I somehow turned my yearning for death into an appreciation of life. I didn’t really want to die, I just wanted to know what would happen. I wanted to escape this plane. Would I meet a god? Would I feel my soul? Would I turn into a ghost so I could haunt people? That one seemed very appealing to me. But, I’m glad my pitiful attempts landed me in the arms of loved ones instead of the cold damp earth. Today, I look at each and every thing in front of me and I contemplate its existence. Was it made by humans? Did it form through a naturally occurring phenomenon? How did it get those colors? Why does this feel so nice? Does it taste good? How does it smell? When was it created? Who was involved in its creation? Did it happen on its own?
I stare and touch and taste and smell and listen all the time, to an intense degree. Too much of one thing and my system shuts down. That’s where the death thoughts started, I think. When the world was too much, I wanted to get away from it. I feel like curiosity saved me, the hunger to understand - colors, smells, textures - a form of resistance to despair. There is no way to leave this earth and this body, unless I am abducted by aliens (wouldn’t that be lucky?) I like using the earth to connect to something much bigger than myself. Something that is tangible, beautiful, terrifying, gruesome, and loving. I think of god (as I understand god) as this force of energy that I can use as a gateway, a tool, to spirituality. The earth is my temple without walls. My purpose is to just be. My relationship with my body is complicated to say the least, but we’re working on it, together.
Edit: I spoke this piece at a queer open mic and even though I was shaking like a rabbit in a room full of rottweilers, I felt happy to bear a part of myself to other queers who just get it.
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