Hope

The knife against a cutting board is a symbol of hope: the ability to provide for oneself, to make a whole apple into slices, to carve a beast into dinner. When I look upon my kitchen now, I rejoice at its hominess, and that I made it so. I rejoice that I shop for food, I cook. I am happy to provide dinner for my boyfriend and me, and to do the dishes each night. I enjoy eating, especially in such a clean, orderly, pretty place.

A butcher’s knife against the kitchen table was one of the last things I saw the day I left Dilip’s house for good. He had left it there the night before after having cut up something to eat- of course he never cleaned what he used. I had lived there alone with him from 1997 to 2004. I hated him. I hated that house, though I could never admit it to myself, because it was purportedly a “power spot” in the Castaneda/don Juan sense, according to Dilip and cronies, so to have had negative thoughts about one’s place of living ( I wouldn’t dare call it my ‘home’) would have been to curse it, and hence, myself. Since Dilip had already told me I was damned to hell many times over, I figured I’d better try to do everything I can to bring my score back up to zero in this lifetime.

That house way out in Shoreham, Long Island, was so very very far away from my parents. Living with Dilip there was life in isolation from family, society, home, love. Today I see that being amongst people isn’t just enlivening,but imperative, whereas Dilip had led me to believe that people were just a needless drain on one’s resources. He said the only way to defeat foes such as parents was to leave them. Leave society. Leave your friends. Treat the world as an illusion. Come live with me and be my slave, and maybe if you redeem yourself in my eyes, I will let you come with me to Heaven. Had he put his offer to come join his group of losers this way, I would never have gone with him, for the price had been too steep- life on Earth with him was living Hell.