Sound & Fury

Firstly, if you haven’t seen Sturgill Simpson’s Sound & Fury on Netflix, check that shit out.

Secondly this post is about arguments.

DJ and I can get into some pretty heated arguments. Sometimes, when the fights get really bad, I start pulling all the clothes out of the closet as though to pack and go to a hotel. I take the key ring with the car key instead of my keys and we argue about who is taking the car half-heartedly because we both know I will only take the dog on a walk to the park and back and then we will be calm.

Sometimes we talk it out. Sometimes that’s not necessary. It’s just another argument built up from the tension of our lives.

A 390 square foot place with a big lazy dog and another person becomes cramped after a year no matter how much you love them. Thankfully, we’re moving soon, but the time in a tiny place together has taught us a lot about each other and ourselves.

My projection issues, for instance, are all but gone finally. I’m taking responsibility. The other day I understood how out of touch with reality I’ve been when I watched a documentary about extreme sportsman—surfers, skiers, wing suit jumpers, base jumpers, etc.—and this free diver sank to the bottom of the ocean in the full lotus position amongst a bunch of sharks and meditated for three minutes and something without air.

I cannot (not can many, I suppose) fathom ever doing this in my life. A younger me might have envisioned what it would take to train, what fear would have to be overcome for me to swim with sharks, might have thought if I try hard enough I could…

Today, my ego is less in the picture. I’m seeing reason a bit more clearly. There’s no way I’m going to be training to meditate with sharks any time soon and what that man did was truly amazing. I feel grateful to have witnessed it.

In the place between identities, when one ego has died and we are in flux while the other takes shape according to the new environment (psychic, spiritual, physical, or some combination of these), possibilities arise. Opportunities knock.

When I first moved here, I didn’t know how much of my ego would stay behind in my hometown and how much shame I would have about becoming the woman I became. Then again, the shame was a reflection of a superego with harsh judgements and a warped urge to please others born from an over attachment to my mother who I never completely differentiated myself from in terms of my values and identity until about six months ago.

Neurosis.

I’m starting to enjoy collaboration. My paranoia about people is dissipating. Once, I truly hated people. I believed that human beings, by our nature, are self-serving, unkind, and fearful.

I think I may have mentioned in an earlier post that, for me, one of the most important words to meditate upon in recovery is Responsibility.

For me, this looks like taking responsibility for my emotional state by acknowledging my thoughts about a situation honestly—be it good or bad—and taking action that is aligned with what feels right, based on reasoning what the best course of action is for the desired outcome for all involved.

My responsibility is to take actions that lead to my own greatest well being and the greatest wellbeing of others to the best of my ability and to think thoughts that cultivate these actions so much so that right action becomes instinct as well as I can manage, which is going to look like wrong action to someone inevitably somewhere unless I believe in some kind of inherent human truth.

But then I have to believe I am capable of perceiving is inherent truth which means perhaps others are not unless I’m willing to accept I cannot possibly be thinking truth all the time which, we come to discover, is truer than the possibility of one knowing anything at all.

So it is to those in my own direct line of contact I must defer firstly.

To do this, I must be present in the moment. There is no right or wrong, objectively. Right action is subjective to context, so moment-to-moment awareness is required to make choices that are properly contextualized.

In order to be present in the moment, I must let go of past traumas and their influence on my current emotional state, perception, and actions.

In order to let go of trauma, I walk into the eye of the storm. I feel pain. The voices grow loud. The shame and the guilt manifest as demons to be exorcised and sent to other planes of existence by the grace of whatever created such a place as this.

Without story, what chaos.

I am responsible, therefore, for writing this story of my life by taking conscious action according to the story I tell myself about a situation which is a collection of ambient thoughts that make me feel good or bad about a situation. The action I want to take is not in reaction to my feelings, however, but as proactive steps to enact change.

This looked like when I wanted a beer and the craving was taking over I’d tell that demon to fuck off and go running instead. If I couldn’t power through I’d walk. Then the craving gets loud and I run again. I talk to someone, read a book, call a friend, anything.

My feed that demon.

