There comes a moment after someone hurts me that my blood stops boiling. There comes a moment after the attack when my blood turns to ice. I stop feeling hurty & fiery bright passions, I stop replaying the conversations & signs & moments & realizations of the usery over & again. The calm comes & I cease to care. I actively cease to care about this person regardless of how close they had been or how much their feelings, tender egos, emotional state in general mattered to me. It is from this place I take actions. I cut people out of my life permanently. I am vindictive, I revel in their pain, regardless of the cause.
Like all lovely bad karma boomerangs it has always come back on them. I see all the paths, I desire to follow them all, to destroy reputations, to destroy friendships, etc... BUT I know I will breathe and wait. Everything becomes about patience - not with myself but with the other.
In the darkness, in the calm I hear the familiar tones of that great revenant mystery clear as a gong in the mountains at night:
"The panther paces.
Waiting reminds him that clarity is painful
but his pain is unreadable,
obscure, chiaroscuro to their human senses.
In time they will misread his gait,
his moon mad eyes,
the almost gentle way his tail caresses the bars.
In time they will mistake him
for someone else-
without history,
without the shadow of being,
a creature without penance of living.
They will read only his name.
They will be unable to perceive
what strangeness
lies beneath his patience.
Patience is the darkest side of power.
He is dark.
He is black.
He is exquisitely powerful.
He has made pain his lover
and hidden her completely.
Now he will never forget.
She will give birth to memories
they believe he has been broken of.
He smells the new rain,
tastes its change.
His claw skates along
the cold floor.
Love curled up and died
on such a floor.
He blinks.
Clarity improves.
He hears other creatures scream and fade.
But silence is his.
He knows.
In time the gates will open.
In time his heart will open.
Then the shadows will bleed
and the locks will break..."
Waiting reminds him that clarity is painful
but his pain is unreadable,
obscure, chiaroscuro to their human senses.
In time they will misread his gait,
his moon mad eyes,
the almost gentle way his tail caresses the bars.
In time they will mistake him
for someone else-
without history,
without the shadow of being,
a creature without penance of living.
They will read only his name.
They will be unable to perceive
what strangeness
lies beneath his patience.
Patience is the darkest side of power.
He is dark.
He is black.
He is exquisitely powerful.
He has made pain his lover
and hidden her completely.
Now he will never forget.
She will give birth to memories
they believe he has been broken of.
He smells the new rain,
tastes its change.
His claw skates along
the cold floor.
Love curled up and died
on such a floor.
He blinks.
Clarity improves.
He hears other creatures scream and fade.
But silence is his.
He knows.
In time the gates will open.
In time his heart will open.
Then the shadows will bleed
and the locks will break..."
