What's The Point?

I always think to myself that the best thing we can know isn’t really ourselves, It’s only significant in so much as we need to understand everything that went into or what was missing from our own human developments (Yeah, I think I had some gaping holes there) but once you’ve gone through all that, what you thought you knew about yourself becomes less and less interesting. After all that, which is a lot, just a big mess there, no one escapes this part but then all you can really think about is what life really is, not just what it’s for, but how it’s for that. Without this completion of understanding, you will be lead astray, into and onto side roads you might have bypassed, but then again, maybe that’s not the point either. Maybe it’s better to say we don’t actually need to avoid anything, because there isn’t a solid road here and it’s precisely because there isn’t that life can be fluid or dynamic.

I actually think you should be able to do whatever you want in life that whatever dreams you have they are yours for the dreaming, so what stops this? I had some thoughts about that too. Some guy online asked me this: how do you suggest we start imagining something different? I didn’t have an answer for him but something did and it went like this: You have to teach people to access the inner current, that which they are flowing with, fear keeps you confined to its parameters, it is like a string or a road, it’s actually the reason we have so many roads, this inner mechanism becomes externalized so now we see it, we follow this road to go here and that one to go there, but in reality there are no roads, only emanations, currents of awareness, but most of us are only switching it up between one or two, which just means we don’t move around very much. So basically to break down the barriers that hold you to one current is to enter the barrier, the surrounding fear which solidifies the path of the emanation. You don’t do this by feeling better but by actually entering the fear. My teacher had a technique called “erasing global identities” basically if your fear is you don’t have enough money or friends or whatever you think your lack is, you imagine intensifying it, for instance imagining it’s worse, now you’ve lost everything, you don’t even have shoes, nothing, and maybe it’s winter, you’re freezing to death because no home, not even a coat, everything has been stripped away, you mentally but most importantly emotionally enter that, feeling the horror, the absolute annihilation of your life. Or in the case of friends, now there’s no one, everyone has abandoned you, actually they all hate you, you’re like scum on their shoe, the whole world laughs and mocks you, you’re not even worth listening to, they don’t even look at you because your existence isn’t worth the effort, you’re nothing, no one cares about you, not even a little bit, your worst fears have now come true, maybe they throw your body into a dumpster and walk away. It sounds bad I know but it works in reverse somehow, because usually your fears are firing unconsciously anyway, the more you want to change the less you do, we usually go in circles, going nowhere, basically bouncing from one extreme to the next, now you’re depressed, the next you’re trying on positivity for all that’s worth, which is just a mental game that changes nothing, you still fear this so you do that, and you sabotage your actual desires this way again and again by trying to control it all but you can’t control life, there’s only two ways to be either you are fearlessly flowing with what shows up or internally (and externally) fighting against it but there is no in between, it’s an all or nothing type of affair if you ask me. If you go slow you’ll just run out of time, your life will be over before you break out of anything.

So as usual, I took my own advice and did some vanishing. There was some gunk there, I could feel it energetically like a stone in the pit of my being or stomach, I’m not sure which was which. And I sat with that, sometimes having to breathe deeply as a result of the heaviness, to catch your breath is to let one come up exactly how it needs to. Then I did a little recapitulation technique which is just a turning of my head with eyes open on some scenes of the past that had surfaced into my mind during all this. Scenes I thought were maybe totally gone apparently weren’t for if they are, you won’t remember them, but I was remembering again, I was right back there in my past, and it wasn’t a pretty one but I don’t remember feeling so bad at the time it was happening. Though my circumstances during this period were way past dire, I seemed to be holding it all together quite well. My concern was either being instantly buried from the load, or I was luckily at the time too dumb to understand what kind of trouble I was really in. The strangest thing of all is to see this and also see that it had all passed, just resolved somehow and not because I got smarter or more clever. My life had simply moved onto some other complexity. Then there came the time when I reached some stability, and interestingly enough, that’s when my inner pain grew to its strongest. It wasn’t when I was in the mist of the trouble, when I was forced to act on a daily basis just to survive or take care of my children, but when I’d found a safe haven, a routine developed, and then it was this routine that suffocated me. Of course, the suffocation forced me to act again, and we moved then as well, new job, new town, was that running, or exploring new horizons? I don’t know since fear was always with me, mine was an anxious sort of searching, as if the world was such a slippery place, I’d have to keep balancing myself or I’d fall off of it. Then maybe I did fall off, I don’t really know anymore. All I know is my interest in awakening went from a small interest to a full blown life quest.

