Posts Tagged ‘personal

18
Feb
20

Fear, a Personal Analysis of the Concept

****

A wise man once said…

Fear is a reluctance to accept and learn from a possibility.

[This shall be a pooling place of thoughts and/or philosophy on the concept(s) of fear.]

Unlike denial, which is an absolute resistance to something being a possibility, fear acknowledges the possibility and responds with a frown of disapproval. If allowed to fester and grow, fear becomes a vile mold or weed that feeds off the energy that keeps its host active; it saps motivation and ambition. Some can dismiss nightmares in a short span of time; others remain troubled by them. And, still others may repeat the nightmare (in what is known as a “recurring nightmare”), similar to deja vu and a difficult reincarnation; some might say this is karma or learning a hard lesson while others would judge it as a reluctance to let go of a figment of the imagination. None of it is real…except to the one who experiences it and, perhaps, those who’ve already had the same or a similar experience.

In Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, when Luke Skywalker is told Darth Vader is his father, he scowls and squeals as he says this cannot be true. He is genuinely afraid of the possibility he does not want to accept. If Luke was purely brave, ignorant and/or unafraid, he would have kept a straight face and told Darth Vader to go stick his red lightsaber where the sun doesn’t shine. And, it wasn’t “the force” making Luke afraid, either, even if Darth Vader, with his oddly skull-like mask, can be a bit intimidating.

Some fears are common, easier to share and accept as real, fears of the dark, deadly creatures, clowns, heights, cramped spaces, etc. Others are more particular and personal, fears of threatening people we’ve met, fears of dogs after being attacked by one, fears of eating a certain food after someone tricked you with a tainted sample, fears of trusting certain merchants after being duped into buying something, fears of rape after being a victim.

In regards to the last example, a fear of rape may be common, experienced by many, but every individual experiences it a little differently based upon the type of person who assaulted them. Someone first raped by a family member will not be as wary of a stranger while the one raped on the street will not be as concerned about family assaulting them. Thus, one victim may not always be able to “relate” with another; there may be resistance to comforting each other from a shade of difference.

Some say fear is good; they claim you cannot know or feel courage without knowing fear. But, how courageous are they who are programmed to fear a “common enemy” and/or follow the orders of a commander without question? Are all soldiers brave? Are they not also afraid? Are some not more afraid than brave? Are the ones who are more brave than afraid also naive? How many truly know the enemy and the reasons to be afraid and/or brave? [Gee. That’s a lot of questions I just asked.]

Fear is often, not always, broken by experience. You’ll fear cutting yourself less once you’ve cut yourself enough times and learned how to tend the wounds…and you’ll eventually, hopefully, become wise enough to avoid repeating the mistakes.

[Let me just pause right there to mention……I am not talking about “cutter” cutting. I don’t mean people who cut themselves to bleed out the pain they think this act will relieve. That is a different psychological puzzle with traces of will in the mix. A person who cuts him or her self while tackling a task, cutting wood, working with metal, etc., may be cut and learn from the experience. An emotional and troubled “cutter” ignores the lesson in favor of a sensory experience, similar to how some people use sex for pleasure and forget the emotional relationship aspect which often translates into “making love.”]

Similarly, we become less afraid of monsters and “things that go bump in the night” when we walk enough dark corridors, get tired of mysterious sounds in the dark and watch enough scary movies to make us laugh at what some deem horror. There’s a word for that, a word some may have a tough time spelling. Fear loses its strength the more we become numb to it. And, once we are numb enough to the fear, we can and must then rise above it.

I keep thinking back to a TV movie I’ve watched a few times, Merlin. In that movie, the grand wizard-in-training dismisses his enemy by ignoring her, depriving her of the response and attention she demands. He says she will be forgotten when and if people turn away from her. How peaceful and poetic is that justice? He didn’t lay a hand on her. He didn’t fight her. He just walked away from the fight and let “the powers that be” sort everything out. Now, sure, if the gods were cruel, his enemy could have stabbed him in the back or moved the sorceress in front of him in a way that would make her a constant pest to his senses. But, that wasn’t how the story ended. In any case, Merlin’s example sheds light on how we must get past our fears…but only once we’ve conquered them. Without having a firm grip on ourselves and proving a fear no longer can hurt us, it remains with us like a difficult infection or disease.

