The loss of God

out here in the perimeter

there are no stars

(Jim Morrison)

Dear.

I am in a bit of a crappy mood today. So I’m just writing for myself right now.

I always like to share messages of light, love and happiness, and I don’t like being negative. But I must say, when I consider my life and existence on this earthly plane, it is quite depressing really.

It seems I am always the clown, laughing and trying to share an ounce of happiness, hoping to ignite a spark in others to laugh back, and have a party, even in the midst of darkness and despair. You know, just keeping up the spirit.

But people have no desire to keep up the spirit. It seems they like more to kill it, than to be keeping the flame alive. They have a perverse desire to take you down, when you are feeling up, and to drill you into the ground when you are flying high up in your rosy sky.

People hate happiness, they envy it and they cannot stand it. It has to disappear. Everybody has to be as down and hopeless as they are.

And whilst I don’t like giving up, and I am a fighter, I must say it is getting to me. I think all of you will be happy to hear this. Yes, the great mister ChildComeHome is finally getting depressed. Finally. Thank God, he has seen the light.

That there is nothing to be happy about. Just nothing, nothing at all, fool.

You see, at times, we stare in the black hole that is God. And from the black hole, a rapture of joy and ecstasy blows over us like a storm of grace and light.

It happens after sexual intercourse, when you are still on top of your partner, and you just shared the most wonderful and joyous feeling, and you fall back from your ascent to the heavens, and as you fall back, you laugh, for no reason, uncontrollably, you laugh because it’s all so funny. You both laugh, you are in love, and you bow down to kiss your partner. Everything is all right. You just talked to God, you just had your holy communion. And love is there, and the world is full of bliss as you lay down next to her.

I had a girlfriend like this, once, I surely had, but the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. And so after some months of being crazy about each other, I was standing there in a church building, staring at her coffin, just feeling like kicking the whole shit apart.

And now, I stare in the black hole that is God, I stare, like still being on top of her, but she is gone, and there ain’t no one left to kiss. And gone is the love, and gone is the bliss, and gone is the crazy and gone is the laughter and gone is the holy communion.

They say why don’t you take another girlfriend, why don’t you forget her? But how can you forget about God, how can you forget about bliss, how can you forget about your holy communion?

I cannot forget it, I keep staring in the void, and I keep missing and missing the love. Has God disappeared, has God died? Have I buried God along with her body, lifeless, pale and cold, in that coffin I wanted to kick apart?

So these days, we are now like sixteen years later, and I am still staring into that void. And I still can’t believe there is nothing left.

So what do I do? I try to be creative. Because staring and staring a lot, during meditation, trying to keep it up, and not lose my spirit completely, and keep my spine erect as Zen Buddhists would have it, I feel a lot of agitation, a lot of life still there, a lot of things to say and a lot of music I want to drum to.

So I write, I say things, and I make some music. I love to drum.

And then the music goes into an album and onto Spotify, and the lyrics go into a book on Yanga. That is what I do with my longing for God, my yearning for bliss, my missing of love. I create.

Some might say it is a sublimation, a sublimation of my grief.

I don’t care how you call it.

It is what I must do.

So I stare into the void, meditating for hours every day, and then things come up, and I dance them, and I drum them, and I write them down. But there is no joy in my life, there is no satisfaction in all of this. There is only longing, only yearning, there is only the fact that I miss my goddess.

I have tried sleeping with someone else, but the void is there, and when I look at that other person, I see my girl, now dead, and I feel like smiling at her, and I feel lost and lonely with that other person. So I quit. Yes, I quit girls. I just drum, and dance, and write. I have become a bit of a hermit really. With a burden as deep as the endless hole you stare into without anything coming back. You search, you search, in your heart, in your soul, and there is only emptiness. Only misses. No more kisses, no more smile, no more ecstasy and the laughter’s gone.

And you would think maybe, in leaving me, my girl has made me an artist. She has made me a musician and a dancer, and a writer in the end. You might say wasn’t that a blessing in disguise?

But hell, this world, it is not much of an audience. People have about 2 millimeters of space in their whole being, and I am shaking miles and miles from my sleeve every other day. I am too much, I know. I tend to overload people.