This looks like the conscience on my shoulder telling me I’ll feel better in this house when the dishes are done motivating me to action instead of being drown out by blame or anger or excuses like it’s his turn.

This looks like forgiving myself when I’m lazy and standing up for myself when it is his turn.

It’s a moment-to-moment choice of thought content to cultivate peace. This is my form of rebellion now.

The more I take responsibility for my feelings, my place, my narrative, the more I’m able to give to others from a place of simply wanting to give. I’m not asking others to fulfill my emotional needs, to give me anything, to do anything they wouldn’t do. I’m not needing or demanding or controlling or paranoid like I was when I felt weak and vulnerable and crazy.

No one owes me anything.

My personality is starting to emerge anew as someone who likes to garden and give gifts and take care of her skin. Cooking and cleaning, once burdensome chores made better with music, are now relaxing activities with satisfying end results that contribute to the wellbeing of my entire household.

The selfishness of my youthful ego, so eager to become someone, has been transplanted here and grown into a contented someone of no importance to anyone of any importance, but a functioning member of her community and home all the same. The small pleasures this grants me are innumerable.

At night I massage DJ’s shoulders and his back, sometimes his arms and legs, his hands and feet too if he’s lucky and I’m not too tired. The satisfaction I get from seeing him satisfied is something a mentally-ill me didn’t understand.

True love needs nothing.

The Fury:

It surprises me how even after I announced that the writing here was a stream-of-consciousness journal from the point of view of a mentally ill person, all of my words were taken at face value by some readers, as though in my heart of hearts I intended all the horrible victim thoughts and angry rants.

1 in 4 people will experience symptoms of mental illness in their lifetime, according to the World Health Organization.

1 quarter of all people.

For many, those symptoms come in wake of a loss—a loved one, a job, an opportunity, a dream. Significant changes to the foundational pillars of our lives—divorces, deaths, and relocations, pandemics—activate the shifting spheres of personality as we learn to let go of some behaviors and adopt new ones in order to adapt.

This process is what I believe Jung was talking about when he said the following:

“The archetype is a symbolical formula, which always begins to function whenever there are no conscious ideas present, or when such as are present are impossible upon intrinsic or extrinsic grounds.”

Psychological Types: Or, The Psychology of Individuation, (Jung, 476).

Firstly, if we look closely at this statement, the absence of conscious thought, or the presence of conscious thoughts that are impossible against the assumed ideas of reality, is a state of madness or insanity.

Sanity is engaging in an agreed upon reality and operating in a form whereby the balance leans more towards peace, hopefully.

Carl Jung documented his own decline in sanity, something I too have been documenting in my own life unwittingly. The more I learn about him, the more I feel he is my spirit animal.

I’m sort of learning to have a sense of humor.

So we establish that the conditions of healing archetypal consciousness and recognizing it require a lack of sanity from the outset or a very detailed and continuous dream analysis. I think this is why mushroom trips are so good for people. They set off the ego death and are a marker for the experience as something intentionally embarked upon.

Secondly, the observer of the archetypal consciousness is also, I believe, the witness consciousness or soul consciousness mentioned in Buddhism or in the teachings of Ram Dass. These observers of people and leaders in the fields of consciousness necessarily push the boundaries of sanity.

I tell myself this is what I’m doing when I’m really losing it—not from a place of ego or because I think I’m so profound or anything. Many of my thoughts are neurotically cyclical—but because a positive narrative is always a lifeline of hope.

Further research reveals that the idea of archetype “activation” is also present in animals:

“Following Wilson’s lead, the psychiatrist Anthony Stevenssees archetypes at work in ethology, the study of animal behaviour in natural habitats. Animals have sets of stock behaviours, ethologists note, apparently activated by environmental stimuli. That activation is dependent upon what are known as ‘innate releasing mechanisms’. The fungus cultivated by the leafcutter ant ensures the ant only collects the kind of leaf that the fungus requires. The emerald head of the mallard drake causes the mallard duck to become amorous. Other characteristics from maternal bonding to male rivalry might be called archetypal too.”