I think in the beginning when I started jogging and just really pushing myself to become something else, it must have been a form of self improvement. Sometimes I wish I could get that back, but honestly, I might just be too old for it now. Physical decline seems inevitable at age sixty one. I hate to say that but I’m not prone to lying about anything. I sometimes think I’m just holding out here for some miracle that isn’t coming and that seemed like an unsettling realization. What would it mean if I just stayed here as I am for the rest of my life? Would that be so bad? Would it be some sort of failure to launch? Does it even matter? What if anything does matter? All these questions and more came up for me. I let them sit inside of me like little fear balls that were bouncing in and around the space of “me”. Interestingly enough, I then had a couple of days where my sleep was very disturbed. The first night I didn’t sleep at all. That was the night preceding my son’s first day at his job. He needed to leave at 6:30 am, and he asked me to make sure he was up but that’s not the reason I didn’t go to bed or stayed up all night, no instead I was rather busy, one I watched a movie and two I was reading. Of course, I might have gone to bed and just set my alarm to 6:30, made sure he was up, and went right back to bed. Turns out I only slept a few hours that day, and the next night when he didn’t need me to do anything, I only slept a few hours again and got up. I went down for a nap four hours later but it was restless. It almost felt like something urgent was on my mind, like a turning, a whirling of energy inside that just wouldn’t calm down. I even had the thought that something was calling me, like in this song (I’ll put it below), why had I been listening to that one? A day prior my son played it in the car and later, I was like, “Let me listen to that one again.” Is there some rhyme or reason to any of it? Just random chance, a mind on the loose so to speak just coming across what it does? And then there was the knowing, to add to all that was some type of knowing, like a feeling but more than that, a sensing that whatever I needed was already here, in fact, it had been here all along, it was waiting on me, not anything else to recognize it. There was nothing coming, if something was coming, it already existed not that I could make sense of that. I actually thought maybe my sense making was coming to end, I should forget about doing that.

I wondered something else then, could I let it all go? For all my searching and explorations, could I let that go? Could I let it be? Could I let life go and be whatever it wanted to be without interfering, without any preference or desires pushing out into it? I’m not against desires, but I was open to awareness just now having its own desires, and somehow just going with that, which would have to be whatever was happening. That felt like some relief, no more holding life. I had the thought then that it didn’t need shaping, or handling. This activity could only lead to more restrictions, not freedom, freedom it seemed now was devoid of form, it could take on any shape.

The more that feels revealed to me leads me to question something else and I’ll just say it because it’s this, what or who am I writing for? It’s one thing to write and just do it because maybe it has some positive impact, or it touches someone else but my audience if I even have one, which who knows maybe I don’t is a very grey area for me. I see numbers on a screen that tells me how many new and returning viewers clicked on it in one day, or a week, or the last month, but I don’t know who or what you are. My readers keep themselves concealed completely. Not a single one ever writes to share anything of their own lives or their own journeys, maybe they related to something I wrote, just anything like that. I obviously don’t receive anything then, I don’t ask for money, there’s no way to pay me or send me a gift, and well, it just doesn’t feel balanced. I think for sure I’ve always also had this belief that people in general, most of humanity, are just not givers, they’ll take or consume voraciously and never return a single favor. Now whether that’s something I just imagine maybe because of my belief, some embedded history within, or it’s actually the state of humanity right now is kind of up for debate. There’s evidence in my mind for both of these ideas since it’s obviously not true in my other job, I see a lot of giving and receiving going on, it’s much more of a two way street most of the time, of course, some give more than others and there’s always the other kind hanging around as well, but it’s not unusual for the cards or the dice to be very giving one day and not so nice the next. What that means could be anything because gambling doesn’t seem to discriminate, the cards can be awful to the most generous person and totally giving to the other kind, all in the same day, or in the course of an hour. Is it totally random or not? Is it dependent to some degree on the state of consciousness of not only the dealers but the players? There seems to be a correlation here that you can’t pinpoint because you never know what’s going on with anyone else but yourself. Most people even if they’re talking aren’t really going that deep, they don’t even know what it is.

