Passion's Pit

I have been passion-hungry for quite some time...trying to find it in every day things, searching for the right career, relationships, the perfect path to fulfill my need for the stuff, becoming more and more attracted to the obscure, art, music, the dark alleys in which they reside, and the people who are full of anger, sadness, extreme joy, euphoria, love, sex, radical heat.....the all-encompassing human emotion.....

I've always been incredibly connected to these creatures, the artists, authors, creators, musicians, drug addicts, psychopaths, and I have undoubtedly attracted these people as well over the course of my life. Could be the fact that ever since I can remember my house was full of them. All friends of my father, with their strange clothes and thick cigarette breath, some smelled like patchouli, others of French perfume laced with marijuana smoke. I remember bouncing around in my pj's from group to group listening in on their stories until my step mother would grab me by the hand and through a clenched smile, tell me to get to bed.

I was always intrigued, but I never seemed to find a completely comfortable place there with them.

Lately, in between the monotony of routine, the lethargy, melancholy, and the bouts of misplacement, I have been starving for the absolute insanity that passion can bring.

In a smaller, safer scale, of course. ;)

I have been searching for the things that ignite this passion within my soul.

Other than love, I have always found that this search has provided nothing but a void and a greater attraction to the people who have found it with ease.

I have gone crazy, once in my life, as far as I can remember. Crazy enough to let it all go, throw my hands up in the air and throw it all away, every last bit, and then carefully, with extreme diligence piece it all back together.

A friend of mine recently used this quote in one of his posts:

"Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead." - Charles Bukowski

After I read it, I was immediately thrown back into that time, when I was most vulnerable, insecure, absolutely and totally gone, insane, crazy, hurt, used, misled, broken, and I remember the feeling of being..............

alive.

A few years later, I remember being in the ocean, pushed under by a wave, feeling free, happy, completely out of breath and once again absolutely helpless and vulnerable and feeling total joy.

Once again, I felt.....alive.

I have often envisioned being constantly surrounded by the intense energy of overly passionate people, allowing myself to let go and be carried away into the clouds, submersing myself into the throws of passion and losing everything once again.

The thought is entirely, absolutely terrifying.

But nice, for a short moment.

Truth is, I am without a doubt, a chicken shit.

I guess this is my way of paying my respects to, highlighting and congratulating those brave souls who are willing to live and die so passionately over and over again throughout their lives. 

Maybe it is them, who truly know life.  Maybe they are the enlightened ones.

The fearless ones.

And the search continues.