You open your eyes and brave the tundra before you. Struck like a dear in headlights over the plumes of dust in your face. Rendered retarded by the perfectness of it's awesome mechanisms. You realize that in this world, where you get to only by personal honesty, you can adequately gage your actions and correct them. I just realized that the volume I listen to my music terrifies me. It's the sensitivity, it's the feeling of being naked again. My nose is wet and cold, so are my fingers. These clothes are not particularly comfortable and my room is a mess. Most people I know live in this state of personal apathy and do nothing about it. There are many things in my life I've let go of- some I've missed. I let the dishes pile up and it pisses me off. The funny thing is that when I'm doing the dishes- the actual act of it, I rather enjoy myself. The last time I did them I was kind of hoping I had made more of a mess to clean. BUT! The very moment before I do them, I think I will never want to do that.
I'm terrified of putting my self out there to a new person. I thought I was so incredibly honest but I met someone I'm interested in and I found that I couldn't say this in person. Most people think it's a little much to start off with on a first date. I don't think a person deserves the best of you until they can take the worst. With that on my mind, I realize that a first date is always going to end in abject horror. If you can't be your worst, you also can't be your best because that is a tower supported by the ugly underwork. I haven't written anything in a while, I don't really know why. I thought it was becoming too familiar. I could hack away at these keys and lie to myself all day. I wrote something the other day in surprise on how little of my writing is honest. Once praised for my honesty it seems I got caught in kind of a plateau of just being mediocre.
A friend of mine wrote that I was "only half way there"
It seems like no matter how high I go, I'm always half way there. Every time I find a place to rest, my resting self tells me about how horrible the last experience was. Basically it is the left side of the brain communicating with the right side. It's funny that only now are they talking in science of the conversation between order and chaos. Equilibrium economics is an absolute joke. I laugh any time someone tells me they are an economic student. Look, our economics just went into the shitter. By the time they find something that actually works, you've had studied, for four years or more, all the ways that don't work. I mean, last I heard, they were still teaching macro and micro. They have no idea how to work a magnitude of scale- or even why one effects the other. American history is the one of a model airplane crashing into the ground after five minutes of flight. Sure, the fireball was larger than the others, but there are still folks burning in here.
Thoreau says "
“Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”
This is why having a practice really helps. If you try to engage in a spiritual quest without any real help, you'll have an experience in multiple disciplines and drift between them. True skills are honed over time and you can't reach mastery if you don't seriously take it up.
That is what I'm trying to do. Get back on the horse.
It's like so many people are stuck in the tar and the ones that sign up for clubs have these people rush over and help you. I've never found a club of people that I particularly enjoyed and so I couldn't get real help from any of them. Basically because I refused their help and I've decided to pull myself up. Thanks, but I got this. My friends lie to me about how I look or how I act because they are scared I will judge them critically in response instead of supporting them. It is the exact same complication as the prisoner's dilemma. Jesus, I've got a dictionary and a thesaurus (and I spelled it correctly the first time!) on friggin' speed dial. I just click a word twice to get it's meaning. Fantastic. I've really butchered my sense of self with this machine.
You know, feeling crazy is a ... crazy feeling. I noticed, after thinking about the mechanisms that would drive one "insane" I realized that it's a cultural term that has absolutely nothing to do with the actual event, as I would imagine it. Socially crazy is anything beyond Rx, so do speak- beyond social barriers. Someone asked me today if I thought that they were crazy. I half considered if they wanted a formal (bullshit) answer or the "what's socially awkward" dance and ended with a "no, it's good."
That's why the mainstream is filled with people who socially police themselves and others to be "kind neighbors, hard workers, money earners, pleasant people"
What's funny is the Dharma basically says "I don't care about you. Forget about what you have, it's all broken and useless." and then it belches and walks away. It takes great determination to sit at that table. The balls to lay yourself out like that. I know you don't care! I'm going to sit down and make me a sandwich anyway! I know you think my feet are gross but your teeth aren't that good! We're this bunch of kindly disfigured souls bumbling around the blackberry bush. We dance around so long that we forget why we're dancing and so we miss the cosmic social cues and miss our turn to jump around to another place.
And so, I've papa legba tattooed to my calf. Lord of Transition.
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