I used to be a self absorbed, self destructive, sleep deprived hungover mess. I wore this emotional coat of arms with arrogant pride screaming sex, drugs and rock and roll at the top of my lungs in an effort to fill the shoes of those who came before me; Billie Holiday, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Sid Vicious, Kurt Cobain… all of them gifted and conflicted, all of them like me… Rockstars.
I have surmised that there are two parts to every human being, your Godself and your Your earthself. Godself is the part of you that is larger than life, creates masterpieces, moves mountains and fills every crease and corner of a room with the sheer raw force of your living, breathing, hungry existence. Your earthself is quiet, thoughtful, sometimes introverted and respectful of things you beyond your understanding. It is both satisfied and content. One cannot exist without the other and throughout the course of our lives we are are all striving to maintain the balance between the two.
In my case, I have struggled throughout my personal life and career to contain the force of my Godself. I must put her into a context where her lust for living and innate hunger to experience all of this life doesn’t wear away the vessel that the universe has so carefully poured her into. I used to feel like maybe I wasn’t made big enough, not tall enough, not God enough to be able to hold the force of this energy inside of me. It was as though I was so full of life that its vibrancy would burst through at the seams.
My Godself—I call her Younglao—is the part of me that gets on stage and bares her soul without shame or embarrassment. She tells me that I’m invincible and timeless. She is ambitious, filled with focused passion and was created to be adored. She drinks scotch whiskey and moves like the wind itself. She is full of love, so full that it blinds her to the consequences of loving so freely. With her there is no rhyme or reason for her actions, no prerequisite to becoming the object of her adulation. My Godself only does for the sake of doing and if left to her druthers will grind my body down to the marrow.
My earthself used to be a quiet voice in the back of my head—I call her Malene—unheard over the loud raucous laughter of the larger part of me. She’s quite content with the sunshine on her face and glass of clean cool water, clumsy in glasses tripping through life, careful and self-conscious. She’s afraid to love because the only thing love has left as a memento are exorbitant storage bills and the adjustment of sleeping in an empty bed… again. In love with comic books and all things dweeb, she shys away from the limelight and would much rather spend her time in the corner of the room with a dear friend.
Then one day, I came to a crossroads.
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