A good conversation always energizes me, a high like nothing else in my life. Hours pass like minutes, and we talk about everything and nothing, arguing, agreeing, A good conversation is like a river, flowing, winding, breaking on the rocks, and pooling, ever changing. I enjoy the change more than I ever enjoy the agreement. Everything is good, even when it hurts, we laugh. I never feel alive like I do when I’m walking away from a night like that. I’ve felt better, but there is something unique about it.
When I spar, or practice techniques, there is a similar connection. Laughter and violence. But it’s not the same, it doesn’t feel the same. There is joy, but it comes faster, leaves faster. There is something there, but it has it’s own flavor, it’s own memories. A history of pain and mistakes, but more physical, more defined. The pain and joy of conversation are harder to define. They spread further, fade into mist, like being lost in a fog bank. You don’t follow a path, you just keep moving, keeping what pace you can, but always knowing there is danger beyond what you can see. Some danger is worth seeking out in the fog, some is not. Part of the thrill is the risk, seeing what paths you can follow, seeing what no one else gets to see. I’m always amazed by what people reveal when they talk.
The problem is always coming down, wanting that connection again. It’s not like a drug, not exactly. When it fades, there is pain, loneliness, craving, but I’ve had that all my life. In some ways I’ve forgotten the pain of being lonely. Forgotten the years reading, painting, writing, and being lost in other worlds. What should be as familiar to me as the blanket I’ve had for twenty years has become strange. It’s like when I went back home, and nothing really felt right anymore. The connections weren’t the same, some gone, some fragmented, some just lost what I had believed them to be.
All the time I spend teaching is part of that. To teach, you have to connect to your students. You have to be able to laugh with them, share with them, and lead them to the language without hitting too many rocks. Right now, most of my classes are canceled. As we get close to the split, all but two of my students are moving to another facility, so I will have to meet all new people. I had gotten used to those students, thinking of them more as friends with a time limit. Now I get to meet all new people, find new groups, be part of something more. Until then, I get to remember how it is to be alone.
It hurts sometimes, but pain is an old friend. Pain will keep you safe when no one else will. Fear will drive you to ends you never believed possible. I have made peace with them, but that peace is sometimes grudging. They are friends, but I’ve heard it said that hell is being locked in a room with your friends.
The best thing for it was traveling to parque Metropolitano. Sometimes I just need to get away from the city, away from the noise, finding the peace in being alone. There is always a difference between being alone, and being lonely. Like pounding your fists against the bag, feeling the bones ache and itch as they become stronger, pain that others cannot see, slowly healing, making me stronger.
That is the glory of a human life. It has the potential for pain, and pleasure, but too much of either will destroy us. A mind to understand, a will to find a way past understanding and into true peace. I hope to find that one day. I’ve seen glimpses, fragments, pieces of the puzzle. I try to always seek Truth, but I sometimes wish it was easier to see.