Judge and Jury
Friday, March 28, 2008
I meant only to know in my mind, and yet came across as the judge instead. I was high and you were low. I was far and afraid, and so I lied and made me strong. I wouldn’t admit the real truth, because the fake one was easier.
I did not take the information and compile it, but created my own impression instead. I judged subjectively. Subject to me, and I am hardly a trustworthy source.
That’s now how it works. One does not create a condition out of nothing. I did that. I didn’t think. I’m not good at that sort of thinking. My good thinking is in solving problems creatively. I do not fare well in the avoidance of problems or even making my views understood. I’ve enthroned myself in a sort of superiority complex based on my position. I have forgotten what I was to you. I have forgotten what I am to you. I’m me, not the guy in charge, but just me.
I do have authority, but it became used power, which kills things. I used to be afraid of it, power. I used to avoid its use, and somehow I got turned around and I began to think in terms of decision and authority. That doesn’t work. I cannot approach you, or you, or you when I am like this. I cannot answer you or guide you or love you from any position than humility, devotion, desire. My selfishness should consist of wanting to see you pleased, to see you with the best that can be given you. Selfishness should not be my self-preservation.
This goes for all. I make claims and statements, and they are either all about me, or they are about someone else. I want to clear the ones that are all about me. I don’t want to be on a pedestal. I want to be the old me. Real. The old me was sensitive and thoughtful. I didn’t forget you, or become simply convenient.
Maybe that’s why you don’t believe me sometimes, or you don’t respond in kind to my advances. Maybe that’s why you’re distant sometimes. You lost me somewhere, and you can’t seem to get me back.
So here am I. I took a couple of steps toward the green hills. Help me reach them. Help me shed this pack filled with self-sufficiency, this cloak that blocks the light of all of you, these boots that walk on the fire of my own kindling. Help me lose these things and become Your Old Friend, Your True Love, Your Beloved.
Here is my love letter. But I didn’t just say I love you. I asked to. I’m asking to.