here i was, then, back at it, switching to a four count breathing mechanism—chanting, using the passwords, etc. Don’t know, exactly, if i want to pick right up where we left off, because, as it happens, I’ve come to realize that when Ursula looks at me like I’m weird—she’s doing that because, well, I tried for months to get her to ignore her boyfriend and agree to an affair with me. I quit doing that once I realized that I’m already her man—and because of that, a physical relationship already existed. But, of course, she thought that was weird, too, so what can I do? Just be yourself something that people used to say to me, growing up; but I couldn’t be myself, back then, because, at the time, it was not acceptable or even safe to be LGBTQ—since I hailed, of course, from the states of Utah and North Carolina—both proud members of the Jack Daniels fan club. Overall, cruel, small-minded racists that thought of nothing but themselves. But it was more than being LGBTQ. I’ve turned out to be a remarkable artist, with talents that most people would denigrate if I’d put it all out there, as if I deserved to be treated as if I was special, when, in fact, I didn’t have the product to back up the talent, and, mind you, that talent was hidden, even from me—it was stashed in there with that LGBTQ person—and, for a long time, because of that, I didn’t have access to it. If I tried to protest the direction my life appeared to be taking, then I would have been ridiculed.
It was nice to be chanting again, especially with Ursula’s voice on the vowels. Also, I’d been listening to my voice on the songs I was recording, getting a more accurate projection of my voice, too. Now what would be kind of weird is if we just started chatting with each other . . . rebuffed, for a moment, I said, “like how?” just kidding, you live between the sheets by that she must’ve meant that the key to understanding our relationship existed amongst my night thoughts—the things we consider when we are at our most protected and yet vulnerable states. And the fact of the matter was this: i was making room for Ursula amongst my night thoughts—which, in dream land, translated to, “I am making room for me, the next, real version of me.” Ursula, I think, was just pointing that out—probably to keep me honest—and to stop me from getting ahead of myself, thinking things like, “One day, when the future slows down for a hot minute, I’ll be the president of the USA.”
But we weren’t thinking about things like that—not at this stage of the game, for, to indulge ourselves would have betrayed our path. I gathered, from my night thoughts, that this was about my rise to power, too; i didn’t need a position, in fact, to be the person that I am, the person with the ability to shape and protect the future—but I wouldn’t turn it down if it meant I could change the country for the better—and protect people from those that nearly killed me when I was in the process of becoming what I am today.
So what? What gives? Are you using me? I wasn’t going to tell her, like an ex told me, once, that, “everybody uses everybody” which may have been true in a way, but not necessarily in the cynical way that she meant it. This woman, a horrible person, used this idea as an excuse to exploit people—she, in fact, was using them, and they weren’t getting anything in return, so, well, everybody wasn’t using everybody. She was using them, period. She was a real conceited you know what—that conceit fed on me and, for a while, ate me alive—for, in losing her it was like i was losing both my LGBTQ self (she was LGBTQ herself) and the parts of me that I, now, apply to my music. I’m pretty good at it, if i do say so myself. Now, you might think, you’re conceited, too, so maybe you were using each other. But conceit is only conceit when you believe something that isn’t true—something that’s never going to happen, that’s not happening at all, and never will happen, not in a million years—which is why I’m so careful about saying that, in fact: one day Anna Karenina will be my wife.
I’m not meant to marry—i know that; experience has taught me as much; now, i don’t think i’m necessarily meant to get around, either—so don’t think I’m conceited on that end, either. What i mean to say is that I live on a different rhythm—I constructively interfere with people for a time, and then, eventually, the wave is absorbed by another wave, and, as such, we go in slightly different directions, or, in some cases, very different directions. But, usually, I think, if you end up going in a very different direction than your ex—then one of you is bound to continuously self-destruct, and, because hurt people hurt people, well, they’re a bad person. They are realized, then, for what they are—an entity that only existed to guide you elsewhere, to, as it is in my case, a real partner and a real talent, recovered from the abyss.
I wonder, for real, though: does Ursula, feel a longing for something that remains out of her reach? And, if she does, will she continue to feel that once she runs this country? Again, if my experience counts for anything, she will, and, even if we were meant for each other, the longing remains—because you’re longing for a more perfect world—an afterlife, the 5D area that makes you both safe and whole: and proves that yes, your life meant something, it meant more life—it meant you go on living, and meaning something, indefinitely. The meaning might change, from time to time—along with whatever event you were going to—but the underlying architecture is permanent, and, over time, becomes increasingly perfect. As such our lives mean a better life to come, one that points to, and is defined by, the relationships that we share with other people—the people, ultimately, that we love.