From personal experience, I’ve been living with a number of fears. Some come with/from a lack of experience; I acknowledge that. Others come from experiences I refuse to repeat, even if a harsh higher power puts me right back in the pit with the troublemakers. Some would say I need to go to the sources of my fears, face them and get over the feelings. But, there are some “sources” facing would only agitate the feelings. And, yet, I am sure facing even those sources would have some positive effect, a thickening of the skin as all repeat experiences should have. [To each their own path to recovery.]

Just imagine having a fear for more than a decade…for more than a few decades…for as long as one has been a legal adult or even longer, in some cases.

As a kid, I had a fear of the dark. It wasn’t so tragic that I needed a light on at all times or a hand to guide me to the bathroom. But, it pecked at me for a while. Then, I stubbed my toes a few times and confronted shadows; I spent more and more time sitting in dark places when I didn’t want to face scary company my parents kept and when I didn’t want to put up with guests who smoked, drank and spoke aggressively. I grew a thick skin that still has a slight fear of what lurks in the dark; I still shudder, occasionally, when I let a possibility enter my mind.

The best remedy I can give for this sort of fear is to accept whatever comes; if you are meant to die from what troubles you in the dark, you will. And, you cannot avoid it. Luckily, I’d hope, anything lurking in the dark won’t have an effect on more important matters like personal long-term finances. So, you might get assaulted and robbed of SOME wealth; but you’ll live to bank another day.

I’ve also been a victim of bullies most of my life. Pick a decade, and I can describe a few pests who have jabbed me with needles of ridicule and intimidation. I can cover one hand with the number I’ve stared down and repelled by my own defiance. The other hand holds those who eluded my seemingly limited influence. I cannot deny the possibility another won’t appear. I must accept this and be prepared for it. I should not be or have to be troubled by the possibility, at my age. But, such is life, and, so far, life keeps throwing me rockheads. [Maybe that’s why I become so fascinated with Geodude in Pokemon games. It’s a sort of therapy for dealing with bullies.]

[This ties a bit into how I feel about “supporting the troops.” I hear countless pleas for donations and support for forces taking it upon themselves to root out “evil,” “enemies,” “disease” and “threats.” But, from my experiences with bullies–and my fair share of ailments–it’s hard for me to buy “bully insurance.” I recall some TV shows of my youth that offered such remedies; victims would be asked by brave bigger kids to pay for the services of a protector. But, what guarantee does this provide? The brave bigger kid is not always around when a bully decides to strike; he cannot be everywhere at once and has his own life to maintain. Just as soldiers have families and friends and duties placed upon them by their governments; they cannot spend all of their time and energy on confronting things that may go boom in the night.

A soldier, in my opinion, is called upon to deal with a warring threat. War calls, and the soldier answers. If there is no war–only a fear of war or violence–the soldier is facing a vague enemy and at risk of paranoia and its ugly cousins. A soldier riddled with fear and doubt is open to sneak attacks and confusion. A soldier with a set goal in mind and the preparation to deal with anything that crosses his/her path is more likely to succeed in his/her mission.

And, as a supporter of said soldier, if the objective of the soldier in need is not clear, donated resources are at risk of waste, just as some buy groceries to satisfy a possible need but then let the food rot as they become involved in other preoccupations.]

Now, I have spilled quite a load from my busy brain. I don’t know how to conclude. So, I will leave things as they lay and let readers do with my notions what they will. Discuss.

18
Feb
20

Humor, a Personal Analysis of the Concept

****

A wise man once said…

Humor is a selective perspective.

[This shall be a pooling place of thoughts and/or philosophy on the concept(s) of humor.]

We laugh at what is either ridiculous or personally true within the limits of self-preservation. Some may be comfortable with self-ridicule, laughing at their own flaws and faults. Others more simply laugh at what they feel does not hurt them or give them reason to be concerned. And, yet others laugh at everything the first two branches of humanity cannot find amusing, repelling waves of tension, anxiety and fear.

Taking all of the above into account, I sort of pity those who choose comedy as a career path. Have I not seen enough movies and other shows in which jesters get “the hook” (or worse)? Have I not heard enough “starving artist” stories about comics who bemoan a hard life…after countless routines gabbing about how horrible the people in their lives are? Why does the jester get killed? Because his or her “royal audience” has a change of appetite and no longer is amused by what amused them yesterday……and the “royal audience” has a lack of mercy which compels them to dish out death instead of mild or moderate disapproval.

From personal experience, I’ve learned an audience–whether it’s an audience of one or thousands–will egg you on to talk more about whatever they deem amusing in the moment. But, eventually, the ability to amuse fades and the comic is left exposed to a sort of ill karma, retribution for turning acquaintances into enemies worth teasing.

