On Being Human

the untouchables


There is a certain delight in being human.

As one, I can take all of the supposed errors of my ways and turn them into some beautiful masterpiece. I can take the so-called mistakes of my past and make them into a wonderful story. I can create a wonderful symphony simply by existing, and I can make a good thing bad or a bad thing good simply by changing my direction.

Yes, there is a certain delight in being human.

I can be a fuck up on one day and a saint on another. I can be the answer to your prayers today and a bastard tomorrow. I can bring you ecstasy now and then make you vomit later. I can bring you joy at sunrise and by sunset be the blame for the flood of tears soaking your pillow. I can be whatever you want me to be, all you have to do is believe it.

I can do nothing, too. I can just sit and watch the waves come at me from some distant horizon. I can just watch the birds dive for their food or fight each other for some lonely piece of bread. I can just hear the cacophony of drama around me without ever letting the tiny reactions within me see the sunlight. I can master myself or lose all sense of control, as a human the choice is mine.

I can lose myself in the shape of your body. I can find myself in the lust in your eyes. I can fly high above the clouds without ever spreading my wings. I can swim great waters without ever getting wet, and I can weave great tales without ever having stepped outside my box.

I can hate you with one hand and hold you in the other. I can fear the sight of darkness while seeking refuge from the light. I can swear an allegiance to liberation while tightly binding my legs in shackles. I can do so much with so very little, or very little with so very much.

I can search so hard for the approval of others that I never truly gain a love of myself. I can become so defined by the wrongs of life as to never see their virtue. I can be a victim and the victimizer all at once, my glory never coming to a mind so filled with beliefs that put me in a place so beneath my true virtue.

I can forget how good it feels to just kiss you in the quest for something more. I can remember nothing but the pain sometimes, because the pain is where I feel at home. I can walk on a beach and never feel the sand, or swim in the Ocean and never feel the water until I am on dry land. I can view the mountain’s sweet majesty and only be focused on what I can’t see beyond it.

Yes, there is a certain delight in being human.

Mostly, I can accomplish miracles. I can end hunger, thirst and injustice simply by choosing to. I can rid the world of my own waste simply but making a choice. I can make a great difference simply by wanting to. I can be myself and find great things beneath the veils I had once heaped upon me. I can find great joy in suffering, great happiness in a life lived not to attain perfection, but to discover perfect is all we are. I can find truth by no longer agreeing to the story, and I can live in harmony simply by forgetting what I’ve seen.

So, I wonder, what keeps me holding on to a god I do not know and a story told to me by men I have never met about experiences I’ve never had. I wonder why I bothered to climb a ladder I refuse to get off of to see a sight I’ll never reach on a land I’ll never till. I wonder why I choose to be the great limiter of my life, and why I’ve chosen to make the truth of others my truth, and their lies my lies. I wonder when I made fiction fact, and fact fiction.

I wonder why, as the rising seas swallow me whole, and the storms rattle me to eternity, I only regret my destruction after it is too late to change it. I wonder when I will learn from my suffering, when I will no longer beat myself with someone else’s whip, and when I will find just sit my ass down, as see, at listen, and act like the Being I wish to be.

The delight of being human is too often defined by its misery. The greatness of man is too often defined by his stupidity. The strength of man is too often defined by his violence.

In Oneness I cannot give up on you even if in separation I have rejected you. In spirit I can’t help but love you even if in mind I despise the ground you walk on. I truth I can only adore you even if in the lie I wish to crush you. It’s in the humanity, in my great delight in being human, that I can make the choice in which space I wish to stand.

It’s all a choice, and it is mine to make.



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