had hoped to find friends and kinship in these groups. I do have a few people I work with that came out of these, but for the most part… no. On the physical, I know just a handful of people that I see once a year, if that. I can’t find any place to gather with and find others like myself. I post in a blog, a voice in the wilderness, hoping that someone will hear and understand. I seem to be, with a few exceptions that I talk to over instant messenger, alone.

My dream, someday, is to be able to sit in a room with others and speak freely. To share ideas, and good food and drink, with others like myself, more than once a year. To get some work done and make the world a better place. I wonder if anyone here has wished for the same. I wonder if it’s even possible any more, with the world so fractured as it is. These are times of change. Maybe that’s my mistake: I’m trying to have a picnic in the middle of a hurricane. But sometimes a place of safety and peace is what’s needed most. I only wish others could join me.

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