Many love comics who get personal, who can speak of a loved one or fellow human being passed on the street in a harsh way. It’s almost a wicked sickness or trick of the mind brought upon by an evil spirit. Just as one may be encouraged to partake in a group crime like robbing a store or conning a “mark.” There’s thrill in the teamwork, but the prize–for those who haven’t lost their conscience–comes with some measure of regret, some reason to disapprove of what just happened, even if the crooks are presently caught up in the thrill of the chase.

You know the old saying…

Crime doesn’t pay.

Many criminals would laugh at this until they are sufficiently punished. Until they no longer get away with what comes easy to them, they won’t blink an eye of doubt. Crime, whether it’s emotional or financial, comes at a price. And, the price eventually impacts the criminal because the suffering of one spreads to others; and those others likely cross paths with the criminal who then experiences a shift in the success of his/her ambitions. The next “heist” may not be so profitable or the next “mark” might not fall as expected. There’s no reliability in crime, and there’s no reliability in humor.

Humor often is a crime of emotionally wounding another.

There’s a sick trend of getting more laughs from picking on your own family than current events. A comic known as Colbert presently spends most of his energy making jokes about President Trump, not about some more common experience we all might have or the general status of the world. Why? Surely, there are more things to joke about than one man with a bad spray tan and colored hair. But, he is prodded (by someone) to deliver this material every night to make his chicken feed, to fund his home and family. Tell us more lousy jokes about the fat, quasi-rich man’s physique and make fun of the way he talks, and I’ll put another coin in your hat, funny man. What a sad organ-grinder-monkey business that is. It’s no better than the child lured into the business of picking pockets.

And, with the crime of humor, when you’re not a jester being killed by your king/queen, comes the punishment of losing the audience or, worse, turning a portion of the audience into an enemy. [Unlike the pickpocket who, as long as they remain unseen, never becomes a target of personal threat.] Does a comic truly make a friend out of the victim of his or her jokes? I wonder. I may have dismissed those who made jokes about me. But, I cannot say I became good friends with the short-lived comics. And, if I made jokes about anyone, I didn’t see them wanting to remain close friends…just temporary audience members. I might as well be a bartender.

In politics, some would say televised debates don’t keep an audience’s attention if they don’t involve “mud slinging.” Just as some throw sex scenes into movies and TV shows to draw whistles and other animal sounds. It’s a form of temptation. And, temptation is rarely rewarded in a way that improves the quality of life. Temptation is equivalent to drinking alcohol; the effects are temporary and more often harmful.

Even the most self-assured can be wounded. So, why stab at them with every “zinger” you can imagine, expecting them to laugh? Pick the wrong note, and watch that smile wither and die. Why gamble with this?

Why does anyone pick comedy as a career path? Because they see no better option, like a drunkard who can only drown him or her self in intoxicating beverages until they puke their pain away, only to get a rude awakening, later. And, from recent cases I’ve observed, many comics are deeply troubled and only hiding behind a laugh. Fun for the audience who is blind to their pain. But, tragic for the comic. And, shame on the audience who ignores the troubles of the comics, who prod them for more reasons to laugh. If only we could all be amusing to lighten our own hearts and still help each other get through the difficulties life deals us, instead of buying temporary relief.

So, when you hear people say they favor a funny lover/life companion, maybe think twice about that before signing up for the position. Humor is subject to opinion/personal taste. And, humor is not eternal. It is far less eternal than love and devotion. Even a devoted comic cannot count on humor. Just as I, a devoted creative spirit cannot be expected to craft a masterpiece every time someone prods me to impress them with something from my mind, mouth and/or hands. The unseen forces of the financial world may treat us all like cattle, but we are not cows. We are humans. And, that’s not funny.

Now, I have spilled quite a load from my busy brain. I don’t know how to conclude. So, I will leave things as they lay and let readers do with my notions what they will. Discuss.

03
Jan
20

Greek Mythology Biology; Concepts 1-3-2020

*****

Somehow, seeing the “last” Skywalker/Star Wars film has triggered a steaming train of thought about Greek mythology in me. [I could translate all of this into other mythologies, but Greek is what I tend to favor and what I’ve spent the most time researching.]

On a mildly chilly Monday morning, I find myself thinking about how the Greek gods fit into my being and how they could represent different parts of the mind and body. Not all of the gods, maybe. Just certain vital ones. But, we may yet work out places for all of them, though size/importance may vary.

