surrendering angela

the autolysis (self digestion) has been going on for some time now, but there is this compulsion to write it in a venue where it can be shared. because what's going on doesn't make sense even to me without the ability to write it down, step back, and give it a good look over.

there's a lot of empty space where all this "stuff" used to be. stuff i thought i was, stuff i wanted to be, stuff in the form of pains and pleasures, stuff in the form of memories. stuff in the form of angela.

i'm not certain there's a whole lot of point to writing about how it came to be this way, but i'm sure that will compell me at some point.

for now, it's enough to say this:

everything that i thought i was is an illusion. for something to be true, it has to have always been true, and always will be true. anything impermanent, then, is not true. and that's pretty much all we see, do, think, feel and are. what, then, is the truth? if i can't even think about it, if none of the things that i think are true and it's all really a "finger pointing at the moon" then what exactly is the moon?

that's what surrendering angela means. letting go of all the cluching and grasping that stands between this illusion and that which is true.

and it's not as if i have a choice. i never really did. this is rolling, the fire is burning, and there's no going back.

and even when i'm bleeding and the pain is fierce, i wouldn't have it any other way.