I have been thinking...and we all know that never goes well. It would seem to me that realization of illusions among all things has startled my reality. Even moreso, is the focus of greed in the world and how it rots and ruins all it touches, poisons the truth, and sours experiences. It makes it hard to find pleasure it work when I see through the guise, understand the reason for it all. This has been growing for a while now, a sort of awakening within myself. I can tell you this, if this is the road, or way, to some form of enlightenment then I do not like it. The truth, or sight, is shaking what I know harshly, causing me to be more cynical or agitated. I suppose I am being resistant to change, to falling of a veil or the disappation of fog, leaving me to see what was hidden, unrealized. And so, I find myself faltering as of late, straining from these new facts in my world, trying to adjust instead of turning tail...as I so often do.
To muddy the water more, I begin to suspect that so much of my suffering and stress may be due to being more empathetic than most people. I call myself "sensitive" but perhaps it is not the case. If I feel more than others, absorb their emotions, then it is no wonder I crumble in prolonged situations with another person. I have tried to adapt to living on my own, flying solo, being a lone wolf, all because I feel like I am either a burden or incapable of residing with another. However, what if the case is purely my wiring, whether mental or spiritual, being too attuned to the energy of others. Coupled with my own emotional dysfunctions, it would explain a lot. And so, we add another layer of realization and thought shaking view. Things that I cannot ignore now that pieces fit without my even trying to put it together.
Now, take all of these recent thoughts and apply them to my every day routine and you may understand why I am finding it hard to focus on work and the world around me. Work has been in a state of change recently so I factor that in as well but I try to tell myself that I can handle these things, they aren't so bad, not compared to what I have been through and survived. So, why let it bother me? The truth is in the truth, the exposure of my psyche to alternate viewpoints and visions which seek to undo my little world, brought on by a thought strand that has unraveled the fabric of my reality. These are just the ramblings of a mad man afterall, a being who does not fit into the norms of society. I am a vulture, a survvior, a mimic who has done his best to copy those around him so that he may live a "normal" life. I think on these things and they hurt but it is fact, it is who I am. I am strange, weird, somehow disconnected from what seems to bind others. Why do I seek a life among those whom I do not even understand, that I relate with so little?
On my way to an alternate work site, I stopped to get a cool beverage from a coffee place, to perk up my mood a bit. After ordering, waiting with a few others, I noticed one of the staff become bothered by a large order somehow ahead of all of the rest of us. Noticing this, I decided to have a seat and wait since it may take some time, and I was in no hurry. So may people were spread around, either engaged with one another or with their faces glued to a screen. The only one who was not was an older man with a long beard, scribbling in a pair of books with a blue pen, muttering to himself every once in a while. He was different from the rest, and his table sat more so I asked to have a seat and wait. He obliged. I did not bring my phone, I was tired and needed an escape from its reaches so I sat, peering around at architecture and the outside world. The man noticed this and we began to speak about the state of the world. He turned the book nearest me towards my eyes and told me to read. I did so, out of curiosity. It was a Christian book, concerning the travelings and methods of a man who lived in this past century. I was not surprised by this, I had already assumed the main book he outlined within and noted was a Bible but it is also very commong for the area I live in to be devote in the Church and teachings of Christ. On I read, trying to absorb anything useful or different, not at all believing in the faith or ways of it all but interested in the lessons within. I am not a Christian, to help clarify, despite my raising and exposure. This is something I have learned to stand firm with but also only bring up if provoked, always causing some tyrade of damnation or salvation, offerings of prayers. It seems so foreign to the majority whereas I do not understand how so many can follow. I question it, as I do so many things. A few passages did hint at a repetition in times, or a truth that holds true today as it did almost one hundred years ago. I found that to be intriguing. It was after a few pages I realized my drink was nonexistent and I was now sitting with a stranger and his tomes. My drink was lost so I reordered, which would now cause it to be rushed and wrong...but it did not bother me. I was grateful for the liquid regardless of my preferences however it was the chance encounter that was the rarest treat. To converse with someone who share so much with the others around him yet seemed like an outsider amongst them. He would mutter and curse low to himself, scribbling words upon the printed pages. I thanked him for the seat and conversation and left, both of us seeming quite a mystery to another.