Think about this. Let’s say…

Athena is the goddess of the logic center of the brain, one half of the brain in which we calculate the outcomes of our decisions, etc. That tends to be associated with a blue light; so we’ll say this is the blue half of the brain.

Ares is the god of the volatile emotional center of the brain, one half of the brain driven by impulse and outbursts, etc. That tends to be associated with a red light; so that’s the red half of the brain.

Ideally, when the two halves of the brain can find common ground and/or work together for a harmonious goal, there’s a rare purple…or…ultra-violet light. Hmm? [Ya see where this rainbow potential is going?]

Hermes is associated with quick, sharp wit, deceiving eyes, etc. Traits of a conman or thief as well as a shrewd businessman. He is also associated with speed and athleticism. So, let’s say he is given the face and a thin spinal cord trailing down to the legs, one half of the physical range of motion. And, we’ll give his parts a green light, though I’d rather associate green with creativity and growth.

Then you have Aphrodite, who represents the focus or attention to the vain and sexual parts of the body, the chest/front and sexual machinery. Since red and blue are taken, maybe we give her parts a purple or orange light.

Hephaestus commands the back and arms, sources of strength and physical labors, what he uses most in his creative endeavors. Let’s give those parts a yellow light, like the glowing molten metals he might use.

So, there you have, roughly, every part of the human body. But, who commands the internal organs? Who drives the stomach? Appetites? Ailments?

Well, Apollo is said to have some sway over both good and bad health (though some say Hermes carries a healing staff and abilities). And, Apollo’s sister, Artemis, is said to be the goddess of the hunt. What if Apollo was associated with the fate of the body and mind, the periods in which we feel fit or ill? But, where would you fit that into the body makeup, and what color would that get? And, Artemis could be the universal urge to pursue…anything that happens to be our personal desire. Maybe she represents desire, not hunting strictly as pursuit of wild prey you hunt with weapons. Maybe she represents hunger for food, companionship and/or children…even though she is noted as a virgin goddess who inspired the Amazons to resist–if not repel–men. What color would that be?

Then I got to thinking…what of the other well-known and, some, more…major “Olympian” gods? What of Zeus, Hera, Demeter (and Kore/Persephone), Poseidon and Hades?

Well, there’s a distinct relationship conflict between Hera and Zeus; he is often regarded as a free spirit who chases love interests and, thus, stirs Hera’s wrath. And, Hera is often regarded as a probing, overseeing disciplinarian type who tries to keep a tight leash on her husband/brother.

What if Zeus represented the impulsive, youthful side of the mind while Hera represented the responsible, adult side, the conscience? What colors would each of those receive?

Poseidon and Demeter, god of the seas and earthquakes and goddess of agriculture, don’t seem to fit any of this body analogy…

But, what if they did somehow hold influence over parts of the mind/body?

What if a god of the seas, which can be serene and beautiful one minute and terrifying and violent the next…would represent the driving force of emotions? I guess that puts him with or over Ares’ part of the brain. Maybe, there is an inexplicable complexity to the mind that provides portions to all of these deities.

And, Demeter? Well, what if she represents the growth/death cycles of the body, how the body shifts and responds differently with the changes of seasons? If you know her story, could she be “to blame” for those who experience weight gain in the summer and/or depression in winter? Could she affect shifts in appetite, how we might eat more during one season over another, sort of like how certain other animals feast before hibernation and endure starving a bit during warmer periods?

How does Demeter’s infamous daughter, the supposed goddess of spring (yet with a name that means “bringer of destruction?”…according to one author/artist I found), fit into all of this. Wait, do we need to go into everyone’s children, too? Maybe I could leave Apollo and Artemis out of this, considering they weren’t offspring of the “head Olympian” gods; they’re sort of step-siblings to Athena, Ares, Hephaestus and Hermes. And, even Aphrodite’s origins are debated. But, before I muddle all of this and vex myself…

I suppose we could say Demeter and Kore/Persephone might be two sides of the same coin, since they both hold sway over the seasons. Maybe, particularly in women, they represent the shifts between youth and adulthood.

What of Hades, then? A god of death…er, technically, the god that supervises the dead and makes some final decisions. Perhaps, in a sort of black light, he represents the fate of the human body, the ultimate end result, how you meet your demise. Just as every leaf from a tree decays its own way–even if certain types of leaves seem to decay identically–we may have a preset path to follow through the decay of our bodies. [Well, isn’t that a pleasant thought.]

