A Letter from The Psych’o’Desk

The Present is a never-ending state of being, which becomes increasingly obvious whilst attempting to maintain a mindful state. The Universe is in constant momentum at all times; even when your minuscule section of the world falls asleep for the night and appears to be still. To be engaged is to be in perpetual travel forever and ever & ever and ever…
Typing that sentence alone was exhausting in its own way.

Most of my life I’ve believed my biggest fear was of clowns… [shudders] Okay never mind, that concept pulled directly from the darkest nightmares of hellish beasts are still enemy #1.

But there is something to be said of Time..though I have difficulty fully accepting it as something that aids in my daily dose of the The Fear, there is something quite unnerving about a force that may truly be infinite and you’re just along for the ride.

In Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind Shunryu Suzuki writes:

“In one sense our experiences coming one by one are always fresh and new, but in another sense they are nothing but a continuous or repeated unfolding of the big mind…we accept our experiences as if recognizing the face we see in the mirror as our own.  For there is no fear of losing this mind. There is nowhere to come or to go.”

We are not really going anywhere yet you can never stop moving!

This reality is akin to seconds of Time being measured by each grain of sand in a colossal hourglass, each one eventually to never to be seen again. Each one seemingly decreasing in insignificance as it becomes more buried under others with each passing second. But its existence absolutely necessary – even for just that increment.

*pounds fist on desk*

Indeed…but with this reality also comes with a lot of responsibility, it seems. Tasks that must be completed. Places to go. Papers to file. Assorted bizarre oddities to adhere to. Hands to shake. Faces to smile at. Things to do, man. THINGS!

So, there may or may not be enough Time to be asking such questions. Or answers – for that matter.
There is much to do and it feels like Time is a’tickin.

Basically Get Busy or Don’t.
Either way you look at it, you’re still kind of doing something.

 

 

 

 

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Any Questions?

People speak languages they do not fully comprehend, uttering incantations loaded with power they consistently underestimate due to their own ignorance.

The Weeping Willow Tree is on fire and all attention is zeroed in on a lone branch that fell off of it.

The latest software update is already obsolete by at least 5 decades of technological advancement.

The cancer has destroyed most of the body and tears are shed for a fresh papercut.

A boulder tumbles down from the peak, smashing trees and forest creatures into the dirt, and the mountain does not notice.

The ones on top of the marble pillar urinate on our heads as we refurbish the base.

The call has dropped minutes ago yet I’m still chattering away, hoping to be heard through the hole in thin air.

Jealousy Can Be Healthy

thats my theory, anyway.

Ever read a book by an author that seemed to express feelings in ways that you never knew were possible to say so (seemingly) easily and made you feel emotions that you didn’t even know were possible? Or heard a piece of music that made you astral project out of your physical form, out into the stratosphere and could feel clouds slip through your fingers as you flew past?  Or played a video game so immersive that you can’t possibly comprehend that you’ve actually spent as many hours in it that the screen says you have as you save your progress before taking a piss break?

The creators of those kinds of works…fuck them. Seriously, those assholes can go fuck themselves with a Hepatitis infected tree branch whittled with a carving knife by an ISIS kamikaze bomber in the bathroom of a suburban elementary school. I say that with love, of course.

For if folks didn’t feel this way, art would cease to exist. No one would be inspired and no one would be under the influence.

Everything comes from something. The next Big Idea will inspired by something, the same way cavemen were inspired to create a mini fire source, like the flaming orb they saw in the sky. Or the way a young boy will aspire to grow up and harm millions of people the way his presidential father did. It’s a beautiful cycle that will never end and, hopefully, never will.

Nothing is wholly original. Everything has already been done, even if nobody’s seen it before. But that doesn’t make it any less significant.

There are authors and artists I look up to and will probably surpass some day but it will never be me who comes to that conclusion. Some lone kid will come across something I’ve created and go, “Oh my god, this guy is brilliant. Fucking asshole.” Meanwhile I’ll be ignoring whatever accolades come my way and reading a novel from 30 years before I was born, saying the same thing.

Comparison will kill you, this is true, but having nothing to compare yourself with is death itself. 

