[A note started on 7 October 2020, but most likely written throughout the whole month]
No matter how much we drag our feet, we all get to the end eventually. I guess I’m just starting to get tired of running ahead of everyone, then forced to stop and wait.
I’ve been pulled back for so long. I’m so tired. I guess I decided that I’m not going to be pulled back – rather that they’ll have to pull me forward if they want me to stay with them.
We’re all liars, playing a games whose rules we’ve ignored for so long that we’ve forgotten them entirely.
Nothing is impossible. It’s just that it’s not important enough to make it happen.
My dreams are getting so close to reality. It’s gotten so hard to tell them apart.
Is it arrogance or fear that keeps us from seeing the truth right before our eyes?
I’m not a good fit for anyone right now, and I’m not willing to ask someone to wait for me. Most people haven’t left me; I just sent them on their way away from me.
Knowledge comes from experience, but wisdom comes from God
So many don’t realize that you can say something that is not wrong at all, and still be more right. The world isn’t two sides of a coin. It’s a chaotic mess with no up, down, left, right, or any direction whatsoever. I guess this is where the “arrogance is fear” statement I made before. Are we arrogant enough to think we can organize and control this chaotic abyss called reality, or are we so afraid of it that we’ve created a lie so powerful, that anyone who doesn’t believe it is considered crazy. We’re all crazy, and if you ask me, the more “normal” you are in this lie, the more insane you truly are.
When you’ve seen as much of the universe I have, it’s hard to sit quietly and patiently around ignorance. I don’t blame people for their ignorance, because I was also there not too long ago. It’s not that I’m frustrated at others for being stupid, it’s that I’m frustrated that I used to be that ignorant, and even now that I’m beyond that place in my life, I’m still not smart enough to show people to the path of enlightenment. What’s the point of being in the sun when everyone you ever cared about is still in shadow?
I can’t blame those who hide from the truth. I’ve tried my hardest to embrace it, and it feels like all that’s left is a shell. I guess this is what they meant be “ignorance is bliss” and “be careful what you wish for.” I’ve gotten the truth that I wanted, but I had to trade my innocence to make the deal.
What’s so frustrating about talking to others is that I already know the answers to my problems, but the answers give me no peace. No serenity. They might use different words, but they all say the same things. It’s like listening to the same voicemail over and over again. No matter how many times I hear it, it’s not going to fill the hole in my soul.
People may know the correct words, but I’ve met very few people who actually understand those words. I guess this is what I meant about saying nothing wrong, but still not being right.
I’m able to act the part I’ve been given, but that’s all it ever really has been: an act. Becoming self aware of your actions and how they affect others as they propogate through the world kills that part of you that makes you human. Your life stops mattering, because you realize how infinite the universe really is. You stop being a passenger on the ride. Now you’re an architect of reality, and every time someone slips, you can’t help but think that you could have, that you should have, built a better way forward – one that doesn’t demand tragedies to succeed. That’s the lie we tell ourselves. We may be building a path forward, but what really is “forward” in the abyss of chaos? My path forward might be another’s way back – so who am I to say which one of us holds the truth?
How can I tell people to follow me when I have only the faintest idea of where we’re going? I’ve seen the end, but infinity is the chaos and confusion that separates us from it. There isn’t a right path to the end, but we try to validate our individual existence by fighting for our subjective truths.
So I guess now is the time to drink, and hope that I’ve moved at least in any direction by the time the numbness wears off and the suffocation called truth takes hold again.
The smell of stale beer doesn’t smell good, but I love it anyways. It brings me back to a time when the sun was still in my horizon and the world was at my fingertips. I could choose to go anywhere I wanted, until I realized we all end up in the same destination. The anticipation of our goal is far greater than when we actually experience it. It’s not always like that – life is full of wonders and surprises. But finding the patterns to that wonder takes away the magic of the world.
I think teaching is so appealing to me, because the closest thing to that feeling is getting see others so full of life and ambition. I won’t feel what they’re feeling ever again, but maybe I’ll be able to help them find a happier truth than the one I’ve arrived at.