Another possibility…maybe men fit certain gods into their makeup while women have a different set, a set of the goddesses. But, then, who would take Aphrodite’s place in the man’s body? Eros/Cupid? But…he’s more like a messenger–a Hermes or Apollo–of love/passion/beauty. And, what of the strength of women? Who takes Hephaestus’ place in the woman’s body?

Much to ponder. Not sure why this came to mind or where it is going, yet. In any case, ‘food for thought. Now, talk amongst yourselves. Discuss. [And, do not be hesitant to share your ideas for who fits where.]

—–

And, finally, I give you my personal Greek combination name, which would be Athermitestus, or Athermoditestus, or Athermodieaestus, combining Athena’s diplomatic intellect and reflex to design strategy, Hermes’ wit, potential for compulsion/deception and agile mind/spirit, Aphrodite’s interest in love- and passion-related matters (but not everything conventionally associated with passion) and Hephaestus’ craftsmanship, his passion for creating and strength of endurance, despite what he lacks physically from the Fates’–possibly–cruel choices. So, a blend of thinker/peacemaker, messenger/gamer, lover/romantic and semi-handicapped/”physically challenged” craftsman.

I’d throw in small hints of Apollo and/or Artemis, for various reasons, into the mix…and, if you coaxed me, I’d even try to work the other gods in, somehow…but that seems a tad complicated, even for my complex self. The other four just seem to be the dominant forces in me, aspects or “shades” I see in different lights as my thoughts shift. I am not entirely one or another, though I might favor Athena for certain aspects and be smitten with certain ideas of Aphrodite; it’s my whims and desires that plunge into the depths of the goddesses while my conscience points out the semi-good and bad aspects of me that are associated with the male deities.

12
Dec
19

Special Days and Family Animosity

***

Who cares about special days, anyway?  Why get worked up about celebrating anything, when family is there to rain crap on your parade?  Hmm?

I mean, it’s just stupid to continually get your hopes up even a small measure when you know someone or something stupid and unkind is going to appear.  If it’s not the lousy weather, it’s family…which, for me, can be like a hurricane or tornado of misery.

But, that’s life.  That’s what this lucky guy has been given.  I live it.  And, then, at some point, hopefully when I’m still sane, I’ll die.  God(s) help me.  Where is this life going?  What is my calling?  ‘Still unclear on that one.

Why DO I clash with my family so much?  Why can’t I tolerate my brother, anymore?  Why does he just have to be in the room for me to turn bitter and raise my scorpion tail?

I’m sick of getting upset, sick to my stomach with disapproval and feeling like my body is going to combust at any moment with my heart racing, my eyelids fluttering and my teeth wearing away.

And, when I seek answers from someone I thought I liked, someone who isn’t part of the current battle, the best I get is a silly offer to take drugs or see a therapist.  Nice.  I could have gotten that answer from a commercial or poster somewhere.  Maybe you have a manual on how to live I can read.

And, breathe.

No mas, ‘kay?

16
Sep
19

A Party Year and I Don’t Feel Festive

***

Chinese astrology (and, maybe, predictions from astrology in general) is a bit like a certain brand of computer games that seems to have a mind of its own, telling me how and when to play. And, I guess, as I recently experienced a major “glitch” (troubling error), perhaps that too resembles my experiences with Chinese astrology.

I refer you back to 2015…a Wood Sheep year I thought was a sign of finding the love I have sought most of my life. I thought good things were in the near future; I just had to get out and find them. But, not long into that fateful year, I wound up in a hospital and was subject to a number of tests and treatments like a lab rat just to get me back in semi-normal functioning order. The expression “it cost me an arm and a leg” became a grim, somewhat sinister reality that year and continues to haunt me. I saw pretty faces but lost all or never had any chance of achieving a greater connection with them. So much for finding love. If there was any love that year, it was more like pity and it came with suffering.

Now, to be fair, there was no book or placemat telling me that was the year to find love. I took it upon myself to believe that from what I had grasped of/from Chinese astrology. I didn’t have a master/medium/guru to consult. I simply “divined” the possibility from what I had learned. Which, like many of my mistakes in this life, resulted in a slap-in-the-face disappointment.

In 2004, I took a costly trip overseas to fill a big hole in my life’s “experience folder.” I followed the ways of Bruce Almighty and said (to anyone who wrinkled their nose at me when I told them what I had planned), “If you don’t like what I’m doing, you can ‘megabyte’ me.” I didn’t know much about Chinese astrology at the time but had an inkling of good feeling and built my hopes up by carefully planning everything I could. Sadly, while I was ensured a measure of safety from certain harm, plans fell apart, social experiments failed under a cloak of deceptive friendship and I returned home with a case of souvenirs which left me feeling nearly as empty as I did when I left home.

