¶na

I thought that this would be the last day of my old life, but truthfully, I have been dead already for three months; floating between cities in Europe and floating back home only because it was part of some grand schedule in which everyone is strangely involved. My whole life has been a ridiculous component in a churning scheme. Whether I make a difference or not becomes irrelevant. Whether or not I love the girl I am sleeping with becomes irrelevant. So as I call the doctor and ask about my HIV results, I somehow expect everything to suddenly change. I think that I will somehow become enlightened to my situation, or become completely aware of the flux of things. But it doesn't happen that way. I begin to remember what it was like being in Crete, thinking about dying and about being the sole instigator of my demise … breaking down. All of my other breaking downs seem pointless in comparison.

dÊo

I think that how I operate in respect to the rest of the world is not necessarily different from how anyone operates or has the potential to operate. But this morning, here in Paros, I feel secluded. I feel for one of the first times in my life, a sense of place. I am not referring to a certain role in life or to a feeling of home, but to something simpler: existing in a place. I feel present and aware of my location here on a small island, lying next to the girl I met in Athens. I am wide awake, and the white walls have become bright with late morning. I turn over and look at Neysa as she is still sleeping. The sun is coming in through the balcony door, beginning to warm the floor.

I begin to realize the absurdity of how my life is involving me. How I have been relating to almost everything is like how a flower relates to the wind, or how a smoothed stone relates to the water in a stream. My actions have always seemed inconsequential because I have never been interested in an action that would change anything. I have been interested in pleasing others, discovering what I want for myself by being caught up in the movement of things. Even though there is a lot to learn from allowing the world to wash over me, it is easy to lose balance and be taken downstream, out of control and unable to make a decision or a change that could really affect life.

I rarely have a concise understanding of consequences in my own life; and I have often been somewhat detached from my actions. A cause produces an effect, of course; an action, a reaction. But I never sincerely thought about cause and effect in my own life, or about my actions having a result for others. Because of that lack of connection between action and consequence, nothing is ever bad or good. Nothing is wonderful, nothing really destroys me. I rarely commit myself to a degree in which I can allow myself to be in a vulnerable position. I oftentimes attribute those nets and barriers that I have created to the experiences in my life that have caused me to want to protect myself from pain.

The way that I deal with consequences is by avoiding action or simply never disclosing how I really feel, even if I am hurt or wronged. By refusing to grasp the idea that all of my actions have consequences, I begin to follow a path of life centered on self-promotion and ego-filled choices. I disregard social and spiritual responsibility because I am not connected to the world around me. Thus, I become careless with people dear to me; careless with my own body. I participate in life merely by watching in a lazy, passive manner.

tr€a

Watching the passing lives and the simple motions of other people has always been enough for me, it's enough for anyone not engaged in existence; but it becomes meaningless. The false meanings behind the things that I know vanish, but the things themselves remain. People who were also struggling in transition remain, and they are no longer inconsequential to me. In fact, because I recognize that they too are struggling, they become dearer and closer to me. In seriously contemplating my relationship to the rest of the world, it becomes difficult not to think about dying, not to break down. But the breaking down of things, of old ways of thinking is the point of all this work and reflection. The breaking down of things promotes possibility (Ammons, 1997, p. 210): my uncle's heart attack, my grandfather's suicide, my breakup with Natalie. All of those breakings-down seem to promote life, but not just any careless life. Therefore, if I wish to pursue and promote possibilities, I need to enter into a state of transition for the purpose of establishing new opportunities for myself. Perhaps I can break out of this cycle of passivity, concern myself with sincere contemplation, not a false contemplation masking my laziness. Most every religion emphasizes the point of breaking down: the dying of the self, the earthly body, the desires, the life of sin, understanding that the ego does not exist; all of these in exchange for salvation, life in heaven, playfulness with God, or knowing that separation is impossible.