I have come across a vlog I am enjoying on FB: Jimmy and Relationships. I honestly really do like what the guy has to say. He has high emotional intelligence which is a gift. Some of his vlogs, however, I think he maybe being a little too much of a pushover. This is a quality that many intelligent people have. We question ourselves, and our actions sometimes enough to cause too much self-doubt which is intrinsically a nature of the intelligent. Stockton Rush and The Titan come to mind where there were many respected engineers and scientists who had doubted the integrity of The Titan and spoke-up about their beliefs and facts really now. But Stockton was bold and brazen with his decisions. The Zen Rhetorician in me believes there should be a balance of both qualities. I have have been in both sets of shoes and found a similar conclusions about The Garden of Forking Paths.
I feel somehow connected with Jimmy and his insight into relationships. Watching his vlog has made me relive some of my past relationships. One of which was my big one. The fireworks, passion, and pure love boiled down to extract and shot through a cannon for all to see; singing on rooftops, and wild passion. Running through the rain. Jungle love.
That relationship ended anti-climatically in a way, which is all a story on it’s own with twisting, turning, forking paths. When it happened I suffered with a lot of guilt. It was like everything I did wrong was rubbed onto a rusty spike and violently shoved into my eye. I played it all over, and over, tortured and was left wanting. It was at this point I began my transformation into manhood. I picked myself up, brushed myself off and continued my life. Initially, the guilt was crushing and humiliating. After all, I was the star of electricity, I was everyone’s favourite, and switching roles, I had done things I believed I would regret forever. But, as I matured and grew and bettered myself slowly overtime, I began to remember all the terrible things she had put me through leading up to my lows. Love has a way to blind you; rose coloured glasses, as they say. She was an alcoholic, and I sort of became one too, because if I wasn’t running to the parties and keeping up with the party crowd with her, she had a bad habit of waking up in someone else’s dorm room (luckily she peed on that guy.) She would become blackout drunk and say terribly mean things to me, and it would just be a horrible night; emotionally scarring, and when she, her roommate and I would wake up in the morning, I was still in throws of how fucking horrible last night was and she wouldn’t remember a thing. She would go on like nothing had happened while her roommate and I were still traumatized and hungover. She probably literally doesn’t remember half of the terrible things she put me through.
It took me going through horrible crushing guilt about how I ended it all, and I was in hell. I am Dante’s inflamed liver. And winning her back was my motivation during my time in my Inferno and 9 levels of hell. But after I tunneled through horrifying nightmarish realities filled with guilt and torment at seeing myself at my lowest; seeing myself as a base, vile creature slouching across the earth, and overcoming it all I realized I wouldn’t ever take her back, and frankly, Scarlett, I don’t really give a damn.
I had taken on a new journey. I would never allow someone to take that much of my life away from me again. I would never be that weak, and pathetic. This is where I began my life as Yogi. It was all so out of balance. It wasn’t possible that I had to shoulder all of the blame. And looking back now the only thing I would have changed is that I should have let go earlier instead of holding on so tight. After all, we just young and stupid kids growing up and making mistakes together. We may still be friends if I would have just lowered my ego, and forgotten the unhealthy ideologies I was in indocrinated with in my early development years.
And so now, I have a choice. I can remember all the fantastic moments we had. All the storybook romance we shared. I can remember the Princess of the woods I journeyed, and couched with awhile. I can remember singing duets with her cruising (Huey Lewis and Gwyneth Paltrow: Cruisin’ Is Made For Love. I have demonstrated perfect pitch before and our harmonies were tight and perfect with all the trills) to visit her parents, or singing Moulin Rouge’s Elephant Love Medley to each other all around our beautiful college campus. I can remember the cool misty nights we visited the Civil War cemetery we had on campus, or laying near the flowers in the sunshine reading poetry on the President’s lawn or I can remember being puked, and peed on carrying her up that steep-ass hill up to her dorms, reaching in her purse for her swipe card while she dangled lifeless from my shoulder and nursing her back to life with water from the dorm sink before she slept and forgot about it all (and, I was drunk too.) I was always the drunk taking care of my friends who couldn’t hold their liquor so well.
Life is sort of like that. It’s always the best of time and the worst of times. It’s what you choose to focus on that makes the difference.
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