#effusiveness

[elegantzombielite]

"To be able to say how much you love is to love but little."

Petrarch, scholar and poet

(20th July 1304-1374)

[polardivision]

Forever Fraught

my predilection toward effusion may dismay those not departed cause affront to taste’s convention leave apologists half-hearted warrant thrashings deemed most sound even by standards presumed modest instigate revolt profound and draw the ire of known Jihadists nonetheless, i persevere for this is all i have to offer even if it sparks despair in devotees of Geoffry Chaucer some will find my manner…

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[writingronin]

Effusiveness

What I want is light.

Light. Pouring out of every pore of my body. Fueled, fiery, born of a singing song sparked from whence I know not where, a lightning rod of energy and coagulation and story and LET IT BEGIN.

This was something denied once. This was something when expressed, was attacked. It was labeled as wrong. It was labeled as weird. And for that, I have rage.

I was born excited. I grew up laughing and enjoying and making weird noises and playing with every single thing I could, never wanting to stop doing what I was doing just because I was old enough. I got excited by Giant Robots, Batman figures, legos, you name it I wanted to play with it. 

But from the beginning, forces were at work trying to contain this. I don't know why. I have memories of a bratty little kid in an Eagles jersey with his buddies--he's not the ringleader, but he's the only one I can remember. I remember when I wanted to play on the playground, they kept pushing me off, not letting me on. Wanting me to not have fun. 

Don't know why. Don't know why that repeated itself for every year, don't know why I had to always keep my music to myself, to not speak up when I wanted to say something, to have a firm hand laid on my shoulder when I got excited, calming me down so that the watchful eyes wouldn't sweep over me.

Had to learn to hide it. To lock it away and throw away the key 'cause if I shared it with anyone, they'd attack. Attack attack attack ALWAYS attack. Even if they started off my friend they'd attack. A few exceptions of course, but almost all turned on me at some point.

And so I hid it---almost. Tiny bursts, tiny stories, told to no one but letting me get it out. Then I started writing them down. Then I started sharing them---and they weren't very good, of course. But I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Captured this leaking energy down on paper and let it spill out as it crackled and burst, hungering for more. But I couldn't give it more--couldn't know how. To give it more would be to expose myself, and the beasts would come crawling in.

But I guess the beasts went away. I didn't realize it for a couple of years. Took a few safe leaps before I really began letting it all out. And did some damage along the way by trying to insist I was fine. Really regret that. But I had folks looking out for me. Pulling me forward. Pulling each and every story out of me, each idea, until finally, I hit a point.

And all the while it was so tiring. Going home every night with this whirling void in my head. This----thing I kept staring into. Kept living with. It was born of armor, armor put up to keep the beasts out. Must have made me look like a hulking golem, a steam iron machine with massive fists and red-eye glare, that's what I felt like anyway. Everything was something to be powered through. Everything was my burden, my strength taking on more than it was ever meant to bear.

It couldn't last. You know what it's like to go with that armor for that long? It starts to tear something fierce. Muscles weren't meant to bear that much weight, the soul wasn't meant to stand that much time in the sun. Too long I traded the joy of that effusiveness for the pursuit of more armor, money, whatever I could to prove my worth against a force that wasn't coming. 

And inevitably, there came a breaking point. When I was stringing together words in conversations without believing them, making catchphrases and buzzphrases just so that I could sound smart. Sound worth it. And they swere swiftly, effectively, shattered. 

And I broke. Just a little. Or maybe the armor just broke. And I collapsed to the ground, roaring in pain and steam hissing from my joints as I fell to the dirt before me. I opened myself up, and...

And when I did---I found---love. Of all kinds. Support. I lay kneeling on the ground, instead of a falling axe, I found....light. so much light. Light flowing in, and with it, drawing light out.

That was the beginning. When I began to get this feeling back.

That was a little over a year ago. Now here I am, cast upon the high seas, in search of answers of all kinds. This light's almost like a kind of power. Tapping into it, I can unleash whatever I want--energy, movement, spirit, soul, story, and I'm learning how to keep it out. 

This is the spinning of the brain, the winding up and wheeling of energy pouring out and whirling through the keys in front of me into something mightier. This isn't power. Power is clutched at, held close for fear of losing, barely obtained and easily lost. It's used to keep others in line, to keep beasts at bay because you beat them so long with your stick, and now they're snarling to come back.

This? This energy? This invites others. Rallies them to your cause and lets them share in what you put out. It is expression, not close-mindedness. It is open, not closed. And I will bare it for all to see, and I will not let it be locked away again.