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/belief/2011/jun/20/jung-archetypes-structuring-principles

The archetype I faced in this bout with insanity was the devouring mother. Nature, the dark, creative, chaos. She is the mother who will always nurture so you will never leave, like the evil spider mother in Tim Burton’s Coraline. She is the divine feminine’s shadow side, feminine power gone unchecked, chaos run rampant without reason, time without patience. Death and destruction.

We experience archetypes according to the symbolic language of our culture because language is what structures our narratives and therefore understanding of experience.

An experience like realizing I have forgotten what it means to love is really an experience for which there is no words. The blooming understanding of how not to be selfish, of what gratitude feels like, of gently opening to trust and the possibility of happiness, are not experiences for which there are words.

We have stories. We have events that reveal. We have actions and choices taken and interpretation. We have language and narrative and consciousness some of the time.

If 1 in 4 people experiences mental illness in their lifetime according to significant change, it seems likely many people are experiencing mental illness right now.

What instincts have been activated in our people and our neighbors?

Jung wrote, also, that these archetypal activations override reason, that objectivity is impossible, essentially, because one experiences the archetype by adopting definite behaviors and ideals, at least temporarily—embodying a structure of behavior based on a sort of collective symbolic knowing deemed the collective unconscious. He continues:

“These subjective tendencies and ideas are stronger than the objective influence; because their psychic value is higher, they are superimposed upon all impressions.”

Psychological Types: Or, The Psychology of Individuation, (Jung, 476).

This is projection. What this means is that when one is in a state in which some shock has rocked their world view to such an extent that something they believe is impossible is suddenly possible—again, loss, divorce, death, relocation—they are temporarily governed by instinctive action born from the collective unconscious (which may be, simply, biological instincts communicated via culturally symbolic narrative structures) which SUPERSEDE reason and logic.

All interpretations of events in this state of mind are colored by the activated archetype and are therefore projections of one’s subconsciousness upon experience. Since the experience is one in which one is either not conscious or cannot consciously reconcile with occurrences, one projects ideas into the experience and takes action to test them until a more solid understanding born of trial and error brings the experience into such focus that language can then be used to categorize it into a reasoned, communicable state.

I didn’t know that I was facing down the internalized judgements of my mother’s value systems based on how she rewarded me or withheld love from me as a very young child, something all people must overcome or remain symbiotic with. I didn’t know that losing my mind would be necessary to undo those value systems or that putting a new one in place would mean I didn’t know what I stood for for a while.

What this implies about the ability to communicate peacefully is that is the height of reason and compassion, for to communicate with a person who lacks reason and consciousness, one must speak with emotions and learn to unhear the words. Words spoken without reason are often hurtful since they are born of these projections.

To admonish an unreasonable person for not having reason is as good as poking a sleeping bear. No argument can be won with reason if had with the unreasonable. It is the duty, therefore, of the reasonable, to show the way to the path of reason, whether the horse will follow or not. I did not know that glimpsing reason was as chance and lucky a thing as it is.

Then again, plenty of unreasonable people have responsibly human hearts and will act for the rights of a person despite what foolish beliefs they may claim to cling to. The problem with clinging to the languages of reason and science and logic to inform a decoded reality is that these are not the only mechanisms by which humans operate and understand one another.

We are entering an era in which we are decoding the barriers that stand between apparently opposite disciplines, such as Wicca’s rule of three and the observer effect in physics alongside the law of attraction in new thought, and the microcosm reflecting the microcosm in Jungian personality theory. They all, across disciplines, can be said to be representative of a phenomena about which each discipline seems to have only a small part of the picture and offers its own interpretive lens of analysis for explanation. A bigger picture waits to unveil a more all-inclusive outlook.

Emotional, spiritual, logical, social, individual, and physical intelligences are some we are capable of. If all exist on one plane, there must be a narrative in which all are possible that supersedes what humans think we know about being human.

In theories like Anil Seth’s Ted Talk How Does Your Brain Construct Your Conscious Reality? Seth, a neuroscientist, explains what my mystic great grandma came to believe was the basis for the law of attraction based on a book called The Holographic Universe, about which I wrote a story in a previous post about the Law of Attraction.