I cried for days if not weeks, nearly as long as it took me to shake the jet lag. I felt as if the monkey (year) had made a fool out of me, once again. I remember watching so many others enjoying themselves while I struggled to insert myself into the fun, somehow. It was a bit like watching a celebration on a big TV and thinking I could step through the screen; there was no logical way to fit into the picture. The party crowd was just an illusion on the other side of a glass wall; I was not welcome (unless I changed who or whatever I was/am, maybe). I took what small positives I could from that experience…it was an experience which taught me a few things I’d hopefully be able to use on future trips to avoid repeat disappointment.

Now, what does all of this have to do with the price of tea in China? Perhaps nothing.

But, this year, 2019, is said to be a year to party and enjoy the fruits of past labors. Yet, as I think of the past eleven years, I cannot fathom how or what to celebrate. I used to dismiss the disagreements with family, who seemed unable to understand my interest in, my passion for celebrations of other cultures, and find my own small way to enjoy something like the Asian moon/harvest festival.

2011 was probably the last year I can recall feeling remotely good about that. I made an effort to grow pumpkins and redeem what was lost in my youth to very strange foul weather, a freak hail storm which destroyed a precious pumpkin plant in my family’s garden in the middle of summer, as if some god threw down a lightning bolt and said, “No! You can’t have any! No pumpkins for you!” I sought out my own kind of moon cake and bought paper lanterns. I had a party for one outside while the rest of my family isolated themselves with TV and computer screens. It was both mildly amusing and deeply tragic.

This year, I feel very un-festive. I feel like…what’s the point? And, somewhat accepting my lack of company on the same wave length, I feel like leaving the lights off and the decorations packed away. The Asian moon/harvest festival just came and went, and I didn’t even check out the moon until the night my most recent upset unfolded, the cliche Friday the 13th. I didn’t find my special moon cake. And, as family talked about caramel apples, I didn’t feel as strongly as I have in the past to get a special one of my own (which usually costs more than I’ve been told makes any sense to pay).

I couldn’t care less about dressing up for Halloween, if family can get together for Thanksgiving or if there are any decorations or presents out for Christmas. I’m slowly starting to agree with all those who “bah humbug” the holidays as commercial trickery. And, that really makes me want to cry. But, perhaps, all my “dammed” tears (tears I cannot seem to shed alone and which continue to amass behind a mental dam) are merely the sound of paper tearing, paper torn by the grim reality of practical value, telling me what is merely an illusion of happiness and what is the biological function of inevitable decomposition.

It’s really difficult to stand firm on any feeling because there always seems to be that other side of the fence making some kind of noise. If you’re the festive sort, there’s someone who’s a “humbug” nearby, trying to lower your lights and silence the music. If you’re the “humbug,” there’s someone turning up their music, launching firecrackers and/or turning their home into a spectacle. It’s like, no matter where you go, there’s no peace of mind. And, if the peace people carol about cannot be found, well, that’s just tragic and tears me to the core. It makes me question everything. And, questioning everything just stops the world dead. Everything becomes a rusting amusement park strung with cobwebs.

I “hear” some factor of Virgo (and/or Pisces?) might be responsible for this recent bout with self-doubt. But, who knows for sure. Though, I do see others, even here, having similar doubts. At least, it appears the doubts are similar. But, knowing my luck, this is just another misconception, another assumed grasp of reality ready to be shaken by disagreement.

It just makes me feel lousy to think this year could be the biggest party in twelve years and I, once more, don’t feel like being part of the crowd. Imagine going the next eleven years, listening to people rave about that party back in 2019 before they bemoan the toils of the present “labor” year.

To be fair, I’m not much of a crowd person, as far as I know my core spirit (though my thoughts of such have been swayed by research of astrology). I’ve never been comfortable at loud parties with countless people…or even a family of fifteen. When I was a kid, grown-ups did all of the partying; and us kids just had to sit quietly with a present, if we were lucky to get one. We didn’t get to play much together nor with the adults. I would latch onto brief smiles from pretty older aunts and cousins and think I was at the door to some magical world…and then be forced to let it all slip away as I returned to a restricted life at home like Cinderella and try to reset my mind for school work and all the education I was being told was important. I rarely knew the true warmth of friendship; friends would appear and disappear or change into something I could no longer accept.