So now here’s two shots of gin: one for me, and one for all of the friends I traded to achieve this truth far sooner than any person is supposed to. My arrogance brought made the mind’s abyss a reality, and I was consumed by it. I got so lost in it, that by the time I was ready to share what I had found, everyone around me had moved on long ago. To be human isn’t to understand life. To be human is to experience it for the magic it is intended yo hold. Magic is real, but we’ve turned magic into a science by taking away the wonder. Science is so consistent, because it is the equivalent of the human mind without a soul. It’s a powerful tool, and as I’ve learned, just like every other tool in the universe, you’ll get hurt if you use it in a way it wasn’t supposed to.
The illumination of truth isn’t a gift. In the dark you can’t see how alone you truly are. You can make up whatever stories your want to fill in the darkness, but when light surrounds you, you realize all that space your filled with stories and adventures is nothing but an empty room.
Those who have seen reality in its true light walk confidently forward. Others follow, but just because they were able to trace your steps, they never really looked up to see how empty everything really can be. Some people feel the emptiness, and can’t understand that existential dead found in the darkness. They create a reality that validates their feelings, but what they don’t realize is that in that moment, they are nothing more than children acting out whatever grand adventure they create from nothing.
God isn’t a person. God is a realization of how empty the universe can be, and how every decision is its will. Our ego is an attempt of an individual to define themselves outside of reality. But if look at ourselves objectively, we’re just another line of code that explains the universe. The closest thing to a classical “god” are the individuals who somehow escaped the prison of order. They defy reality and surpass it. Very few people actually achieve this, and they exist in legends. They defied reality’s rules to the point that they escaped and rewrite it. Even now, when no physical trace of them exists, they still define the rules of our reality from outside of it. Instead of being a line of code, they started writing it.
I thought I wanted that. I thought I could achieve that. But the further I travel along this path, the more I see how impossibly and infinitely far it is. If the universe and reality truly are infinite and are constantly expanding, then how can I make it past the edge?
I’ve gone too far down this path, so I’ve decided to keep following it, though without the fuel of the anticipation of reaching the end and finding who turned on that light. I don’t know where I’ll end up, but it’ll be closer than if I turned back towards the darkness and started living the comforting lie of blissful ignorance.
This is an example of what I mentioned earlier. Nothing I’ve said is wrong, but I know it’s not entirely right. Maybe that’s the last bit of anticipation I have left for moving forward. The world continuously proves me right, but often in unexpected ways. Maybe one time the unexpected revelation of the truth I already know will birth a new sense of wonder that I no longer pursue. Maybe my reality will finally return to the abyss that I love to explore; the emptiness of possibility granting my mind the space needed to explore infinity.
It’s not that I’m incapable of being “traditionally successful” in the game of reality we play in this world. It’s just that I don’t see a point of pursuing it when the end is so easy to see. I’m not inspired by comfort and success. I’m inspired by the anticipation, fear, and anxiety of not knowing what’s going to happen next. But I rarely get that feeling anymore, and in its a absence is the depression left by the soul crushing weight of nothingness.
I think everyone finds this truth eventually. It’s how we make peace with death – the end of self and the return to infinity. But most people find this truth at the end of their lives, and when they’ve made peace with death, then they are ready to accept it. I’m not afraid of death, and I’m ready to die in the sense that I have found the truths I’ve needed in this reality, but my body is far from the end. I’m not going to take away the life from my body just because my mind is done with it. A life is a life, and though all lives end, I believe it’s still sacred. But everyday gets harder and harder for my old mind to keep up with such a young body. It’s not that I’m thinking about dying, but rather that I’m thinking about returning to my true home of infinity. Life is about experiencing things in sequence, but infinity is being consumed by all things at once. Time doesn’t exist in infinity. Because being consumed in infinity means returning to our true present. Infinity isn’t a sequence of points like the world of life is. There is nothing before or after infinity. Eternity becomes our one and only existence. It is the point where we’re finally accept reality, and therefore accept ourselves. You no longer aware of anything, because you’re finally so at peace with the truth that you no longer place a barrier between you and it. You are no longer studying reality, but experiencing it as it was meant to be.