The spiritual concepts of the ancient past are more important now in the modern present than ever. When else has the battleground of the mind been so important as to hold the balance of nature in its clutches? How conscious of these consciousnesses are you?

When we argue, DJ and I do so in a state of dual consciousness in which we are both aware that this is just another argument while also being aware we are pretending it isn’t. Holding two states of consciousness is a practice in Taoism.

I am the angry girlfriend and the faithful life partner and the raving mad bitch of a jealous lunatic and the nurturer who cooks dinner all in one.

Humans do not exist in single dimensions of personality the way we see them communicated through words and headlines and still life observations and video clips in media.

The romances of pain and suffering are still, at their sources, fed by pain and suffering. The only way to engage a different outcome is to feed a different food.

I had to stop social media, cut down on coffee, exercise, shower daily, eat three meals a day and that is actually harder than I gave it credit for being. I thought I was more together than that. I thought I was greater than that, as if living as a functional person is anything to snub one’s nose at.

My credit is fucked and I have a juvenile financial intelligence. I own practically nothing by my own minimalist preferences. It was my first instinct to react like a cornered dog when we moved here to this tiny apartment in this city so far away and for me to not trust anyone when I can’t even trust myself. I didn’t trust myself to be able to care for my dog and thought she’d be happier with someone more together only to realize after sitting with it that this isn’t how bonds of friendship work. They don’t just turn off and turn on.

We live like deep see cephalopods, trailing the tendrils of experience which make up 75% of our mass behind us. How much weight is memory.

When I hear hateful things and see the way my people scream at one another, I’m seven and listening to my parents scream at one another through the phone. I’m thirty arguing with DJ about how we’re going to pay the bills or why is he working so much. I’m feeling the way time slips from days into weeks and the grind and the knife’s edge upon which a pandemic hit America teeters.

I think when I grab the keys we both know that this could be the argument that takes it too far, if I’m really serious. Am I acting from a place of insanity or am I conscious right now? We both know I’m acting out something else and that this is not an argument that will take things too far. Not this time.

What’s more, we recognize once again that the likelihood of that argument ever arriving lessens every day because through all of it we still see one another.

Some say Jung spoke the language of the human heart. I believe so.

What’s more, I believe this is the language, the language of symbols and nature and reason and stories and dreams and art by which we communicate, that prevents the argument born of unrelated frustrations being expelled through some archetypal act like a tantrum, from becoming the argument that takes it too far.

One is an act, a play, a tenuous display of what could be, a testing of waters that prove tepid and unpleasant and through which we would rather not proceed.

Following through, taking the keys and the car, is the point of no return in which we must now adapt. My country’s protests are displays still, but displays are nearing actions with more utility.

The other day, two people were shot in the autonomous zone. When police responded, they were screamed at and harassed and were not granted access to the crime scene. The corpse of a 19-year-old was delivered to a hospital by autonomous zone medics and the police resumed investigation there. Another person is in critical condition. There is an ongoing homicide investigation.

The fact that a homicide investigation is being interfered with by local protesters who are armed and have claimed the zone of Capital Hill as autonomous from law, essentially, makes me wonder if this is a moment in which they are taking the keys, or if they are really driving away in the car.

For a time, I think my country will be insane. We are learning new ways.

It is my hope we are intelligent enough to remember ourselves as we adapt to a world that is changing now so quickly it is hard to keep up if you don’t cultivate some sense of adventure, or at least duty.

For my own part, when my heart is pumping a deafening torrent of rage blood through my veins, I run, I get distance, I take a walk to the park and back, and when I’m no longer just running on instinct, the way to peace becomes clearer. I’m learning not to speak unless peace is the desired result. I’m learning not to act unless health and community and kindness are the projected result. My actions refract out into too many lives (this world is so busy now and I’ve learned to stop being selfish) for me to be irresponsible with them.

Jung said too:

“Man is the microcosm of the macrocosm ; the God on earth is built on the pattern of the God in nature. But the universal consciousness of the real Ego transcends a million fold the self-consciousness of the personal for false ego.”

https://whatsmyquote.com/quote/man-is-the-microcosm-of-the-macrocosm-the-god-on-earth-is-built-on-the-pattern-of-the-god-in-nature-but-the

Because we live on earth, we must pattern ourselves according to nature. We know better, but sometimes it is not in our nature to be better, especially when we are sick, afraid, watching our economy collapse, watching our loved ones pass.

