My storm is far away, off at the edge of the desert. Blue gray clouds hover over ancient cliffs, remnants of an extinct lake. There is lightning and wind but I can't see that now, it's too far away, but I'm excited, I love storms. To watch them destroy everything they touch, start fires, kill, wreck. When it's over the world seems new and alive as if it had survived imminent demise. But don't misunderstand me, I love the feeling of rejuvenation and joy at seeing the sun again, but what I love about a storm is the power; The lightning that can illuminate everything for miles, wind that ravages trees and rain that floods the streets. Nothing is so alive as when it's trying not to die. Afterwards we simply get to appreciate living, but in the storm, that's when we're truly alive.
I wanted destruction in my life, I have to remember when i went to China, when I chose to leave school and travel I knew I was looking for adventure, but beyond that what I rarely talked about was that I was searching for the deepest darkest hole I could find to climb back out of. I wasn't looking for vacation I was looking for trials. I asked the universe for hell and it answered my prayer. I rode out that storm and I am stronger for it. But I'm not done with it yet as much as I like to think I am, as much as I regularly tell myself I've gotten through it. A picture, a note, an e-mail I forgot to delete, any of these things can toss me back again to where I was a year ago. Of course now it only lasts a day of feeling miserable rather than months, but i know that pain is still there, And I wonder if I'll ever really be able to cast it away completely.
I found the heart of darkness though, I so completely dashed my limits of emotional pain. And now I know I will make it through this. But This knowledge doesn't have with it the addictive feeling that other trials leave me with that I could do anything, that I have the ability to transcend all challenges. I'm still left feeling all together disappointed that it hasn't killed me. I mean this wasn't just a bit of hard work, this was love, the mountain mover, the world changer. Love is supposed to decimate entire armies. And in the end it left pitifully, turning me into a monster and burning away a lot of the good things in my life.
I am not healed, That is the final thing I feel. I'm not healed, and I might get better and better over time, but the moment of healing has not yet come and I truly wonder if it's possible to really heal. Every time I see her picture for the rest of my life am I going to be griped by hatred and fear? as long as that is true I don't think i can say I am healed, that wound is deep inside my soul. It's been slightly less than a year since I've stopped talking with her, I don't know what is going to happen this year, who I'll meet and what events will shape me further, a year from now I might have forgotten her completely, or perhaps even forgiven her.
