This essay is dedicated to our brother and friend, Christo Buffam who passed away recently. -je

How do you fall in love with yourself? The thick purple haze of narcissism is beginning to eat at me. It’s beginning to choke my throat, and I dream of ashrams, passionate lovemaking, and the absence of words. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want you to shut up and tell the truth. My senses are so torn and bashed, and raped by living in a society that is truly enamored with nothing. I watch America coast along and protest for $15 an hour while Syrians are being bombed with poison gas, and one hundred Korean children drowned after the captain of their ferry abandoned their malfunctioning ship, and in Nigeria, two hundred school girls have been kidnapped by terrorists and their government finds it to be going against to status quo to run in and save them. Russia is lying and invading a small country, as it spews its sociopathic tendencies on it’s little sister. Ukraine is tired of being pushed around, and little sister is starting to build her own weapons of logic and sanity. She doesn’t want to be like Russia……….

And back here, back home, I sit across a table from my one of my mentors while they snort cocaine and I eat their left over vegan spaghetti and filtered water. They stare at me and ask “What can I do?” after I traveled across town at 2 o’clock in the morning to ask the same question.

So, I’m in therapy, trying to clear my heart chakra and solar plexus so I can breathe. Before the hypnosis began, I had to tell the healer sitting in front of me what was wrong. I told him I felt pressured to do away with my sensitivity and softness in order to succeed. I am in love with my vulnerability. I am in love with the girl who is not afraid to take spiritual and emotional risks. I don’t believe wisdom has anything to do with assuming I know the outcome of anything. It is not how I live. I am open. I cried into my tissue, “I refuse to be bitter. I refuse to be a bitch.” I will protect my spirit, not by closing it, but cleansing it.

I sat on a small but plush red couch with my legs uncrossed and my hands in my lap as I was sent into an inward trance state. Before I even made it to the second level of the deepest depths of my psyche and spirit, warm and spiritually intentional tears ran down my cheeks. I have never been so sad. My sadness has been so pure, and so real that I had to find a way to connect with it before I could move beyond it. I also understood that I was harnessing a clog. My heart had disconnected from my mind. I could not afford to shut down. I could not afford to be wounded. It doesn’t work that way for me. I sit with my knees against my chest in a tiny room that is cluttered with expectations.

We had to travel down to the deepest part of my subconscious. I saw myself going past my problems, but there were times when I fought to wake up. I was impressed that I could not wake up. I am a meditator, day dreamer, lucid dreamer and insomniac. I am very familiar with different levels of consciousness. I went deep and did what I was instructed to do. We did some visualization, and my chakras and aura were cleansed. I was very disoriented after the session. I got off on the wrong train stop twice. I took advantage of my folly by eating a tofu burrito in Glen Park. I made it home and slept soundly.

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Today is my day off. I lay in bed this morning in a little ball thinking about how much weight I’ve lost over the years. My black nightgown is lifted around my thighs under the blanket and I let my braid irritate my neck. I’m 5’5 and 145 pounds. I know I’m not sick because I’ve been to the doctor, and two nights before, I consumed a fountain drink concoction of lemonade, fruit punch, orange soda and Sprite, along with three large baked cookies for dinner, so I eat whatever I want. My shrinking frame remains to be a mystery to me. I laid around and tried to pray a little for healing, but I eventually snapped on a dim desk lamp near my bed, and slowly crept out of bed at noon.

I got showered and watched Charlie Rose and BBC America, and within the last 24 hours, I have not figured anything out. There is no message or conclusion to my story accept that life goes on. We live in a fallen world, where we fail to maintain faith in the good and the pure. There is no need to beat a dead horse. The power of love exists, but if we are to experience the essence of it and reward from it, it takes a massive amount of work to maintain a pure heart.

Note: I do not advocate drug use. Some of my friends do drugs, and I am respectful of other’s individual choices, but I hope our readers will consider other activities and lifestyle choices that are healthier and bring positive effects to themselves, their families and the community.