Always Impossible

Always somewhere else

Always someone else

Always a different horizon

Always a greener pasture

Always a safer haven

Always a better answer

Always a happier day

Always a prettier maiden

Always somewhere else

But never here

Always something unseen

But nothing felt

Always something impossible

Always someone impossible

Always impossible

The essence of anxiety is a lack of security. The self, seeking to separate itself from the  the dance of birth and death and rebirth that is the flux of all-things, isolates itself from nature. In a messy metaphycial divorce, it tears itself away from its earthly mother.

Once out of its natural being, the ego must fortify itself from its “vantage” position. But the more it fortifies, the more it needs to fortify, for there is always a gap in the castle walls. And the more you get, the more you have to worry about.

This burden of conscience builds and builds upon the back of the separated ego. Given our limited nature as fallible and vulnerable beings, eventually something will give, and the whole facade will fall. This is inevitable, but the separated ego does not want to face this reality.

So it looks forward to an imagined future. One it can never reach, but that is not a problem. To stop would be for it to reveal its futility. Something must keep it going.

I am a creature of this ego. Although I am aware of it, it still holds sway over me. Conditioning must be undone, but I imagine this takes time, and society does not make it easy to be a free, enlightened being interconnected with nature.

Still we must try.

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Laugh, or die!

Here are your options in life – laugh, or die. Absurdity will confront you, stupidity also. Bad things will happen, people will snap. Accidents are never afar. Irrational people will do irrational things. Rational people will do irrational things. Crows will poo on your head.

In our quest for security, let us not become humourless. For humour is security. Jolly people live longer, and the merry have a better, more optimistic outlook on life. They can see opportunity, they can bear the weight of the world. Whatever life brings, can we not at least laugh?

Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Things are funny. The deranged are funny. Trump! Trump!

This world has strong notes of tragedy. Doomed people, dumb pontificators, useless tyrants, bumbling fools, arrogant warblers, mindless drones, bitter widows. Laugh!

Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! There lies strength, in sending it all up. Store them as power. Convert them into mana. Ignore not the hilarious stupidity, embrace it. Ha!

Child to man

I am trying hard to remember when my child died. Was it the realization of my mortality aged three? Was it the brute hierarchy of school? Was it the troubles of family life and its lasting sadness? Was it the wretchedness of seeing so much worldly suffering; the enslavement of millions for the betterment of a few?

Probably all of them combined.

A child’s innocence cannot survive for long. It is feared by resentful men, reminding them that their identities are a façade, that once they were but unformed children; happy, innocent, inspired. My child is dying, screaming in fear. The adults stand in triumph with a ‘told you so!’

But children are playful entities and silly. I was only pretending to be dead, and I still got a few lives left! Na na na na na, guess whose coming back!

The giving (or not) of a fuck

Starting to not give (as much of) a fuck anymore. Is this a natural reaction to extended periods of suffering – real or imagined? Is the inevitable jadedness and world-weariness of getting older working its endurance-melting magic? Something deep inside has evolved to become moderately wreckless, impulsive, id-centric!

Less fuck-giving.

Chocolate. I want chocolate. I want chocolate lacing through every nerve in my body. I want to become an imperfect, bar-lowering creature who doesn’t give a (chocolate-related) fuck. Chocolate. It is one of life’s escape valves. But I can’t vent steam off through chocolate-based self-destruction, for that would cause anxiety! Not sure I fucking care anymore.

The perverse and hypocritical nature of ‘perfect’ people – exemplified in my particular life by ultra-critical, hyper-self-righteous Mediterreanean grannies – is more depraved than the stink of a thousand, long gutters. There is my sign post – its much better to just let go a bit!

Meds. I stayed away from them because I feared the unknown. Wise at the time. And the pharmaceutical industry can be a dark path. But now I fear being a lifeless zombie far more. Another dark bridge must be crossed, another necessary evil to continue feeling human. A few pills to help dip my toe back into the waters of society. It means surrendering belief that my will and soul alone can carry me the whole way. Meh, meh.

The spiritual healing aspect has helped massively, but it takes time to fully actualize. I need something to tide me over until enlightenment is reached and my soul is cleansed of illusion and shit. Oh yeah.

Not giving (as much of) a fuck.