September 2014
To You,
There are 1,013,913 words
moving in a current between my ears.
When I close my eyes to see inside myself
they spill out from my mouth
and are ejected from my fingertips.
There are 1,013,913 words
but sometimes there are only 3
Love
Hate
Fear
and in those times those words
each grow inside me like a child.
There are 1,013,913 words
but sometimes there are only 2
You
I
and in those times those words
seem to be enough.
Your Friend,
A
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To You,
In the foreword of Brave New World Aldous Huxley writes:
Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable
sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you
can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no
account brood over your wrong-doing. Rolling in the muck is not the best
way of getting clean.
As someone who has behaved badly, I felt great relief when I discovered this passage over two years ago. It was as though I had finally been given permission to stop pummeling myself, something any guilty person with a conscience would celebrate. However, I have found it surprisingly impossible to abide by Huxley's recommendation. I feel guilty for trying to cast off the guilt accrued for my collection of wrong-doing. It is as though there is an on-going debate between my past, present, and future selves. Past Self wields guilt in self-flagellation, arguing that my penance is my suffering. Future Self argues for change, suggesting that I can't be useful if I'm crippled by guilt. Present Self is humbled by confusion.
Your Friend,
A
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