Light Through the Cracks
There is a process that occurs where I find peace with what ever seems to be steam rolling me over. Like an uncontrollable fire that is fueled by emotional detachment and cognitive nuances to understand it. To which, the cognitive nuances never come to understanding the emotional aspect, but they give way how to go about expressing them.
I find myself opening up more. Opening up, by way of being shattered to a million pieces of what I used to be. Dying to what I have held onto for so long as a way of coping with the demons that drink in my madness.
The screams echo off the abandon walls of a time that has come and gone. And I'm left standing there naked for no one to see but myself. But the darkness blinds me to who I am. The light stays dim. Not because there is no fuel for the flame. Not because there is no reason to let it ignite into a whirlwind of beautiful chaos. But because I intentionally dim it myself. Blow it out before it becomes to revealing.
And this is the insanity I fall prey too. Every single time I become befuddled, it was because of some notion of a reality based on idealistic expectations of utopian desires. Lost in a dream world of something I have known before. A craving that lingers from some distant past, that seems to be breathing down my neck every step of the way.
Setting lofty expectations on a pedestal for all to pay homage to. And not just that, but an expectation to meet these ridiculous standards of existence.
I tell my self the world is not perfect. But, then expect the world to cater to my dreams of splendor and be rid of the insanity that plagues it. Only to realize that its my own insanity that plagues me.
It's the thoughts I latch onto in my head that cripple the life out of me, to the point that I see the unwillingness to accept my self and reality for what it is, on the faces of everyone I see. I project inadequacy onto others just so I don't have to see the parts of my that I hold as inadequate.
Who am I to judge others on the premise of refusing to accept myself. This lunacy is a madness that sheds light on the greatest parts of me. The parts of myself that know truth as an authentic expression of this singular moment.
And this moment is really all I have. Simple. I have heard this before. I know it. But for some reason these tendencies to deviate come back. Which is fine. I see that it is part of this unfolding of self. Individuation is what Carl Jung calls it. The culmination of who I am through all the parts of me.
I struggle with connecting with people. And I found myself telling me mum that I was sheltered too much as a child and its partly why I struggle. I opened up about how I feel in regards to being taught that listening to my heart would lead to destruction. And she agreed.
But I don't believe that anymore. I don't agree with this idea. Because anything good that has ever happened to me, happened because I followed my heart. I followed what spoke to me through some language I have no idea where to begin understanding. And maybe that is the way it is. Not meant to be understood.
Like here. I write. It's embarrassing sometimes, (the lofty idealistic expectations talking again.) But because something deep down tells me to do it. I just fucking do it.
Yesterday was confusing. As I wrote it made no sense. Till today when new insights started coming through.
It all started with that talk of connection. And why is that so hard to do? Just find someway to connect with someone. Ask about their day. How are they doing? What have they been up to?
Its treacherous because I'm not connected to myself. The heart. My emotions. I ignore the subtle callings for who I am and suppress my true nature. Then I find no means by which to connect in even the most simplest of ways. And that's not all.
One of my gifts is being able to hold idealized concepts for living and grand potentials in orbit around the sphere of reality catered to betterment of life and soul. But in judging others against these ideals that I want right now, I fail to realize the process. I fail to accept the imperfection in the process of attaining these ideals.
Then to add to the conundrum. I judge my self to for judging others.
And I turn inward to face the demons on my own. Rendering all concepts of grotesque failures as fatal blows that snuff the life from me. A viscous cycle of torment, around, around, around, like a goddamn merry go round full of mechanical horses breathing fire.
But I won't do this anymore. They say half the battle is becoming aware. Or maybe I just made that up. But it sounds good so I'll roll with it.
To be unaware of the plague is sure to bring death. At least coming into awareness of the challenges at play I'll know what would have struck me down. But simply being aware of it creates the tendency towards that process of perfection.
Knowing and accepting that nothing is inherently perfect, or will be perfect. In a perception of reality that utilizes spirit and God, there is perfection. But this reality is created out of imperfection. The pursuit of perfection, is the perfection if we must have something that is perfect.
So being aware and putting out there that I find my emotions confusing; sets me on a path to connecting with them. I would say, connect again, but I honestly don't remember being connected to my emotions, ever.
Release the judgments of myself and people will all the sudden become the caring, kind, and beautifully poetic people I know them to be.
