Playing with the Rubik’s cube that is my psyche I have developed an obsessive taste for pop science/psych books. All encompassing: from books on dreams written in the 90’s to emotional intelligence to current best selling self help to sacred feminine to science and atheism to biology and humanism. True confession- I even went to numerology (not real). Add my chronic love of Google searching “when is a relationship over?” and I’m not sure on the state of my reality. The miracle book (this is religious) said that reality is false perception removed from ‘truth’. I am praying to an arsenal of saints for truth. Seems like all that indoctrination stuck good.
I guess, the question floating about in my consciousness at present concerns time, agency, lessons, suffering, inertia, self-reflection, perception, meanness. Yep, that’s not actually one question. Good observation. That’s the inside of my head.
It is the last day of July. I think I can escape my writing but I can’t. I am compelled to do this at least monthly which encourages me- it is what needs to be done. Lucky I’m so self-indulgently heart broken that I don’t have to face my complete fear of creation. It has been a long month. Enter my preoccupation with time.
The past came back to get me. And what looked like the answer to my prayers was another lesson. Nice trick universe. Be upset over what you don’t have. Get it. Be upset it is not what you thought it would be. Where is the lesson? I don’t fucking know but I would sure like to know where is the novel?
There is all this external pressure to be this and plan that and I can’t explain to anyone that I just need to be. I think my soul is out of desolation. Positive. But there is fear. What I have learned from all these books in my head is pretty simple: truth above all, fear is a by-product of not facing truth. Trust is truth. Fear is lack of trust. It does sound like hair splitting to me to. I keep speaking my truth and it doesn’t seem to be making me less afraid. It seems to be propelling on lessons of acceptance. The truth seems to be creating monsters of reality. Am I trying to face what is true and ugly or am I willing to live in beautiful lies? I hate rhetorical questions. And none of this is rhetorical. I really wish someone could come up with an answer. Either that or I will stumble across it like some teeny needle in the haystack of bullshit words I’m ingesting.
Stay tuned – next month, more angst with even fewer conclusions. I promise I will report back on what my psychic says this Thursday.