Delirium Wildfire (joomusjitterbox) wrote in schizosrus,
Delirium Wildfire

The other side of madness.

I wrote a story especially dedicated to you out there:

>Somedays I feel like a queen, as I sit here toiling in this dust, scraping to make a living. The king or queen is the servant of the people. Therefore, the true kings and queens many a time do not show their face in this universe, except to those whose hearts are pure, for they know that they will be shunned, in all the favors they grant. But we are all kings and queens. Or we are all in training.

Now here is the secret: I love you. I am in love with you. I have been ever since the concert at the Bottom of the Hill. And I know it could have worked out. I know that you loved me too. It's too bad that opening my heart let out the sick abuses of my past. They have tormented me ever since. Lack of joy. Fear, pain, and sadness. I went mad, and of course I pushed you away. But I still love you. I am still in love with you. Sometimes I wonder if you've already forgotten me. You are a rather normal boy, very happy, with lots of friends and lots of pussy. It makes me wish I were you. Makes me wish that I were normal, that I could find love, get laid, and be with people every so often. "What would it be like," I ask myself, "to have been born into a family with loving, caring parents and siblings, who did not commit so many crimes of the heart?" What would it be like to be you, to go through life happily, not knowing that madness that I have known? What would it be like, to not have had the experience of being hated by everybody, being betrayed, and totally... asking for it. Totally finding people who don't even love me, and pouring my heart out, only to have them cut it out, betray it, use it. What would it be like to be happy just like you? I see you. You are happy. You give unconditionally to the people. You radiate. You are such a king.

And I even wonder what it would be like to be loved the way that you are loved. It's not like you have done more than I have done. I watch you as you make your company with happy people, while I see myself surrounded by the black hearted, the sick, the mopey whiney betrayers and users. I see myself surrounded on all sides by suitors who want to have sex with me but don't even know that they aren't really in love with me. Not believing in victims, I know that it's because this is what I attract. This is what I am used to. This is what I think that I deserve. What would it be like to truly love myself the way you truly love yourself? I have violently happy violent self-esteem. This is a little bit different.

But our greatest weakness is somehow also our greatest strength. And so I have to keep looking for my light. Maybe I am a late bloomer. I have struggled in inhuman pain. Maybe I have simply chosen to take on more challenges than you have, oh beautiful, normal ones, just to earn my place among you. And all I can do is appreciate what it has made me: a creature unfolding with ever increasing grace and beauty. Which is not to say that the ugliness is not there. It's just that love doesn't care. The heart knows that beauty and ugliness, sadness and laughter are really the same things.

Someday I hope to give as much as you do. I know that I am here to do big things. I know somehow that I am a child of the divine, that my mission is to radiate pure, unadulterated love. Isn't that why I have undergone such crimes of the heart? Is it to know love, that which you've known all along? You, beautiful you.

I long for the day when the madness becomes but a quiet whisper, when my struggles will end, and I can step into your heart. I long to be the child again, and yet again the queen. The queen is the janitor who cleans the floor. The queen is the humble servant, who so radiates that she can give freely without thought of reward. She gives because she is in love. She is in love with life, with God perhaps, and maybe with a fellow human being or many fellow human beings. She spends her days listening to music and poetry, volunteering, and working at Safeway perhaps, or helping the poor or the sick.

Therefore, I know that I am surrounded by kings and queens. They are all around me: the dedicated Starbucks barista, the man who walked me to the studio, the people at Shepherd's Gate who so cared about me enough to take me in. Now I am the fool. Now everything I thought that I could do I cannot do without you. And so in realizing my foolishness, all I can do is bless each day with grace and give what I can.

And then I light a candle and step into the mirror to honor myself. I have worked. I have not worked so hard in society, but I have worked to heal my pain. I have come into this life with great pain to heal, and I am doing it. So I am working. Even if I cannot work at Safeway, even if I have little to show for what I have done, I am doing mounds and piles of work. But I cannot do it alone. Thank you for inspiring me and helping me. It is you who do it through me. I am the vessel for the divine mission.

And once I have come through the initial steps of the mission, a woman takes my hand and says "It's time for you to step up." She takes me to an altar, a type of throne. "You were meant to soar," she reminds me. It's something that I knew along, which I held against people in my lack of humbleness, until I was beaten to the dust and became the worst one of all. Now no longer can the vanity remain. I am the queen because I have so much to give.

She tells me to jump off. I walk to the top of the steps, and I do, without fear. As soon as I fall I turn into a great white bird and fly up into the starry sky. I go so very far, until I have turned into a shooting star. The mother night takes her cape across the sky. She draws a thread of the rising dawn, of the sunshine. My love spins stars. I see her there, spinning stars for my dreams. Thank you. Thank you for loving me, the loveless, the wretched, she who cannot love but bleeds well and often. My love becomes a shooting star. We see the edge of mother night's cape. The dawn is rising. We want to stay among the stars. Only shooting stars make it through.

We shoot through the dawn. Shooting stars can break the dawn. We break the curtain, and here we are, out from the dark, into a whole new world.

We are the light emerging.

And on the other side is a crowd, waiting to hear what I have to say. Along the journey I picked up a secret message, that I shall now relay.

And I say "Only shooting stars make it through."

They knew all along. The kings and queens they are. They knew.

Thanks for listening, kings and queens.
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