How can I grow you in me, knowing that you would inherit all my darkness? Allow me to discourage you to take seed in pitch black, isolated chambers of my rocky land. How can I fertilize you knowing that your soil is a mix bag of discounted knick-knack seeded in elsewhere and not here. Knacks are bundled together in a velvet sachet luring the guilt of a last minute Christmas shopper. “Oh, it is so soft. Oh, it is wrapped with sparkly gold ribbon. Oh, it is half the price. Oh, who cares what is inside the pretty sachet….”
Listen to me little one. The dark land you want to inhibit and turn it around to grow tall, proud and happy towards the sun is not nutritious for you. It is also not safe. Amy lives there. She smothers my velvet sachet and fills it with fear, lots of seasonal fear. She does this especially around important times of the year. She gently plows the soil adding in the mixture some anxiety, a great deal of mood and unpredictable emotion. Then, she makes me water the already flooded layers of flesh with tears. I am telling you, Amy casts darkness and takes the sun away. There will be many days with no ray for you to eat. And there will be many days you will drink lots of tears with salt. I can’t abandon you to malnourishment little one. I just can’t. What do you mean tell Amy to move out of my land? Amy permanently moved in to the Amygdala chambers 37.5 years ago. Do I love her? Love her? I cannot live without her. She is the master of my mental and emotional processes.
Don’t you worry little one. I am learning ways to lizard around with Amy by learning the rules of the game she wants to play daily. Amy likes to play tame me if you can. She challenged me to a duello of tantrums the other day. She got triggered and started attacking with a heavy storm that made all the tumbleweed scatter around. What a sight. That little bitch caught me off guard. She doesn’t play nice.
One day, I promise you I will tame Amy for good. Until then, this land will be Wild Wild West for you little one. But, maybe one day, we will wake up to watch the sun rise high, shedding light to my darkness and warm the earth with full price. That day, there won’t be any discounts for fear. We will laugh with joy and drink beer and watch the land and say cheers.
I am passionate about not giving the word passion so much weight and responsibility than it deserves. Why? The word passion, sounding more so than bourgeois could mean relief or doom in one humble soul's life. "I know my passion!", "I still don't know what my passion is?!", " I think that might be my passion, but I am not so sure..." Give me a break!
The inquiry within to validate and identify one's "true" passion becomes a tough quest. It is more tough than finding Nemo or identifying true love. Because, in the matters of the hearth, responsibility gets divided within the two involved parties. The transaction of love and the exchange of feelings mutually happen in form of expectation, hope, misery, disappointment and all that jazz. We reason, justify and then happily scamp to this exchange. When the exchange doesn't match the Disney tale, we can always blame the other party for breaking our hearts. His lost. Done. Clap clap. Dusting off the responsibility residue off my hands. Easy breeze. This didn't work. Sure there is always someone for someone out there. But, is there? Oh well. Neeeext.
I can easily blame love, but I can not blame passion. Because, passion is a honey badger and it does not give a beep about my heart. Passion comes and goes as it pleases treating me like a mistress. Passion requires me to work hard, sometimes with no benefits. Passion is not a pink cotton candy, like in the sweet and cloudy memories of my childhood... Oh maybe it is? The moment I bite it, it immediately dissolves in my mouth leaving my tongue pink. Then pouff, it is gone. Passion's high fructose leaves a knot in my belly. I call it Passion Knot. And the only cure to Passion Knot is to have more Passion Knot. When I have more of it, it it is a sudden relief. - When I say relief don't yet get excited and sigh in relief, because the relief is gone faster than Zen Monks disassembling million beads in a pouf. When i look for Passion Knot, it runs away and leaves my belly doomed, because you can not possibly catch it. Maybe passion is a hummingbird? If so, passion is tiny, fragile, fast, and it likes fruits. Hey listen passion bird, If I work really really hard, and not expect anything from you, will you grand me a story from the Arabian tales of 1001 nights, and keep my hopes alive? What? I know you would not...
Good bye Passion Knot.