There is a certain peace found in finally putting the truths in your heart and mind into words you understand. But that peace is always short-lived. Soon another tangle of chaos will crawl into my mind and soul. People learn to cope with it. They choose their battles, and they know when to leave some knots to be untied by the next person. The truth they find is not absolute, but it gets them to where they need to go. But I guess I’m just too autistic to let even one tiny crink on the bridge to infinity. I’ve tried to ignore it, but I feel responsible for every little trip that might happen. “Good enough” isn’t good enough for me. The problem with trying to be perfect, is that perfection is created outside of the reality. It is a construct of the mind. It’s the closest most come to becoming “like gods.” Perfection exists, but unlike science, it is not consistent. It is determined by perspective. And as your perspective grows, so does your expectations for perfection. Perfection is a destination that exists, but grows ever further away. Perfection is the art known as life coming to fruition. But as with all at, the longer you stare at it. The closer you get to. The more you dissect it piece by piece to truly understand and comprehend it. It stops being perfect. I often don’t reread my old writing, because the more time I spend in the art that I once thought was perfect, the more disgusted I get by my finite expression of infinity. Artists are gods of a reality that exists within the non physical realm and reality found in our minds. But though our minds go on forever, they’re still just a cheap representation of true infinity. And the longer you reflect on the
I love imperfections in others’ art. It’s what makes each piece its own unique universe. Those imperfections are the true expression of self. It’s what makes art unique. It brings personality into an object. Somehow the sum of all the parts surpasses the objective reality that defines is. Lines and squiggles become more than colors on a page. They hold meaning not found naturally anywhere else in our true reality. We may take inspiration from the world, but somehow we’re able to incarnate something that doesn’t exist.
But though we can appreciate others’ imperfections, our own imperfections act as a mocking reminder to how we really are just children mimicking a perfect reality that will always be out of reach of any self.
An imbalance of our brain chemistry that we use to define mental illness is just our bodies trying to rationalizes feelings that don’t come from within the universe, but rather are spawned in the mind as we lose ourselves in the darkness of an infinity not illuminated by truth. As truth slowly brightens the world around us, flickering shadows like monsters we never knew existed sneak up on us. Our blissful ignorance let us believe there was nothing to fear as we walked. But as the light of truth, every shadowy corner is filled with the anxiety of whether we will ever come back from what might be hiding there. Most times it’s nothing, but our lack of understanding keeps us from exploring what we used to so willingly and excitedly before. Wonder turns to anxiety not because we grow wiser, but because we see just enough truth to realize we know nothing. Instead of pushing forward in the shadows to overcome our ignorance, we take comfort in the dim light of partial truths and fabricated certainties. In that moment, we may not be dead, but we have stopped living. Rest, safety, and comfort are important for all, but the moment we trade our desire for the future unknown for the desire to maintain the past comforts, we stop being people. We lose our egos, our selves, and our agencies. We become nothing more than a prop for the fabricated comfort of familiarity. This is the real reason people die. If no one died, the souls empty of wonder will do whatever they need to preserve the past, even if it means killing the wonder of those who come after them. People are strange because we often want to stay where we are, but we hate being left behind. It’s a reminder of our fear, and of all the things we’ve lost in our lives. Some take joy in seeing this wonder in the next generation, but as we can see throughout history, and especially right now, is that too many will hold onto their comfort even if it destroys everything that makes life worth living.