So fuck everyone who is far more talented than I will ever be. I hate you and I hope you live long and prosper.

I Used To Think I Hated The Snow

I pulled back the midnight curtains and was instantly blinded by a flurry of whiteness.

It’s the first real snowfall of the season. The sky had attempted to litter the streets throughout the month thus far but it never stuck for long until now. Now there’s real accumulation.

My first instinct was to crank the space heater up another notch, retreat back into bed and pull the covers chin high, and pretend it isn’t there. But… call it a summoning or what have you, I felt the need to go outside.

I put on a coat and my wellworn leather boots (which in all honesty probably shouldn’t be out in that kind weather – but we have walked through worse together) and a soft gust of frigid air brushed against my face.

I headed down the street and started to follow a pair of footsteps left in the ivory. I looked back and saw my own tracks left behind. There’s something refreshing about being able to see proof that you’ve been somewhere. The tracks led to a car in a small lot at the intersection of two streets and a man hurriedly sweeping buildup off the windshield. He noticed me and nodded, I did the same.

I kept on walking. Snowflakes fell upon my eyelashes and I blinked them away. I’ve never believed that no two flakes are identical. It doesn’t seem possible considering how much falls down in a given season just in this city alone, not to mention around the world. And what about Antarctica? It’s practically the biggest snowflake in the world. The frozen water crunching underneath my feet can’t be much different from what’s down there. Still…

I’ve never been able to make incredible snow art like Calvin did with his partner, Hobbes. And I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a formidable snowball fight and sledding always felt like too much of a chore for me to enjoy. And I can’t say I appreciate how much it slows down commutes. Still…

My hands were starting to feel like 2 icecubes holding 10 icicles and my nose was starting to leak. I avoided the slush splatter as cars crept past. Schoolchildren wrapped in many layers started coming out of homes and huddled together at bus stops. I was beginning to wonder why I had came out here at all. It seemed as if I were the only one outside at their own will.

People around here seem surprised every year when it starts to snow. Local news teams spend much of their time reporting on the upcoming weather, incredulous Facebook statuses are posted, and if you are unfortunate enough to have to make small talk with a stranger they always something like, “Can you believe this?”, as they look upward. Well, yes, I can believe it. It’s MidNovember in the Midwest. It’d be more troubling if it weren’t snowing. Still…

I often walk calmly when it rains out while many people run for cover. I feel so in touch with Mother Nature as she sheds tears of joy down on my skin. I guess they just get wet. And I guess that’s why I went out this morning. To give a different gift from Mother another try.

Still… I can’t say that I like the snow. But watching it fall, back in the warm comfort of my bedroom, I can appreciate it’s beauty. But like much in this world, I find this beauty is best appreciated from a distance.

Questions I Don’t Have The Answers To

Wouldn’t wherever we end up be our destination, even if we didn’t understand the purpose?
Moreover, if there isn’t a purpose, does that make the destination any less valid and is it necessary that we know?

Do you reject the concept of God or a higher power solely due to past experiences with prejudices and long lists of inexplicable historical (& present) injustices and atrocities, or can you just not accept the idea that something may be bigger & more important than you?

Is home the place we run to or away from?

Is it possible to “sell out” your beliefs in order to live a healthy life while still living authentically?

What would a fish with bad posture look like?

If you ran into your doppelganger, a being that looked and acted exactly like you, would you recognize them?

Is fear really one of our most primal emotions or is it just so ingrained into our society that we can’t tell the difference?

Please write your responses in complete sentences and show your work.

…..but I don’t have a #2 pencil.

Tomorrow Belongs To ME

O Fatherland
Fatherland, show me a sign
This child has waited to see

In the darkest nights I close my eyes & I can feel the full volume of the room that surrounds me. Perhaps it’s because when you lose one sense, the other senses grow stronger. Or it’s another scientific mumbojumbo that only makes sense to those that actually take the time to research the matters. Nevertheless. These surroundings are foreign, though I’ve spent my entire life dwelling within them.

