#buildingmyselfup

I don’t deserve this treatment from my family and friends. I was so busy changing and better myself hey didn’t see why I became who I am today. I’m tired of people telling me what to do and how I’m supposed to live my life.

For my family, I’m sorry I don’t live up to your standards and will always be looked down upon. My life isn’t going anywhere like you stated. But it is I that have a dream and path that will take time. It may not be what you want it to be but if you believe and trust in me I can prove you otherwise. I didn’t fail you as a son or brother. I’m too busy finding myself in this life you put me in to become something I’m not. I’m trying to take the time enjoy life as I go and hopefully I will come upon what will change everything you see about me. I feel it and I’m confident I’m going to be better than I was before. I want to be someone you can be proud of because I will not give up until you show me some type of support or praise that’s when I can finally rest and say that I did it. I’m fighting for myself but also fighting to show you all I’m worth much more than what you selfishly describe me with pure hatred and passion.

Why do these flies congregate around me, crowding the surface of my skin, their little dance raising the hair on my neck? I struggle to ignore them. You’d think the thick gray smoke behind my eyes would ward them off. I bet my aura just smells too good to them.

Is this a good or bad thing?

            Yesterday an Indian man approached me with a bit of fortune. I’m down on my luck. How’d he know I’m broke and have been struggling with various ailments– railed my body. He’s not the first to tell me this. And the previous two weren’t looking for money like him. They all said that August is my month. The Babaji in Varanasi told me the 27th of July would be good for me. Today’s the day and you better believe I’m looking.

            I’ve been looking for something. Like those flies. A place to shit and some sustenance would do. Food isn’t all that’ll sustain me though. I need that high.

            We used to have regular “singings” at my church when I was younger. I used to sit up front with Ms. Adeline. She was rather up in age. Both of them sang beautifully, young fellas with voices that shook your spirit until it exploded like a bottle of Coke and Mentos. One had been on the brink of suicide, ready to jump from a window to end it, when he found himself redeemed. He called me up to the front that night.

            All my life I’ve been made to know I was different, thank my brutal peers, and for some reason have received special treatment by few others. They seem to see something in me I often don’t. He certainly did. Alerted the congregation to it. His eyes were sharper than mine and saw that I was surrounded by a golden light. I was to do great things. I often think of this night and ponder its meaning. Ms. Adeline had no children of her own.

            I crave meaning, experience and revelation in a given moment. Reminds me of That. Them. It.  

            The yellow aura is positively correlated to spriritual enlightenment and self-liberalization. My academic director saw my aura one day, in my hands. Yellow. A dark yellow. This was before The Winter set in– frozen waters. A month later she shook me: “You’re aura is so dark John! So dark. You have to do something about it…” A parasitic force, a black hole. Sucking up the energy of those around me, and I had no idea what to do about it.

            “Namaste” gets to the jist of it. In such, it is a salutation that recognizes the Divine in the addressed individual. I’m Divine, we’re Divine. Infinite.

            I cradled my stomach with one arm and head with the other. It all hurt. And I felt so vulnerable. I began to sing, in whispers. “His Eye is on the Sparrow”. It overwhelmed me, and I shook to contain the sobs that escaped my lips as the rivers trailed downward paths to the seat. Pure relief. I didn’t think of “God”, but it was That Something; bigger than me and synonymous with “I”.

            I said I wanted to be exceptional, but at the moment it’s hard to think I’m anything but average. He doesn’t like “exceptional”. “To whom?” He’s right, it’s all relevant right?

            I was raised by a single mom–Superwoman. Three kids she bore on her back to where we are today. So many tears. My county is cited as the poorest in North Carolina. Only monetarily. Abuse survivor. Queer faerie child doused in the diluted acid that is southern Baptist fundamentalism. I’ve survived many storms, collectively swallowing any tempest to come.

            I am The Oracle.