They have like half a millisecond of patience, before they snap back to their blind and deaf despair, before they start complaining again and talking about themselves and their worries again.

They are not much of an audience.

If you ask for a minute of their time, it is just not there, it is just not available.

Maybe the swipe culture is adding to this. Nobody reads a book these days, they read a Facebook post of three lines, and then it’s on to the next. Nobody has time, and nobody has patience. Nobody’s interested and nobody cares. They are always on the move, they are always fleeing. They run away, and they cling to one thing after the other. And the more they run, the more they cling, and the more they run away again. They just are never there. They are never available. You just can’t talk to them. They are not there.

So nobody reads my writings, and nobody cares about my music.

And that leaves me hopeless with the void. That leaves me staring, and with no bliss coming through, and only words and music coming up, even that is useless.

Still I cannot stop staring into the void.

I must say that sometimes, meditation is good. But that is like something I cannot talk about. It is when a dog I used to have comes to tell me she misses me, or when an eagle in my spirit is dancing fiercely in the sands of my mind, or a snake is dancing through my body, rocking and scratching its way into a moment of passing time just for the sake of it.

Loneliness, it is all the choice I have left.

I have no girl, no bliss.

I have no audience, and so I guess I could just as well say nothing and make no more beats.

All I have is some movement in the stillness of my mind, some gently rocking snakes and dancing eagles, and a dog that makes me cry like a child, fall apart like a baby, when she tells me she’ll always love me.

All I have are animals, animals in my spirit. I have no audience, I have no girl.

Surely my life has changed.

You know, before, I always had an audience, and girls were always there.

Now there is nothing left. There is nothing left of the light, the feast, the ecstasy, the joy, the laughter, the love. There is only an infinite sadness and a never-ending loneliness, and the animals in my lonely head.

And the uselessness, the utter pointlessness of living in complete isolation, missing God and yearning for the light.

Of course, I might be happy with just my animals, and knowing my girl must be watching me.

And I might even think that one day, with my animals grown closer, I might do some healing and help people breathe and feel the light.

But for now, I just hope I will be able to breathe and see some end to this darkness myself.

And even then, as it happens sometimes, that I help someone catch their breath, with my energy, with my meditation, with the void where my animals live, even when I do this, it is not that I can talk about it. It is not that somebody says well thank you for lifting up my spirit for a second. They don’t know, they just go on clinging and hiding, and fleeing and not being there.

I don’t know. It’s just not my girl I miss, it’s everyone. It seems nobody’s home, nobody’s there.

Sure, you can listen to their complaining for hours on end. They are there abundantly, in their self-absorption and their demands for pity. But don’t try to make them smile, don’t try to tell them anything, you cannot help them.

Sometimes I feel like I’m here, with all my senses, and they are just not there!

Where are they? Where are the people?

They are somewhere in another galaxy, all by themselves or at most surrounded by their self-pity and their endless and endless complaining, and you cannot bring them home, you cannot bring them here, you cannot take them to the present, to the here and now, where everything is all right, and where there is space and time and laughter. Where there is communion and where they are not alone.

So many people in this world, all together yet all alone. And even, I wonder, if they are on this world at all.

Everyone is in his own reality, in his own mind, in his own fleeing and clinging, and nobody is living with their eyes open and no one hears a word you say.

So in the end, it all leaves me feeling rather unreal. I don’t feel real anymore. There are no people, there is no God. There is only me, meditation and the visions and dances of the animals. Messengers from the heart.

I might as well leave this world, and follow my animals to where they live, and be with them, and only them. There would be little difference.

The only thing would be, that I would have taken this reality as it is: empty and absent. With no life on earth and by far no signs of spirit or intelligence.

My God, my God, what am I doing in this place?

Why oh why, has my spirit ever traveled here?

I long for home, I long to be with my baby, I am longing for the light, and the love, and the laughter and people being there, loving, laughing, celebrating the spirit of the present.

It once was like that, but that seems like a time on an island I left many lives ago.

And now there is only the void, deep space, trance, with no joy and no laughter coming out.

And I can only look at it, for days and days, and years and years on end.

And the root of all my creativity and creation remains mere emptiness.