The future is an illusion that we project our fantasies onto. The truth is, there is no future. Only the present and the past. But with time, the past becomes a distorted illusion as well. Did it ever really happen? Does it matter? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

The only thing that ever matters is what you’re doing right now. Right now I’m writing this blog post. But does it matter? How many people will read it? How many people will care that I’m writing this? Maybe you’re reading this now. One of many tabs open. One of 9 tabs, 8 of them porn. Or you’re just scrolling down the WordPress Reader trying to find something interesting to read. Maybe you’ll like this, maybe you won’t.

It doesn’t matter, it’s not real.

I’ve said that phrase many times one historic night when I was twisted out of my mind. What makes something real? Is it being able to point to physical proof and saying, “there. that’s it.” Or maybe it’s more. Anti Drug propaganda often paints a picture of a person under the influence of LSD imagining that they’re being eaten by dogs and they die because they believe it’s really happening.

Maybe that’s why we love ghosts stories. (IN)sanity vs Reality is a time tested pot of gold. Are they being haunted by a real unholy presence or is that presence their own projection of their subconscious mind? It’s easier to blame a demon or a tortured soul in possession of a creepy looking doll.

Tomorrow. The Future. My eyes force out a salty discharge at the thought of what may happen and my lips dance skyward. I have seen the future and it will be……. I don’t know. And you don’t either. But it’s nice to have fantasies. They keep the dream alive though a dreamer alone can’t make a dream come true. The phrase is “Make your dreams come true”, not just “Dream”. That makes no sense.

Mindfulness is the practice of staying in the moment but when the present moment leaves a lot to be desired, one can not be blamed for having a romanticized vision of the future. But the future doesn’t exist.

but in time

The Morning Will Come
when the world is mine

and then
Tomorrow belongs
TO ME

 

Hiatus Stasis. U Can Go Your Own Way.

So, you’ve started your healing process. You’ve started unzipping your bunnysuit of bullshit and unpacking everything that is you. You’ve laid everything out on the table and had it staring back at you and you stared back at it, unflinchingly. You’ve looked back at your experiences and recognized patterns, seeing why things weren’t working at the time. It feels so satisfying to see the truth. To finally have your “Ah ha!” moment of recognition of whatever it is that’s been holding you back.

You wake up the next morning feeling refreshed, better than you have in ages. “It’s time to start living for me! I’m ready,” and other cliché affirmations slip through your teeth as you make a pot a coffee and butter a bagel while mapping out your day. With a fresh perspective, you venture back out into your day to day routine. But this rejuvenated feeling is like the afterglow following a session with your left hand and a vibrating showerhead. Fleeting and leaves you longing for more.

As time goes on your enthusiasm starts to dissipate. Old feelings come creeping back, like an ex you hook up with every time they send you a text ending with a wink emoticon. Smiles start to feel forced again and you wonder if your friendly grin makes you look like The Joker.

There is more work to be done.

The Ostrich Effect: the avoidance of apparently risky situations by pretending they do not exist, a la the legend that ostriches bury their heads in the sand to avoid danger.

If one were to really bury their head in the sand the inability to breathe would kill you off, that is, if what ever you’re hiding from doesn’t get to you first.

We hide because of the fear that we are inadequate & illequipped for the resistance we are sure to face in the future. or something like that. My doctorate is in the field of FreakPower, not psychology.

Much of my life has been spent lying in wait for in a hidden place for a Golden Ticket to snatch up and claim. Be it feverishly checking the sky for wayward owls dropping off a Hogwarts acceptance letter or uniformed officials to knock on my door and decree that I am the rightful heir to a remote yet wealthy kingdom by the Gamtoos River.

But A Ticket To Anywhere isn’t going to materialize out of the clear blue sky and wouldn’t be able to find me if it did.

continue trying to survive in a Kingdom Of Fear built with bricks of familiar despair or let truth take grab hold and guide me off into the uncharted void?

Well, when you put it that way, the choice seems absolutely sinister. Feel The Fear! It’s uncomfortable.
Perhaps Uncomfortable can be a good thing.

Start to rip off your bunnysuit you may find that you aren’t quite ready yet, that there are zippers in the back that you’ve missed. If you’re lucky, you’ll have great people in your life who will help point them out.
But it’s still up to you to unzip them.

How?
How Indeed.