A thought on explosions.
Written on the road, June 22.
originally published on Substack: https://tresvezesm.substack.com/p/a-thought-on-explosions?r=b5f06&selection=e84e5924-19cb-44a1-b615-7e15df1103d4&utm_campaign=post-share-selection&utm_medium=web&aspectRatio=instagram&textColor=%23ffffff&bgImage=true
A friend was telling about a woman that changed very much after her divorce.
On his own words,
“she just lost it. She’s not the person she used to be.”
“she’s harder to deal with. If you say the wrong word at the wrong time, she will blow like dynamite.”
I would like to see what that looks like. Maybe she literally wanted to explode. It would be a spectacle worth watching.
In addition to all of that, “she is becoming more picky with her musicians”. The audacity, the nerve. This woman is a singer. She’s an artist, inside herself and for the world to see.
What if all the musicians reminder her of the man she loved and lost? He left but we know the memory stays for as long as we please it. It is not that simple to switch of.
I figured that there is a lot of performance to deal with. A lot of random people to please, while all you secretly wish is to explode and bring the whole world down with you. Because what you’re feeling is that powerful and ultimately our entire experience is based on ourselves. And we don’t care if we bring the world down with us.
That must be hard. We are hard with public figures, and public figures care a lot about our perception of them. It is the inevitability of the show, the hand that feeds and must be fed in return.
Cazuza’s song comes to my mind again. The world truly is a show, isn’t it?
Thinking about this woman. It made me feel that her pain is still around her, fresh and tender. Covering her body like a precious robe that is hard to let go.
That robe probably protects her now. It is like a shiny armour that replaces the man she used to be with.
And as I watched how surprised he was with her change of behaviour, a curious sense of protection came over me. I thought,
Have you ever been through a separation that breaks you and changes your biology and your insides and your archetypes? I’m not even thinking about the superficial stuff. Trust, self esteem, simple joy of living. Stuff like that comes and goes, you can’t really make it stay. And you can have true love in your life and feel like these things are still missing.
I’m talking about biology here. About our very palpable body, the way we are made of hundreds of millions of atoms that never really touch but our dimension makes us feel we are real and palpable and all bonded together, like a meaty and bloody voodoo doll that someone/something sew to keep it all together.
Miracles are easy to dismiss after all.
When we touch someone we love, there is an inner spark we can’t really see but we definitely feel. From this perspective, it is almost like we are mostly inner beings. All the magic happens inside, very often with no visible proof.
Like having faith in God. We can’t really prove anything, we can’t explain anything to standards that people usually like things to be explained to. But we feel it and we believe it and that is good enough for some.
Coming back to standards and science. You can tell I’m no expert but I’ve heard if you split an atom on a laboratory, it triggers energy that has the capacity to explode an entire room.
Aren’t nuclear weapons made of atoms or something?
We are made of energy and light and miraculous combinations that we can’t explain and still wish for concrete answers and reactions.
Boom goes the dynamite.
We still wish for things to be predictable, to stay the same, when change is the only constant in life. Adult cliches that we forget to apply.
You see, I don’t believe we explode enough. Intimately and publicly. There are images and ideas to keep and protect. If you can’t pretend like everything is fine, like nothing happened… you are crazy and sensible.
Maybe you are. But maybe you deserve to be.
Atoms are reorganising, creating new paths and connections.
Not in a love and light way. There is so much more to life than love and light. Ultimately all comes down to that, yes, but… what about life? That thing that happens inside and out? That can be so ugly and shameful and vindictive?
A whole new chemistry is being brewed and nobody else can feel it but the person that is hosting the small party of one.
We have the potential of dynamite but it keeps flowing around, a small river that runs parallel to our veins, exploring nuances and opportunities to sabotage reality. Small explosions that people don’t understand. It’s fine, it’s all happening inside. It is our way of keeping the doll together.
To me it is a miracle we are made of atoms and somehow don’t explode. It is a miracle — and a curse at times— we have to be kept together because we can’t go back in time and re-sew the meaty doll that has legs and desires of its own. So the explosions must be controlled. The body has to preserve itself at all costs.
I have sympathy for the woman. For her wearable pain that makes her less wearable to people. The depthness of the feeling can overcome the intensity of the explosion. I hope she finds her alchemy.