Fall in line with myself. Accept myself. Face the fear of speaking how I truly feel and the world and reality will fall into place just as it is meant to. And that's a beautiful fucking thing.
Good talk. See ya later.
'La Loving Logan'
I find myself opening up more. Opening up, by way of being shattered to a million pieces of what I used to be. Dying to what I have held onto for so long as a way of coping with the demons that drink in my madness.
The screams echo off the abandon walls of a time that has come and gone. And I'm left standing there naked for no one to see but myself. But the darkness blinds me to who I am. The light stays dim. Not because there is no fuel for the flame. Not because there is no reason to let it ignite into a whirlwind of beautiful chaos. But because I intentionally dim it myself. Blow it out before it becomes to revealing.
And this is the insanity I fall prey too. Every single time I become befuddled, it was because of some notion of a reality based on idealistic expectations of utopian desires. Lost in a dream world of something I have known before. A craving that lingers from some distant past, that seems to be breathing down my neck every step of the way.
Setting lofty expectations on a pedestal for all to pay homage to. And not just that, but an expectation to meet these ridiculous standards of existence.
I tell my self the world is not perfect. But, then expect the world to cater to my dreams of splendor and be rid of the insanity that plagues it. Only to realize that its my own insanity that plagues me.
It's the thoughts I latch onto in my head that cripple the life out of me, to the point that I see the unwillingness to accept my self and reality for what it is, on the faces of everyone I see. I project inadequacy onto others just so I don't have to see the parts of my that I hold as inadequate.
Who am I to judge others on the premise of refusing to accept myself. This lunacy is a madness that sheds light on the greatest parts of me. The parts of myself that know truth as an authentic expression of this singular moment.
And this moment is really all I have. Simple. I have heard this before. I know it. But for some reason these tendencies to deviate come back. Which is fine. I see that it is part of this unfolding of self. Individuation is what Carl Jung calls it. The culmination of who I am through all the parts of me.
I struggle with connecting with people. And I found myself telling me mum that I was sheltered too much as a child and its partly why I struggle. I opened up about how I feel in regards to being taught that listening to my heart would lead to destruction. And she agreed.
But I don't believe that anymore. I don't agree with this idea. Because anything good that has ever happened to me, happened because I followed my heart. I followed what spoke to me through some language I have no idea where to begin understanding. And maybe that is the way it is. Not meant to be understood.
Like here. I write. It's embarrassing sometimes, (the lofty idealistic expectations talking again.) But because something deep down tells me to do it. I just fucking do it.
Yesterday was confusing. As I wrote it made no sense. Till today when new insights started coming through.
It all started with that talk of connection. And why is that so hard to do? Just find someway to connect with someone. Ask about their day. How are they doing? What have they been up to?
Its treacherous because I'm not connected to myself. The heart. My emotions. I ignore the subtle callings for who I am and suppress my true nature. Then I find no means by which to connect in even the most simplest of ways. And that's not all.
One of my gifts is being able to hold idealized concepts for living and grand potentials in orbit around the sphere of reality catered to betterment of life and soul. But in judging others against these ideals that I want right now, I fail to realize the process. I fail to accept the imperfection in the process of attaining these ideals.
Then to add to the conundrum. I judge my self to for judging others.
And I turn inward to face the demons on my own. Rendering all concepts of grotesque failures as fatal blows that snuff the life from me. A viscous cycle of torment, around, around, around, like a goddamn merry go round full of mechanical horses breathing fire.
But I won't do this anymore. They say half the battle is becoming aware. Or maybe I just made that up. But it sounds good so I'll roll with it.
To be unaware of the plague is sure to bring death. At least coming into awareness of the challenges at play I'll know what would have struck me down. But simply being aware of it creates the tendency towards that process of perfection.
Knowing and accepting that nothing is inherently perfect, or will be perfect. In a perception of reality that utilizes spirit and God, there is perfection. But this reality is created out of imperfection. The pursuit of perfection, is the perfection if we must have something that is perfect.
So being aware and putting out there that I find my emotions confusing; sets me on a path to connecting with them. I would say, connect again, but I honestly don't remember being connected to my emotions, ever.
Release the judgments of myself and people will all the sudden become the caring, kind, and beautifully poetic people I know them to be.
Fall in line with myself. Accept myself. Face the fear of speaking how I truly feel and the world and reality will fall into place just as it is meant to. And that's a beautiful fucking thing.
Good talk. See ya later.
'La Loving Logan'
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