Sometimes our instincts are nature-cruel like Zeus upon Leda. Often, they override our reasoning. It is up to those of us who are reasonable to shed our petty egos, the ones that want and need validation. It is up to those of us who are conscious to be brave and confident in moving forward and to do so with a clear vision of peace. My anger was born of resentment for the task of crafting a life for myself. Depression is cruel like that. Mental illness is a corner in which I lack all vision for what is good.

For the insane, neurotic, cyclical thoughts lead to neurotic, cyclical behavior. Addicts are insane this way. For the conscious person of sound reason, the heart sounds out it’s fury and becomes a dance of action in contextualized, present, moment creation of a life unfolding with enthusiasm.

The games we play with our identities, putting so much stock in labels and boxes and reasonable notions of security, used to anger me, but when rid of the games and the labels and boxes, the chaos is so extant, the potential for randomness so palpable I could taste it on the air with every step into this new life, I was humbled and quickly bored. The ego trips become playful games. The Buddhist wise man is also the fool. The archetypal child is also the wizened crone.

The point of the sides, the divisions, the cultures, the symbols, the languages, the conscious and the unconscious, is not to eradicate the possibility of negative experience.

A heart attack came on the wind for my grandpa a couple of days ago and it was just so sudden, the shock of it left a hole in my family like a meteor strike. I can blame the coronavirus or his heart doctor and be angry because hurt becomes anger when we fear feeling or don’t know how. Fear becomes hatred. That’s an archetypal concept.

I hope that the natural divisions of people and creatures across boundaries are in place so that we may learn from them how to overcome together those things that divide us as human beings as a collective on this planetary home.

I hope too, that we learn the power of words again, and of hope, and of vision shaped in accordance with sound action to create positive change.

Because I cannot change the world, I change myself. Six months ago I was an alcoholic smoker, half insane, couldn’t hold a job, a dime, or a candle to my deflated ego for which I compensated by talking a lot about the past and blaming other people for my problems.

Today I don’t drink at all. I have more faith and trust in my love and my family than I ever thought possible. I am exercising reason alongside emotion, aiming for peace, praying always with thanks and gratitude for those I love.

They are simple, old ways.

I’m teaching cooking classes and writing and I’m a clerk. We are making a family. We are moving into a bigger place and bought a reliable car.

It was hard, at first to train ourselves to cook instead of order out, to overcome our laziness, to overcome the patterns of addiction.

It was hard to kill my big fat ego that thought I wanted something more than this, as if this life is anything to sneer at. They call it privilege but it was hell. To not recognize one’s blessings is hell.

When we made peace, DJ and I began to tenuously form plans for the future. We picked a direction, aimed, and we’re accomplishing our goals together.

Speaking about our vision of the future and discussing how we were going to achieve it was more effective than any of our arguments. The time we spent arguing was a necessary reaction to our fear, our pain, our discomfort. The emotions alerted us and the things said in pain and anger and fear stung enough to linger for a while.

Once we forgave one another for our humanity, we were able to understand how the other works. Once we saw each other clearly, it became easier to forgive further. We began to work together. We built a life from our last dollar.

We began to work together once we accepted the delineations of personality and instinct by which the other operates across a variety of circumstances.

I think human beings see the heart of a person in what they do, say, see, and how they react, but there’s no pinning it down with a word or a box or a label. The heart, as an archetypal concept, is a direction beyond biology or instinct or personality. What’s remarkable is how true a heart can stay through how much change a human being sees and all the slips of sanity along the way.

My grandparents were married for fifty years. When grandpa passed so quickly, I remembered a version of myself who danced on his toes as a girl. To love someone is to hold the memory of them like this, collecting experiences with them in the heart where, good and bad, they are cherished.

I know love because when grandpa died I knew grandma felt the fifty years of their experiences become unshared and the thought of my experiences with DJ being things I hold alone takes my breath away. The weight of us is in our focus.

