Back

I'm back.

Back from the extended dreamland that was the last eight months of my life. I feel like Keats as the nightingale disappears over the hills leaving him standing, dazed, in the summer darkness.

I don't know anything. I don't know where I am going, or what my life is going to be like, or what I will do. I just know that the decision I made was no decision. I could have tried to compromise my heart and my soul but I could not have sustained it. I would have become increasingly insufferable, betrayed by my own flesh that would have risen up in revolt against my feeble capitulation to comfort.

"The lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul and walks smiling at its funeral." -Khalil Gilbran

I choose love, always choose love first. But it cannot be love that owns me, restricts me, prescribes itself to me like a self-medicating doctor diagnosing me with his own illness. Because I can't, no matter how much I might desire it, be confined in the safety of a loving cage.

So it is off to Los Angeles again. One less ligament in my hip, a few more months on my body, but still able to sit on my own head and making remarkable progress with those cursed handstands. It's time to open up all the way, cast off all doubt, plan, believe, and be free. I am not fearless, but I will rest in the palm of my fear and feel the warmth of its skin and know that I am alive, for now, and I will not be crushed.