Rendezvous with Trash

In 1999 or 2000 I learned a lesson about losing touch with my soul. I was making money. I was becoming financially free. My life was spent partying in electronica dance clubs in NYC, waking up in the afternoon, starting over. Girls, cute girls were my occupation. I didn’t drink, I didn’t smoke, I drank only Red Bull. I was wild and did not need drugs or anything to go to clubs alone. Fucking in public, in bathrooms; boys and girls. Voyeur, always staring up at go-go girls closely. Falling in love, if just for a minute. Completely sober, I touched angels.

My nocturnal existence led me to develop a fetish for garbage men because the only beings I saw on the streets when I drove home after leaving clubs were garbage trucks, news delivery trucks, and occasional bakers. But NYC had the hottest garbage men and I’d pull up with my music blaring at the stoplight…some of them danced. That was my rendezvous with trash. I would never do anything with them. It was just a fantasy.

To balance out my lifestyle, I also needed peace, so often drove Upstate for three hours to get away, to decompress. And it was always here, in my little red and white woodpecker color cabin that I’d have my rude self-awakening.

When I sat down to write, I was an empty shell or tank of gas. I had no creative flow. I remember sitting in my cabin looking out at the scenic view of the woods. My writing room was so perfectly set up as an oasis any writer would dream of. Yet there was no ink in my blood. I was dry.

That was my first unconscious awakening (an oxymoron) that I had lost touch with something pure.

That experience disturbed me. And I carried my emptiness for years to come, remembering and referring back to that day. I realized that the mind—with all its knowledge: lack true creativity, authenticity, and imaginative power. What society calls “imagination” is false. It is not a mind thing. Imagination comes from Soul taking flight—and I knew, when I sat in my lap of so-called luxury that I had lost a bit of my soul.

Today, I recount this story to highlight my awareness of the importance of my inner divinity (G-d) and maintaining a connection to it. I have traveled far from my “true love” as it were…or Love in general. I was on the path of Power and it kept me away from feeling the essence of myself and cultivation of inner beauty. I could not see nor feel.

Because of that disconnect, I’ve learned the value of that deep connection to Soul. I am learning that once I found it again, it’s like learning “true love lost,” and recognizing the mistakes of letting that go. I will not let it go again. Not at any cost. I realize that without that power of Love, I am nothing but an empty being going through a miserable routine: and all things that I chase and attain only worsen my addiction to feelings of emptiness…’til the day comes that I would look in the mirror and not recognize myself: because Soul is absent from windows of my eyes. I do not want to shut myself out again. It is not worth it.

Today, like G-d, I don’t sleep when I’m doing something creative. I go until the body cannot take it anymore. I have surpassed delirium and function in a perfect state when am inside the creative space. I don’t have writer’s “block.” I don’t know what that is. I have only flow.

I don’t need friends, cafes, opinions or noise. I need only time and lots of it. Time to dream forever… and the dreaming doesn’t stop.

More important to me than anything in the world is the chance to sit down and write without end because I get to be with my true love.

My true love is not “writing” but is my time to be with “G-d,” to create together with it, to feel the happiness of solving problems and creating something that makes me wonder. I am a cheater. I am only a translator of the things that I feel inside.

I’d like to say that I am telling the story the Universe would like to tell. It is not “my” story…it is what this bigger aspect wants to say. In this way, I am carrying its vision for me and for others. It is not my vision per se. This is the transcendental aspect of writing that I enjoy: because I get to witness something far greater than myself…it is the same feeling of awe when you sit out in a dark night dazzled by millions of stars. It is this gaze into the inner world that nothing can grant you, and no one can buy. And that is why once I have it, I will not and cannot let it go. It is a gift from Grace.

We shall,

Additional ref: Poem: Obsidian

Ji Strangeway is a filmmaker, writer, and poet specializing in female-centric LGBTQ. She is also a fierce blogger aiming for a new level of indigoness and bad assery. Find out more: | Follow FB: jistrangeway.official  #jistrangeway

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Ji Strangeway

Ji Strangeway

Executant of the Ineffable

The Three Gates of Speech stipulates that you ask these questions before putting your foot in your mouth: Is it True? Is it Necessary? Is it Kind? Since this doesn't fit the purpose for every occassion, the criteria for my path is: Is it True? Is it Necessary? Is it Indigo?

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