And, I still occasionally mourn the loss of what I consider the best friend I’ve ever had, partially blaming myself (and partially blaming her). She was the only friend who stood beside me and came to my aid when I was suffering; she checked in on me like a good nurse. Male friends were only looking for fun I could rarely supply because I didn’t share the same sort of imagination or have the latest toys. But, *she* wasn’t like that; she would have been my friend, no matter what I had or didn’t have. And, though I didn’t share all of her interests (which made me worry I wasn’t the best of friends), I was fairly content just being with her, seeing her smile and hearing her infectious laughter. Yet, we drifted apart after she denied me the growing feelings I had and went to a different school where she became involved with some guy using drugs; and, back then, that was like a cardinal sin to those of us who had been raised on anti-drug campaigns. Had I known then what I know now, I might not have shuddered at all at the realization and fought to keep her at my side (instead of letting her go and drifting into my own solitary misery). [Granted, to be fair, I was in no position to fight for someone else at the time. I was grateful to have any friend visit me and give me some sign of comfort and/or strength to fight with my own internal monsters. I couldn’t be someone’s hero when I needed my own hero…or heroine (a female hero, not the drug).]

If I had an inkling of that same good, enduring feeling (that I had with her) with another person in the past thirty years, I’d be less inclined to mope. But, sadly, I cannot say anyone could compete with her. A rare phone call or email just isn’t the same as someone who could pay me a visit and shake the tears from my branches until I could smile, again. A pen pal is a nice dessert but far from the main course I still do not have in/with me. And, I think of all the things we had yet to do together, things so many young lovers claim they’ve done (or so I hear). While many turned their focus to the pursuit of sex, I was thinking about so many other possibilities that would bring far better, enduring joy. It just never came to pass. And, at my age, it seems like a foolish notion to consider anything outside of a world of broken marriages and single parenthood, of “sloppy seconds” and “second chances,” if that, of people making desperate moves out of desperate positions only to fall back into fruitless ruts after attempting to satisfy their “sweet tooths” (or sweet teeth?). I don’t want to think any window has closed for good………..

….So, we’ve reached that point in my train of thought when I know I need to hit the breaks (Tsssh!) and regroup so I can get on with my life before I am completely and permanently derailed.

I know I shouldn’t let any of this get to me. But, I feel an inclination to mentally stab myself (not using an actual knife) for missing out on some festivities, for not making the proper moves to share in the fun, every time word of some party going on reaches my ear. I don’t buy into all the “best ever” and “bigger than ever” crap people keep pitching. But, I know there’s a party…and, even though I’m not the best party joiner…suffering from some variety of social discomfort/anxiety…I’m missing…something. I suspect what I am really missing is the joy of good companionship, of friendship and revitalizing love. But, many if not all of us feel that pull when people are enjoying themselves; don’t we? You feel like you’re on a dark street looking in on some lively, colorful crowd laughing, dancing, eating and drinking. You feel just a little like that infamous Scrooge traveling the pathways of time and space with those three eerie spirits.

But, down the road, I doubt these feelings will matter much…or they will just become “wash” in the layers of sand gathered during aging. I just…don’t want to be an old humbug. But, I also don’t see a way around it. And, that makes me quite nauseous and tense.

And, how does one go on living when the past seems so empty, when your story cannot feel as good as that of another you encounter (and it makes no sense to say it’s better than the case of some other poor chap)? When that fateful day arrives to write an obituary about yours truly, what will it say and who will write it? I currently don’t have someone I know will do myself justice in print. Nor, even if I did, can I feel good about filling this life to its fullest. Maybe I never should let such notions get into my head. Maybe everyone can only live life as full as they can or the Fates allow. Maybe I only get half a life while someone else gets twice their expected share. Maybe that’s just the way of the cosmos and beyond human understanding…and not something we humans should dare pass around as fact or expectation.

So, what if I write my own obituary? Would that matter? A little. And, still, it would feel empty. Because, aside from my good intentions and fewer deeds of service than some I’ve come to know, I see plenty of missed opportunities either thrust upon me by controlling and/or mentally abusive adults or spawned from within myself by genetic “doubts” and “fears.” And, it pains me to think of when I did take chances only to fall flat on my back and injure myself. It’s as if even trying to do something was in error. So, why try anything? It’s a question that continues to peck at me and leaves me feeling restless.

If only I could tune out the rest of the world and focus only on what is in front of me. Even if I could or would do that, could I be content or find contentment in that? Or, is it already too late?…because I’ve bitten the apple that flooded my eyes with illusions of wonder?…with ideas of what could be and pretty faces I wish I could call my friends and lovers?

