Poetry from a moment of imminent release.

This is it. Fuck it.

There is a moment, a moment in time. It comes like a long-awaited tsunami, crashing over consciousness like a dam break. The consuming, exquisite pain reaches a certain point where it’s been too blinding, too long, too far. Only the act of surrender is possible in such a moment, because the profound effort of resistance has simply become too much, the false front of determination collapsing in the hungry flood, so the fight has to end, death has to rise, profound obeisance must be performed. Because there they are, laid out before me, as I start to drown.

Every single entrapment, judgement, condemnation I have brought upon myself in this life, every expectation of family, lovers, children and friends, every other living soul. They swim before me, I, submerged in their sea. The wave hits, full of froth and poison, strike of a snake. I bow deep as a molten core before its power, and compulsively, oh so humanely, spit out the righteous rage of release.

Fuck it all.

All my conceptions and misconceptions and perceptions and experiences, all the false truths, half-lies, willful miscommunications.. oh and the pretty hopes, beliefs, grand visions even.. yes, fuck them all. How dare they possess me as if I had no choice, as if I were utterly lost and out of control. Fuck my fear, fuck that massive, slobbering, corrosive monster who eats everything in its path. I am not your dinner, I am no one’s pleasure, and I am, above all, not my own terror.

Yes. Fuck them all.

And fuck even the tenderness, that innocent, endless ache of compassion that grips absolutely, calls me to go back again and again, Charlie Brown with the football…  even when my own true heart, the one that actually loves me, has no time, no place, no solace to be found because all life force has been given away by me, my own betrayer.  And my patience with this process, FUCK my patience.

There is no time anymore.

In fact, it may be easiest to simply say, fuck my world, and my place in it, because when everything is fucked, then there is nothing left. Nothing at all. Nothing.

Do you hear the silence? Do you hear it, so terrifyingly, utterly still? 

Listen.

Because this is what I have been waiting for, since the beginning of soul time. Here, in the silence, in the absolute fucked-up nothingness is the answer. I am nothing, therefore I AM. I used to think I should have been something. I used to think no one would let me be something. I used to wish I could become something else. And then the great chain snapped, a tension too brutal for anyone to carry around anymore. The chasm called and I went, tumbling into unborn again, into the nightmare of the void. And the nothingness I found there caught me, bed of feathers, so softly no one heard a single sound.

So now I am free. Of everything.

I don’t give a fuck any more.

This must be what they mean when they say, not a care in the world. This place, where I care-lessly abandon everything I once believe had abandoned me. I cannot be caught, indeed I slip free as a wet fish on the bottom of a boat, flipping over the side to freedom again but this time, free as I have never tasted before, because I really, truly, honest-to-god don’t give a fuck, and so it’s up to me, nothing, nowhere, nobody else has a hold on me. They have all closed up shop and gone home, the keepers, the jailers, the prosecutors.

They have left me alone.

From here I see the reason for my total destruction. Because, perhaps from here, from the abyss, I could dare to live with actual honesty. Isn’t this from where we were all born? Isn’t the infinite cleft of the Great Mother everyone’s home? And no one loves me, squalling, newborn and naked, like a Mother can.

So this is it, the truth.

I’m not fucking around anymore.

I am done. Destroyed like a dust bowl in a high wind, discovering that mere detachment is for pussies. No, what I’m feeling is full-on eradication, annihilation, obliteration, and nothing less. It’s all nothing, nothing to me, any more. 

It’s true, the person I used to think I had to be, was very stubborn. She had tenacity. She wanted to continue on, as me. But my awake and present landslide to consciousness was even stronger than she. The day for permission was here, arrived, full on like an altered state orgasmathon, and if I cannot grant it to me, who then? Who then?

If I cannot rise up in rebirth out of the fucking nothingness, who can? I promise myself, there is no one to do it for me, because I AM after all, the universe itself, whimpering pink and wrinkled child of the universe, bellowing Great Mother of the universe herself, totality undivided. It’s me, and thee. We are One. 

So I ask and the answer is very clear.

Fuck it.

Fuck it all.

with love and the deepest respect,

AdiKanda