Spiritual Journal, 10/6/02

11:55 a.m.

A fortnight without DXM. That is what I promised to the Lord. I miss it every day. I think about it every day.

September 28. It's been eight days; I have six more ahead of me. It's been difficult. My mind tries to think up different excuses to renege. I have problems keeping promises. I was ready to take up a vow of celibacy; after a month, I acquiesed to my body's and my SO's demands and desires.

I will need to prepare. I need time and space to myself. I want to pick out music, and incense, and candles, and water. I want to prepare the sacred; I want a meaningful journey. I want the truly inward journey. I want to know myself.

I already know some--at times I would have said I knew a great deal. But I have come to realize that the mind has infinite recesses. The straight shot of knowing oneself becomes asymptotic: it glides along the path of the infinite, but never touches it.

12:12 p.m.

I want to be a traveling philosopher;
I want to be a wandering mage.
I want to call upon distant friends,
and multiply knowledge upon knowledge.
I want to rest these bones upon someplace solid.

I need other voices,
vibrations of sound that will awaken.
I need my soul stirred
(to match my mind caught all aflutter).
I want my tongue to meet new tongues,
and my mouth to smile after the taste of water.