“Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest.
The soul, uneasy, and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.”
Alexander Pope (the other Pope) :) It's a funny stanza, because it
implies that hope is like some false instinct, which brother Pope, I've
felt for quite some time now.
When evening comes, I go back home, and go to my study. On the threshold, I take off my work clothes, covered in mud and filth, and I put on the clothes an ambassador would wear. Decently dressed, I enter the ancient courts of rulers who have long since died. There, I am warmly welcomed, and I feed on the only food I find nourishing and was born to savor. I am not ashamed to talk to them and ask them to explain their actions and they, out of kindness, answer me. Four hours go by without my feeling any anxiety. I forget every worry. I am no longer afraid of poverty or frightened of death. I live entirely through them.  - Niccolo Machiavelli
Well, I'm feeling better. And I'm letting better grow in the sunshine of a new locale. I feel freed from the awful, dank and lonely life of what I left behind. I've made the steps I knew I had to take, and I've stumbled up to good old Oregon. With my cat, my wits, and my fabulous relatives, I'm just about settled in my new home in the city.
I definitely went through a full transpiration of the soul before I moved here. Waste products were flying left and right. I let it all go down to only the essentials. But I made it through the lean times, and I'm reporting from the other side of the ravine, so to speak. So, we go on, I suppose.
I'm completely clueless as to what life will throw next, but that's not a problem.Life is coming at me, and I haven't fallen down yet. I feel very American tonight. Maybe America needs a little transpiration.
Our society appears to be going somewhere. We don't really know where it's going, or we are not allowed to speak about where it's going, or this is just disencouraged speculation, but we have a sneaking suspicion. We think, "things usually get so extreme that they turn into a 'bubble' and then it pops, and I don't know much about anything, but bubbles sound so nice." We're not that stupid, yet, that we don't understand the Roller Coaster of modern global Capitalism on some "gut" level.
But, as poor Icarus understood too late, what goes up too high must come crashing down, into you know, all the rabble. What fever dream infected man to make him think that living like a King is somehow superior to living a simple life of sustenance? But of course it's better! I mean, how can you even suggest such a thing?!? is pretty much the only argument that can be proffered by today's toadies of privilege.
My casual, layman's, armchair analysis has determined that there is a reason for this kind of behavior. And I'm not going to share it with you. OK, I will...
The man that is terrified of death will build up all conceivable defenses against it. He will scramble to escape its nether-reaching blackness and shriekishly call for help against the coming of the end. He will build towers and monuments and technological marvels to finally, hopefully, one day, take away the scary, bad thought in the back of his head.
Or, you can just believe that death is the end of this physical cycle and the spirit lives on for another life, and enjoy the sunset, one more time.
There is a third way where you don't believe in the permanence of the soul, and life is a materialistic configuration, and yet you don't believe death to be that big of a deal. I toast to those people. I can only know what lies within the confines of my super duper human intelligence helmet otherwise known as brain or mind. Also, if your god is all-powerful, why does he need your sniveling ass to go and correct everybody else? Is he lazy? Is it some sort of training program? What's the deal, that god? Is he on disability?
My personal belief is that I have a personal relationship with my higher power. Now that can be construed as many ways as there are cigarette butts at an AA meeting, but it's the closest approximation I can aspire to. I live my life. I look at the patterns in my reality, and I chose to believe that some of those patterns are the work of another intelligence interacting with my consciousness. That's it. There appears to be some sort of guidance or path or Tao or way or Great Spirit, well, go study Spirituality yourself.
Then tell me your story. :)
Cryptic eh? Yeah, I'm mostly talking to myself. Someone's gotta read this thing.
I had to sacrifice my body to society, but it's coming back, and one of the side effects is I get to pursue my hobbies with all the more verve. Being aligned and powerful is so much more effective than being incongruent and misaligned. Before I was always so self-censorious. It was awful. Everything had to be run through a system of checks to be cleared for the surface. It was like being a living, breathing bureaucracy.
So now, after The Event, I'm actually just not censoring. That's pretty much all that's changed. The Thing in the Box was The Thing in the Box. I just saw myself for who I really was, from birth, my true me, and I really liked myself. So you have this personality in a box, let me run with the metaphor, and you have to make the decision of "hey, my real self is a million times better than this fake crap I've been working so hard to create" should I put it back in the box?
Yes, I put it back in the box, no I didn't. Fooled you! ... I get to be me now, and that's really cool. All the makeup and clothes and voice and everything is just the window dressing, so I can let that person in the box live in the real world.