The strangeness of days as of late has me tired as well as motivated to see what happens, to see what else I can dismantle and awaken. As I listen to the sounds of a thunderstorm roll across the coast of an ocean, I try to make sense of my own words. I write to relieve myself of some weight but also in the hopes of revealing something to myself. For now, I am simply tired and confused, unsure of what tomorrow will bring.
To muddy the water more, I begin to suspect that so much of my suffering and stress may be due to being more empathetic than most people. I call myself "sensitive" but perhaps it is not the case. If I feel more than others, absorb their emotions, then it is no wonder I crumble in prolonged situations with another person. I have tried to adapt to living on my own, flying solo, being a lone wolf, all because I feel like I am either a burden or incapable of residing with another. However, what if the case is purely my wiring, whether mental or spiritual, being too attuned to the energy of others. Coupled with my own emotional dysfunctions, it would explain a lot. And so, we add another layer of realization and thought shaking view. Things that I cannot ignore now that pieces fit without my even trying to put it together.
Now, take all of these recent thoughts and apply them to my every day routine and you may understand why I am finding it hard to focus on work and the world around me. Work has been in a state of change recently so I factor that in as well but I try to tell myself that I can handle these things, they aren't so bad, not compared to what I have been through and survived. So, why let it bother me? The truth is in the truth, the exposure of my psyche to alternate viewpoints and visions which seek to undo my little world, brought on by a thought strand that has unraveled the fabric of my reality. These are just the ramblings of a mad man afterall, a being who does not fit into the norms of society. I am a vulture, a survvior, a mimic who has done his best to copy those around him so that he may live a "normal" life. I think on these things and they hurt but it is fact, it is who I am. I am strange, weird, somehow disconnected from what seems to bind others. Why do I seek a life among those whom I do not even understand, that I relate with so little?
On my way to an alternate work site, I stopped to get a cool beverage from a coffee place, to perk up my mood a bit. After ordering, waiting with a few others, I noticed one of the staff become bothered by a large order somehow ahead of all of the rest of us. Noticing this, I decided to have a seat and wait since it may take some time, and I was in no hurry. So may people were spread around, either engaged with one another or with their faces glued to a screen. The only one who was not was an older man with a long beard, scribbling in a pair of books with a blue pen, muttering to himself every once in a while. He was different from the rest, and his table sat more so I asked to have a seat and wait. He obliged. I did not bring my phone, I was tired and needed an escape from its reaches so I sat, peering around at architecture and the outside world. The man noticed this and we began to speak about the state of the world. He turned the book nearest me towards my eyes and told me to read. I did so, out of curiosity. It was a Christian book, concerning the travelings and methods of a man who lived in this past century. I was not surprised by this, I had already assumed the main book he outlined within and noted was a Bible but it is also very commong for the area I live in to be devote in the Church and teachings of Christ. On I read, trying to absorb anything useful or different, not at all believing in the faith or ways of it all but interested in the lessons within. I am not a Christian, to help clarify, despite my raising and exposure. This is something I have learned to stand firm with but also only bring up if provoked, always causing some tyrade of damnation or salvation, offerings of prayers. It seems so foreign to the majority whereas I do not understand how so many can follow. I question it, as I do so many things. A few passages did hint at a repetition in times, or a truth that holds true today as it did almost one hundred years ago. I found that to be intriguing. It was after a few pages I realized my drink was nonexistent and I was now sitting with a stranger and his tomes. My drink was lost so I reordered, which would now cause it to be rushed and wrong...but it did not bother me. I was grateful for the liquid regardless of my preferences however it was the chance encounter that was the rarest treat. To converse with someone who share so much with the others around him yet seemed like an outsider amongst them. He would mutter and curse low to himself, scribbling words upon the printed pages. I thanked him for the seat and conversation and left, both of us seeming quite a mystery to another.
The strangeness of days as of late has me tired as well as motivated to see what happens, to see what else I can dismantle and awaken. As I listen to the sounds of a thunderstorm roll across the coast of an ocean, I try to make sense of my own words. I write to relieve myself of some weight but also in the hopes of revealing something to myself. For now, I am simply tired and confused, unsure of what tomorrow will bring.