16
Sep
19

Who Was Forced Into This World at Birth?

*****

Just a quick/simple question…

Who here was a forced birth? When you were born, did your mother go into labor?…or was labor induced before you were plucked from the womb? And, did you suffer in any way from the forced birth?

[Okay; maybe not very simple.]

I ask because I was a forced birth. And, I was subject to some “birth defect” as a result. And, looking at how my life has unfolded and continues to unfold, I keep getting this rippling, echoing feeling like I should never have entered this world, or this dimension. [Yet, another part of me pulls me in a different direction and tells me I am here for some special purpose that is written in the numbers and stars. It’s an on-going game of tug-of-war inside me.]

Now, after you answer that question, if you care to walk with me, be warned. It gets a bit “heavy.” And, you may feel the ground crumble from under your feet.

As I touched on in a previous post, I see so much in this world/dimension that is wrong and conflicts with my spirit. I’ve endured so much “crap” and see plenty of others suffering even more, at least, in ways I don’t even want to imagine much less see. I see plenty of people living in delusional ways at great expense while plenty more unseen or badly rendered faces get dragged through messes with authorities and militaristic policing forces. And, I start to wonder if the stories we write, so many that have been “dystopian,” aren’t unfolding as we write them…or if certain stories written long ago, perhaps predicted by ancient people, aren’t weaving into existence.

I am divided between the world around me which lacks friendship, self-esteem, cooperation and a little discipline, which settles for and offers little for slavery, lacks glamor/style and divides people like cold fish in a processing plant…and the world I see on TV which is either on the verge of destruction, even total annihilation, or “living the high life” of risk, wealth, drugs, marriage and lust. I see dreamy possibilities but no real and/or pleasant path to achieving them…nor do I comprehend what I would do once I reached that dreamy plateau…which makes all creative efforts fairly worthless, like building a house of cards just to see it fall. If there is a way to reach the “golden city,” it seems paved with traps, deception and torture; is it any different than being lured into biting an apple from a tree you were warned to avoid?

And, while all of this–and more–passes through my mind, I am sure some may breeze by my words and shake their heads or laugh at their foolish nature. You may tell me all I have said makes no sense or isn’t true. But, maybe, that’s just how you perceive this world/life. And, maybe, we each experience it differently. Maybe, no matter how we connect, we are each experiencing this existence separately and only seeing virtual reactions from the bodies/minds around us…isn’t that a terrifying thought?

So far, my only “saving grace” has been to be mindful of the good stories from long ago, of figures like Jesus being of service to others. I tell myself to help others when and where I can; so even if the rest of this life sucks and the world goes up (or down) in flames tomorrow, I can die knowing I did some good.

But, even that feels somewhat sad and empty…or, rather, I feel sad and empty when my thoughts shift to what seems to be missing in this life…love and friendship…comfort and acceptance…being in tune with the natural world as nature intended and feeling the fullness of my spirit as it was created, not simply repeating the words of some fabricated religion, telling myself it will get better. Talk is cheap, as some say. And, I am growing tired of talking. My spirit burns and yearns for something greater. It wants to sink my toes in warm, wet sand and let the symphonies of crashing tides and whispering woods fill it to the brim of zen/blissful completion. But, if this world is so crappy…if everything is polluted and some risk to my being…why? Why do I burn this way inside? Is it a mad trick to torture me?…like dangling a carrot in front of a hungry horse?

16
Sep
19

A Fatal Choice -Which Do You Choose?-

***

Let’s say you enter this life and have two choices of how to live.

A) You survive until you are 60 to 110 years old but are doomed to die from a plague sweeping the planet which ultimately touches nearly every person like mold on pumpkins. Your life expectancy is a blend of genetics and whatever man-made products you put into yourself which keep you going as long as you can…as well as bringing you down in the end.

B) You sign a contract or invest in the necessary equipment (sort of like paying for college and all that goes with it to get a degree) to transfer your “doomed” human identity into a machine supplied by a monopolizing company already spreading its financial cloak of dominance over the planet. However many years and however you live those years as a human being are inconsequential; as you will join the collective hive/mind of billions of other robots who bought into this “life insurance plan.”

Which would you choose?

Or, do the prospects of both make you wish you were never born?

[More on that philosophy in a near-future post.]

Just answer the question. Don’t LIKE or star this for later and forget about it or pass it on. And, if it’s not too much trouble, explain your answer/decision; what makes you choose that path?




Archives