Blood suckin' succubuses, what the fuck is up with this

I've tried in this department but I ain't have no luck with this
It sucks, but it's exactly what I thought it would be like tryna start over

I got a hole in my heart, some kind of emotional roller coaster

Something I won't go till you toy with my emotions so it's over
It's like an explosion, every time I hold ya I wasn't joking when I told yaYou take my breath away, you're a supernova, and Imma...

I'm a space bound rocket ship and your hearts the moon
And I'm aiming right at you, right at you
250 thousand miles on a clear night in June

And I'm aiming right at you, right at you, right at you.

Eminem

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJ2bjStuwyY&feature=share

Young people dig Eminem’s song, ¹Space Bound. And that feels troubling. Yet, getting into their heads, I dig it too, even with – maybe because of – its dark side: dripping with human emotion, leaning toward self-destruction as the final solution, swelling with hope grooved by past pain and the suffering of unrequited love weighting down the heart. This all or nothing response instilled in our young, armed, and dangerous in Iraq and Afghanistan as essential combat attitude… I can feel you. And they’re returning to us by the droves to take their place in the beating pulse of American life, love, and laughter. 

Yet the heart is vital, it must soar, it must unite with the sky that lies beyond basic drives for survival. Its trajectory goes straight to the source of our ultimate being. This ultimate self is insurmountable to lesser drives. We MUST love: our art, our mate, our family, our abilities, our country, whatever part(s) of life we identify with. Our core drive is always toward the ultimate love, though: union with the SOURCE (that which sparked us into being).

When we are engaged by our ultimate self, we want no games, we want no pretense. We want no affectation about loving us, being in love with us. No words of love that are casual and empty. We don't want to be f----d with or f----d over. We won't ever speak those words, unless they are real – so we think. And then comes along that ultimate-cutie, and in the throes of hot rhythms and rhymes, it comes out. We didn't plan it, just the opposite. We were armed against it: saying the words… you know the words. We had vowed never to utter them frivolously, having had them spoken to us, when they were just a pre-climatic tremor, announcing the earthquake consuming us. And in those moments of aftershocks, we know we have gone and done it. And we must now live with that.

But here's the mystery revealed… It wasn't a lie in that moment, it was the unvarnished truth. Because we had ascended beyond body, beyond body consciousness, beyond the basic drive for self-perpetuation. We had entered the realm of the transcendent heart, where all is one, where differences and distinctions disappear and all of life is united as one. The words slip out, before we can censor them. They escape because they want to unite, unify, singularize us into the life without separation. And in that blending we are "in love."

As we grow in the experience of our own nature, we discern the relativity of being human and of being pure consciousness. We understand the limitations of human form and identity compared with the ultimate identity. We love all unconditionally, even our enemies, but we discern where love as an ultimate expression of oneness crosses swords with the relativity of life in the moment, where predatory appetites seek out our destruction. In self-defense we master our emotions, our drives, our appetites to exercise true perception, understanding, and wisdom. But we realize we are not all in the same place at the same time. Some have gotten there before us, some will get there after us. So we love intelligently, without bitterness and fear, but with discernment. However it works out in the end, we seek no revenge on others' infantility, for that is where they are. Their destruction or our self-destruction will change nothing in the fabric of life. It continues, despite us. We cannot bend others to love us. And if we could, it wouldn't really be love.

We defend ourselves as necessary from intrusions into our physical, psychic, and spiritual spaces. When the convergence of separate truths obstructs integration beyond compatibility, love segregates itself into "us" and "them." And that is the shadow of relativity that splits the whole into parts.

We are space bound rocket ships aiming right at ourselves. We are, Eminem, both giver and liberator of our own pain.

Carl Hitchens

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¹Eminem. Song Space Bound, Album “Recovery”. Song writer: Steve McEwan. Released Feb. 2011