The Dream

Your ego is a strange attractor that anchors looping neurotic patterns (of emotion, thought, behavior) that sustain a sense of you as a somebody.

This moment is all that has ever been. The rest is a random rainbow trip. Consciousness collapses into an ego trip when a perception [of safety/threat, comfort/pressure, success/failure, freedom/trap, acceptance/rejection, appreciation/misjudgement, etc.] triggers a cascade of neurotic patterns across hormonal, myofascial, metabolic, psychological, etc. levels. The ’I’ flares up, the story of ’me’ rekindles and Light slips down the rabbit hole of the personal kaleidoscope. That is to say: Experience collapses into perceptions that in turn trigger neurotic patterns of anxiety, excitement, joy, nervousness, worry, guilt, shame, fixation, avoidance, recoil, fear of loss, of missing out, sense of inadequacy, of inferiority, of unworthiness, melancholy, dejection, compulsion to sustain, preserve and conserve, muscular tension in the gut, in the neck, cortisol spikes, glycogen plummets, etc.

Ego consciousness is an energy vortex with an ever elusive vacuum in the middle surrounded by clouds of cyclic patterns. Reminds me of this: atom_icon2-1030x1030

Sole

As the ego is crumbling away a sense of solitude escalates. The illusion turns even more vivid and poor little me feels totally isolated, unappreciated, misunderstood, abandoned, misjudged, lonely and separate.

If they only saw what I can see. If they only had the wherewithal to look within like I do. Etc.

Methinks

The truth doesn’t hurt. The truth never hurts. What hurts is that there is nothing in it for me. The truth won’t validate or cater for me in any way whatsoever.

The price of the truth is the loss of the illusion of me (in the truth vis-a-vis youse).

It ain’t easy and it ain’t pleasant. I stands to lose every thing and every body.

 

Fact of the Matter

Things go awry (emotionally) when I take them personally—which is natural, this is what an I is supposed to be doing anyway. The I is geared towards experiencing frustration since that’s what sustains (the sense of) it. Once the recognition arises, though, that the person who takes things personally doesn’t exist and the world this person enacts and the struggle that it experiences in this world is only as real as an optical illusion is real then there will be less and less inclination to avoid the truth of the moment. Once the recognition arises that  I can either rest in the truth or I can be driven by frustration: there is less and less inclination to do the latter.

Breaking Up

The dissolution of my [sense of separate] self involves the dissolution of the image I’ve been cherishing about a perfect little ’unencumbered, relatively carefree and symptom-free, independent, humble life one day’ as well. But until it’s dissolved the I must go with what gives, headaches and duties and all. Until then, it must use all emotional and physical pain as an aid to navigate the process of the dissolution. And understand that: Self-pity and melancholy will sneak in at every turn to alleviate this pain, to distract ’me’ from the fact of no ’me’ [that is to be protected and promoted and that is to earn that ’unencumbered, relatively carefree and symptom-free, independent, humble life one day’] and by the same token let ’me’ off the hook once again. Similarly to denial & emotional resistance the function of indulgence (in the bittersweet molasses of blue moods) is to act as kind of an anesthetic and to reset (the idea of) ’me’ anew, repeatedly. Until I feel utterly exhausted of the buffering, that is. Until this drawn-out love affair I haves with my lonesome melancholic self comes to an absolute dead end, and the intuition that I must break up with its sorry little ass, much like my ex did in the bitter end, turns into an actual, concrete realization. Until my body has had to break down (more than) enough times for ’me’ to finally build up the resolve to break up with meself, at long last, for good. Etc.

 

C O i L

I remember as children we used to swing back and forth on all fours sitting on our shins in the bed with my brother to lull ourselves asleep every evening. In retrospect I see it as a compensation [for the unmet need of a parental ’’lullaby’’ or something] that arose naturally and organically.

Last night I went to bed quite early, I felt sleepy but I couldn’t fall asleep. I was tossing and turning and there was an escalating urge, essentially, to reach. In other words, I wanted to escape the situation: to preoccupy myself with some [more productive & useful] activity and get distracted from the pressure of this dead-end moment… So, what did I do next? You bet: I inquired.

Here’s the swift gist of the flow:

What’s here?

—Pressure. Lots of pressure. In fact, there is pain here, in this empty, depthless, pitch-black space of endless idling. It hurts, actually.

Where does it hurt? Locate it in the body.

—I don’t know. It hurts everywhere. It’s diffuse. I just want out. It’s weighing heavy on me and it just feels so ’distressing’. It’s everywhere: In my neck, in my back, in my gut. I want out.

—What is it telling you Márk?

And roughly this is what it told me: First, it told me that I wanted to be held [like a little child] because I felt stranded in the dead of night. Then it told me that in reality the indistinct, diffuse pain I felt was nothing else but pure energy which finally got enough room to be noticed and acknowledged, and which I finally recognized for what it actually was. To put it bluntly, I sensed that this energy—as all energy, always—is the energy of love gently but persistently pressing against the foil of my mask, my persona, my denial—like a repressed spring pushing against fraying upholstery. I understood that this is the very same energy that all my life has been transmuted & transformed into a subtle form [a hormonal cocktail] of anxiety and that has compelled me to compulsively exhaust myself through various means of surrogate activities to find momentary relief before the next impending ’’nightfall’’. What drove me to swing myself to sleep as a child was this [emotionally un-expressed] energy too. I realized that this is indeed the same energy that pushes us all to prove ourselves and achieve things in life to find some measure of release in the approval of others. And I also saw that this energy is the same energy that could transform into the most wonderful chemical drug on the planet too when we merge—as we’ve all had a few times in our life when we felt seen, accepted, unconditionally met, accomplished, etc.—with the moment in ecstasy, when it freely bounces and flows and floods everything and time stops as we melt into the moment like butter melts on hot steak. In brief, I realized that what I was dealing with was nothing else but the movement of energy. And given the shift in the intent it could be transformed into a narcotic agent [state of mind] in an instant. It’s just energy and the way I choose to relate to it, or it chooses to relate to itself, rather. And it has always been just that. Energy. All the rest a play of shadows.