So yeah, I know I love writing. I don’t have to try to do it, it’s always here but I’m not so sure now whether I want to do it for this anymore. It can get a drag me down feeling, like my energies are going out but not coming back and you know there is something, a facet of reality that actually tells a person to be careful with where and with whom they share the details of their life. I mean for all I know this writing is being received by the wrong entities, maybe you’re actually on the other end of this and you’re the type that just mocks it or even talks about it in some degrading fashion. I think what I’m most concerned with or about now is whether there’s a link between the output and the input, and maybe I don’t want one. Obviously you don’t want to keep giving of yourself or your efforts if you’re getting absolutely nothing in return, not even any word of recognition. I’m not sad by this and I don’t feel slighted either it’s not that, it just feels like a loss of energy in some way, like why flow something of your being in a direction that goes nowhere? It doesn’t make sense and you do lose energy. To give anything of yourself is to lose energy, so you kind of need to be wise, I need to be wiser.

I think anyone who has really seen something different than just usual reality initially does want to help, but then what really happens is there’s an explosion of expression, there’s a movement that wants to move. Of course, it’s tricky, because ego can easily want to benefit from this movement and basically rebuild itself, so there’s always this danger. I think it should be said that it doesn’t actually matter whether anyone wakes up to anything, it simply makes no difference what our collective dreamscape does or doesn’t do. Even it it all burns to the ground or goes sideways in the most obscene and inhuman ways, it still makes no difference because that’s not going to last either and you can’t save anyone from their own suffering, only they can do this. If we’re being totally honest, we can easily say that no spiritual writing by anyone has gone on to make any changes whatsoever to how the majority of humans end up developing or living their lives, and the bigger the organization usually for the record sometimes makes them worse. Yes, there are some people who talk about it, talk about life being more like a dream, but I mean let’s face it, the track record for even someone like Jed McKenna who is quite popular now is next to nothing. What are a handful of people going to do? Absolutely nothing right? They’re just going to live their lives knowing what they know and probably making some better decisions than most but that’s about it.

So yeah, I think I might have to really think about what I’m doing here. It’s obviously not that I don’t enjoy it, but maybe I just find a single person to write to and call it a day or I just write it for my kids which I think I’m always doing already. Or maybe I even let it end. There’s actually more movement in the silent spaces of this wondrous thing we are than we are usually aware of. We don’t even need all the words if you ask me. I do think we still need a story, we absolutely can and should formulate a story for our lives, and not just go with the first one we learned. There’s nothing wrong with this and quite frankly, it should have been the fun part, not the suffering one. It’s strange but when I take it off line, I feel a little bit freer, maybe because I’m not using my mind to talk to some imaginary audience. It goes back and forth though, after a time without this, I get some inspiration that tells me to go make something again. I don’t know maybe I should write books instead, and you know I would but books seem too formal. They are maybe organized and somewhat serious, and that’s just not something I can get with either. For me if you can’t have fun and totally fuck it up sometimes you’re just not really living. Trust me the whole enlightened saint suit wouldn’t even make it past my ankles. I just suck that way and I like too much to exclaim, “What the fuck is this fresh hell”, when I look or talk about something I either experienced or something I became of aware of. So yeah, I don’t really know, sometimes I think I was just born to write and this platform provides a framework for this purpose and then sometimes I forget about even having any function, and I’m just like, “Why am I doing all this again? What for? Or even for whom? Is that a thing or does it just seem like one? Or what’s the point? Do I even need a point? What’s the point of any point? Probably nothing right? It could just be more delusion, some other tie to cut, to sever. It’s almost like you want to find a place to belong or something to belong to and then the whole longing to have that becomes a tourniquet, something else that binds you. It’s like I think, why am I writing when I could be working out? What benefit will I ever get from this? At least, if I work out, I might get some muscles or strengthen the ones I have, I’d actually be doing something that causes a change, something good to come up and out.