The best part about being awake for so long is that the alien in my mind gets too tired to ask questions. I finally have time with my own thoughts. It’s no longer a constant barrage of “is this good or bad? Why? How worried should I be if it’s bad? Should I do something about it? Is it weird if I try to something about it? Am I being a jerk if I do or say something about it?” and so on and so on. When he’s awake, food isn’t good or bad, it’s just a combination of sensations that he doesn’t understand. But when he’s asleep, I don’t take eternities trying to direct every aspect of my body’s response to a stimulus. If I take a bite something and I don’t like it, I just stop eating. I don’t question if it’s my fault the food is bad, I just accept it’s not for me and move on. I can’t say that having him is bad. I understand the world so much better because I have to explain until he’s satisfied. That’s where I learned to teach, by teaching the alien in my head. And though I get much fulfillment in seeing him come to understand the world, it can get exhausting. I wish he’d answer some by himself. But then when he stops asking questions, it gets so quiet. So lonely. He can be a burden to carry, but it’s the type of burden that brings meaning to life.
Maybe I’m actually the alien in his head, and he’s just one of the few people willing to admit he knows nothing about the universe he resides in. It may be strenuous at times, but I’m sure I’m as much of a strain on him as he can be on me. Though it’s tiring to be with someone constantly, and it’s not uncommon to have very strong disagreements, it is a gift to have someone to pick you up whenever one of you trips. I may know more about the universe than he ever will, but yet he still teaches me new things everyday. The most important lesson he’s taught me is life is about growth. Even when you think you’ve reached the end, if you’re still aware, then there’s still something you haven’t explored or understood. After a long enough time, you start seeing the formulas about the world and everything begins to blend together. But if you remember to slow down and give yourself time to experience the present rather than predicting the future, you’ll find something new you’ve may have skipped over a thousand times in your impatience. Though he lacks my knowledge, he surprises me with his wisdom.
When others don’t respond to my writing the way I expect, I’m not being controlling, and I don’t think they’re stupid for not understanding. I’m frustrated at myself for not being able to express myself so clearly that they cannot be mistaken.
I’ve seen my writing improve so much as I’ve gone along, but seeing the growth even just from a few months ago makes me realize that I have a very long way to go to truly find my voice in writing.
The art of life is an indivual adding their own line to the picture that began being drawn millions and billions of years before we existed. So many of these contributions seem identical, but if look closely, every line is unique. No two lines are the same width, length, or texture. We all share similar experiences, but what makes my experience unique from yours is how they all came to together to make that line.
There is something so incredible about unassuming uniqueness. Even if someone wrote the same words, you can learn so much about them just by looking at the way they hold the pen.
What’s so difficult and tiring in this is that, as always, we need to keep a path of redemption open to even the worst among us, but throughout history, and as I’m experiencing now, the path of redemption is taken advantage of and manipulated towards evil. So many are afraid, and looking to anything to grasp onto normality and control. We cannot condone or excuse their actions, and we can’t walk for them them towards redemption, but we need to have the patience and willingness to believe it’s possible for them to come back to good. Unfortunately, wolves in sheep’s skin do whatever they can to not only guide them back towards hate, but to leave ruin on their wake as they lead those to death. It’s hard to describe, but somehow we are trying to keep our hearts open, but guarded. To be a good person is to lead others towards good. But we can’t leave our hearts unlocked anymore, because hate desguised themselves as our neighbors, and now the expanded family of a community has formed into nothing more than a collective group of strangers who rightfully see safety in numbers, but have been lied to and manipulated that every action invites suspicion towards the individual’s internations. Telling someone “happy holidays” isn’t a polite greeting anymore. We’ve been tricked into thinking it’s a personal attack on our beliefs.
Suspicion may keep us safe, but paranoia poisons the mind and soul. If we let it run wild, your own brother can turn into a prophet of hate, and no matter how you respond to it, contagious hate corrupts all.
For the first time in my life, or maybe just the first time I’ve been aware of it, a sign with a politician’s name on a front lawn is able to not only burn familiar bridges, but also bridges to those we know nothing about other than the sign in their yard. Soon there will be two groups on either side, and no way to reach the opposing one other than with more hate and bullets.
♡Sugar☆World☮ 