Lost in the Labyrinth

Yes, I know that technically, a labyrinth is usually a circuitous yet linear route, while a maze has dead ends, false paths, and is generally much harder to navigate – but, if I used the precise term, I’d lose the alliterative allure, so I opted for a slight inaccuracy… assuming, of course, that you’re a believer in free will – otherwise, a labyrinth is pretty much the same thing as a maze – only the endpoint differs, but the path is the same straight shot through curved space.

So, we’ll assume free will (which may eventually require a post of its own) and get to the point – or not, because the point is that I’m not sure which way to go from here. The grumbling goblins of the gamble have flipped all my markers. The skies are uniformly grey. The turns ahead and behind look exactly the same, as though the path were in fact fractal. In other lives, I’ve carried the FractalBlade and hacked away at self-repeating patterns. I’ve invoked the Flower of Life as Omicron Six. Personified (or tried to, at least) modest wisdom as Abayvynon, the stooping dragon. I’ve wallflowered flambouyantly, the InvisoWizard. I’ve worn SalineScars, and bled sorrow into my inkwell. I’ve harnessed TheDarkElectric and PositronicShock, recharging off of negativity. I’ve been Tesseractivity, the transcension of psychospiritual threespace. And now, as Protospect personified, I’m remembering futures that I’ll never live, and all my possible pasts have yet to catch up.

Which may beg the question, is it time for another incarnation? Do I have another life in me? I’m counting 9 already… Or, is it possible to “go back and get it” (as a symbol I’ve incidentally made a rather large part of my life keeps suggesting)? To resurrect those other selves, without losing this one? Who am I now, anyway? I haven’t said a lot, no matter the vast oceans I’ve felt and thought. I’m still not sure what to do with my voice. Is my journey important? If so, which parts? Am I still moving? …is it in circles?

See what I mean?

Even if you can see the futures, the trick is navigating to the right one. I haven’t mastered that at all. I’m so far off course that there’s no possible way back, and every path forward is a trial by some element or other – primarily fire, but I can see several trials by water, earth, air, and spirit that take things into territory I’m frankly not prepared to traverse. (Am I being too vague? Or not vague enough?) So, fire first. And, if I’m going to endure burning, shouldn’t I try to give light? What do I even say? Is mine just a cautionary tale, or am I the anti-hero on a journey of redemption? Or both? Or neither? Will time ever tell? Or am I just stuck here?

I don’t want to be stuck here. I want to be alive. In motion. Free. But I’m not willing to leave family behind. I won’t make the Buddha’s mistake – not again, at least. If I’m going to find Enlightenment, or even just the way out of this serpentine mess, it won’t be without them – it’ll be because of them.

The House That Silence Built

I’ve been silent for years. For just about everything that matters. At least, when it comes to you, la gente del mundo, the general public. I used to write for the world. Back when I felt like my pain and joy still mattered to anyone but me, before I let Them whittle away my self-worth. Before I let Them break me. Though I’m not sure I could have stopped Them even if I’d known then how to try. I know now that it’s not quite possible to do it alone.

But that’s what I’ve always been – alone. My life, it’s all about me being on the outside looking in. The sole child in a cluster of adults. A genius surrounded by the average. A goy among the jews, a whiteboy in the ghetto. The agnostic keeping grounds at church. A criminal in the cops’ employ. A dropout serving academics. A quasigenderless polyamorous omnisexual gynephile in Cishetmonoville. A technomancer for the hippies. French vanilla at the Baskin-Robbins of kink. I was very groucho about it all when I was a kid, claiming that I wouldn’t want to join any club that would have me as a member, but the truth of it was, I’ve always desperately wanted to belong somewhere, just like anyone. I just grew to accept where I belonged was “outside”.

That unfulfilled drive, though. It led me to some strange places. While eventually I did find several niches for myself as an accepted outsider, because that’s what’s familiar to me, I’ve longed to know how the rest of you live. Early on, all anyone had to do to get my attention was include me. So I developed this fantasy of absolute inclusion, in a world that couldn’t reject me without collapsing in on itself – many of you will recognize this concept as “a family”.

Okay. There it was. Right there. I started to uncover the details of my past, only to realize that I can’t tell the whole story yet – some things still remain unresolved and precarious. And I started to put this post on ice, like I’ve done with so many others, but no. Breaking my silence was the whole point. So, even without the context of my history, know that chasing this fantasy brought me a decade of strife and turmoil. I’ve had my children used against me, and ripped away from me, both in more ways than one. I’ve endured years of physical and emotional abuse, just to stay with them. And that changed me. Bound me. Frankly, broke me a little more than I thought I could have been broken before.

However… Crista Anne appeared during the worst part of that still-undisclosed storm, and she’s stayed with me ever since. I’m not alone anymore. My dream of absolute inclusion is now a reality, thanks mostly to her. And now that enough time has passed, I’m actually free to run diagnostics and take inventory – and what I’ve found is that I never dealt with my feelings about the decade-long gauntlet I ran. I didn’t put it all in neat little boxes first, either, I just crammed it all into the backrooms of my mind. I still have no idea how to process it all. But if I leave it where it is, I’ll never have room for all the rewards I know this new life has to offer. Therefore, out with the old, and in with the new – no matter how hard it is, I know it’ll be worthwhile.

So there you go. Not a blank canvas anymore. This is me, for better or worse. Hi, everybody. I’m Val, and this is my voice. I’m going to work on using it more often.

Why This Blog Is Still Empty

This tree has yet to bear any fruit. Occasionally, my thoughts will return to its baren branches, and I’ll hang some tinsel.

So what’s the issue?

The issue is, everything’s a soundbyte, a meme, a boosted peak. The same prechewed morsels, foisted upon anyone in range, all the savory goodness of the thing sucked out. A copy of a copy of a copy. The irony being, of course, that I’m not the only one sharing this sentiment either.

The issue is, it’s all just sandcastles, waiting for the tide. But on the off chance that mine might stand forever, what should it be a monument to? What is the form of my lasting contribution to humanity? Am I the future’s forgotten ancestor, just another name and some dates on a family tree? Will my genes survive the evolutionary process? Will my thoughts? Does it matter?

The issue is, I have a gift, but I can’t find the hat full of names to draw from for Secret Santa, and I don’t know what’s inside unless somebody asks me.

I will pick an audience, and gather my thoughts into coherent form. Shortly. Maybe.