Garbage

Even if I walk the hundred miles to your heart, I'll never understand the events inbetween. If I ever get to know you, I'll never know how I knew how.

The distance and time is so great. It appears that will never change. And if I am near you, the distance only changes inasmuch we see it as one.

If I could fabricate Zen omnipresence and touch you as I'm inside myself, I'm sure I would feel it too. It just goes to show that when I touch you and you touch me, I know myself and you know you as we experience ourselves as separate beings. This has nothing to do with the fact that sometimes when I talk to you, it feels like I'm talking to myself.

When I was younger I was upset a lot. I didn't feel as though I was being treated well. I'm trying to remember everything that happened and see the wrong in each event as if this will help me accept what happened to me when I was helpless. Then I am supposed to forgive, bury all the pain by taking it out like garbage into the rain. Suddenly then, in a matter of minutes, the garbage truck pulls up and takes away the garbage. I don't have to look at it anymore. I don't have to think about it or smell it. To sum it up: It doesn't get in my way anymore.

In this little fantasy I know what everything refers to… the rain, the tears, the garbage. All the thoughts and fixations and repetitiveness that keeps me going in circles – obstacles that I keep my mind on while what is really important lays suspended, pulling things out of memory relates to retrieving repressed items, helplessness; innocence, forgiving related to the fact that I can't change what happened, and that "in a matter of minutes" is from the idea that when you connect with something that causes you to feel all the pain (let it all out) in a matter of spending a small increment of time crying or through rage or embracing or feeling total sympathy from somebody – doing this is like feeling the comfort of having clean wastebaskets, feeling the dirt washed from you. And in doing this, miraculous revitalization is supposed to occur.

In writing this, I have almost found my answer. My question before discussing the metaphors was what the garbage truck is? Who is gonna take the trash away? Either it is a good friend who cares to reach in and pick up my pain or a psychologist. It just doesn't seem that I can carry the garbage away unless it's raining, and it doesn't seem I can make it rain by myself.