I mean who really cares what I think? Do I even care anymore? Why should I care about it? I know it’s normal to think about thinking, as people we are all basically doing it all the time, it’s not bad in itself, no, depends what you think about I suppose but my own thoughts generally only go in one direction, I want what’s best for all involved and if that’s not possible then I step back and excuse myself from whatever it is. I think I sometimes think you know if we could all really think about ourselves, about each other, and about what kind of life we could all create if we could all just see that there’s really only one source from which life flows then damn, what couldn’t we do, we always have the opportunity to create what we’d love to create, so why are we stuck with this, a world always on the brink of war and mutual animosity? I think at some point, you just have to realize that humans aren’t going to change, they are going to just keep doing what they’ve always done, and there’s no point to trying to contribute to something else because that’s always just some pissing in the wind. The forces on some level are really balanced, or always seek an equilibrium. It’s like if you push for some kindness, then you’re pushing its opposite down, so that later on, this will push itself back out. Repression is definitely a thing around here. Expression versus repression? Maybe that’s always the challenge when we don’t want this but we want that. To want this creates a wave of energy which in essence is pushing something else away, and then as waves are prone to do, this topples or becomes entangled with some other force and magically you have something instead of nothing, just usually not what you were looking for.

So anyway, I’m just going to let this sit. I feel like I have to have some indication from you my reader that at the very least this writing brings some enjoyment to your world or stirs something worth stirring. And if that’s not possible then there’s no point to this anymore. I’ll just have to come to terms with the fact that not everything needs to go somewhere, it can or could even come into existence through some expression and just maybe be erased right after it does as an expression of cancelation. Or maybe life is just too personal, maybe I’m not meant to share this with anyone else but my children. Maybe that was the whole point, it was only ever for them. The movement was only ever a mother’s love, but shit, even that is beautiful, maybe more beautiful than this dumb blog could ever be because I can’t care about you, if I have no indication that you even exist since you don’t give me one. The value of creativity is basically dead in the lives we live or the world we created. People these days see some actual sharing as weakness maybe even a type of pathetic ness like you’re not supposed to express your doubts or questions. Those who are successful now in writing or orating actually pretend to know something. Their job is to convince you that you too can know whatever they are talking about.

Well, I’m just putting it out there. If there was even one person who was getting some value from this, I’d probably continue to do it, but I need at least one, so someone’s going to have to reach out and let me know by sending me a cup of coffee or a few words and if that doesn’t happen, I think this will be my final post, actually maybe even my final word for anyone outside of my own little family.

Oddly enough, I’m sensing deep down that I hope no one writes to me. Maybe I’m just in a mood or maybe it really is time to let this go like sort of a total giving up on anything human after all, that was the illusion. Wasn’t it? That human part was always going to be disappointing. It just couldn’t ever deliver anything real from out of the lies it told. Maybe that seems sad, but not really, because it’s precisely this that gets in the way of being with what actually is real. You just don’t have anything to say about that, but it’s still always with you. I think when this comes, you have to be alone. There is no sharing beyond that point. Maybe then you go in and you never come back out. Could be but that’s not sad, that’s always more like a “Wow, I’m inside of a beautiful dream and there’s nothing nor something else, there never was.” Maybe, it’s only been this all along, I was just needing a reason to leave. And yet I’ll still be here for as long as I am.

If you're inclined to respond, go to the Contact page.

And just another song, one you can't even argue with, "You were meant to be hear/here". We don't have to know anything more than that.