What joy is it to share in an experience with someone? What triumph to persevere through hardship past those moments of no return through all odds only to find the mechanisms of nature will stop a heart and leave you breathlessly alone in the very end no matter what?

Sometimes an argument just needs space and time. Sometimes our 390 square foot apartment is just a bit too cramped and we both need space and switch into instinct mode and we are irritable and reactive and angry and a fight would be welcome and the drama would be so easy to feed.

Shared or alone, my time here is for cultivating peace.

I go on a run even though I’m an alcoholic and who am I to think I could be better because sometimes the most responsible decision is to take a foolish leap in the direction of hope. You’re going to be cyclically worrying about something anyways. Might as well make it your sore legs.

Those thoughts sore into something more ecstatic like, hell yeah you’re running and you look great and you feel great and you’re going to be in such a good mood now and your anxiety is going away as life is going to be better all around.

I

More often, I’m cruising ata place in the middle in which I go to work even when I don’t want to. There are people there I respect. Once, the reason would have been I need the money.

My values are changing for the bette.

The judgements begin to lessen and pass. The desire to argue gets swallowed down and transmuted into a fiery anger that fuels my desires to create. I pick my battles, most of which were with my own sense of inadequacy, so the battles are primarily about discipline.

Run. Read. Write. Work. Cook. Clean. Sleep. Eat. Shower. Watch some tv. Human things.

They seemed so mundane and insignificant in my heart even though in my mind I knew family was the most important thing.

When I moved, I missed them so much. A family is all I wanted though I’d never have known if I’d stayed in my hometown. In moving away from them I moved towards my own.

I recognize I know nothing. I listen. I find the listening to be more wholesome and I find my personality to be more stable when I say less about it.

Our hearts contain the secret solutions to our pains. The inner world knows the way to peace if one can persevere in the heart.

For the person who knows all of their innermost fears knows no boundaries. The heart prevails.

My grandparents argued.

I didn’t know that this was an expression of their love for one another until love seized me and had me passionately arguing about it.

I believe we argue because we care.

We are looking for ways to communicate and we are looking for solutions and it is human nature to care about one another because we are historically depend upon one another. It takes a village, as they say.

My insanity began to pass most noticeably when the paranoia disappeared. When I stopped thinking my coworker was undermining my work, when I stopped believing my boyfriend was cheating, when I stopped thinking my friends didn’t care.

All of these fears were beliefs that were based in old traumas, past events that were coloring my perception of the present. My reality was not objective.

It takes time to heal our projections. It takes trial and error to build personalities that are not conflicting with the nature of reality, especially since the occasions upon which to build new personality comes from a clash with reality in which we discover our previous idea of what constitutes reality is now untrue. Our egos wax tender and our tempers run hot.

The best part about this time in which we are swimming in the primordial image soup of the collective unconscious soul, is that we get to envision, in this period of rest from the conscious and active construction of our world in favor of subconscious reflection, a better future.

When the desire to stop arguing is superseded by the desire to make peace and I’m so tired of arguing that I could stand to make for some compromise, which is necessary on both sides unless this is a fascist dictatorship, I know sanity is returning.

Then it is time to act again.

This is the lesson, for me, of the archetypal dark mother, or nature.

Everything in its own time. Patience. Make room for the unpleasant things by increasing appreciation and gratitude for the little things to such an extent that they aren’t little things at all. Believe in the goodness in others and respond with goodness especially in the face of hatred. Own your character and actions responsibly. What you believe about others is a reflection of what you believe about yourself. Healing yourself will enact tremendous healing upon your life. The more lives heal, the more the world heals. The microcosm reflects the microcosm and vice versa.

I desire peace and cut out social media. I desire health and learn to cook. I desire love and learn to trust. I love and start to live. I live and remember death. I appreciate and feel gratitude in the face of loss.

We exist as individuals across dualistic boundaries, inhabiting complex emotional and psychic spaces in which multiple possibilities for personality erupt to take shape based on choice if we happen to have awareness of our faculties in the face of our instincts that day. More often, choices are made based on fear based on past instincts which further reinforces the illusion of that insanity.

The clean slate begins with forgiveness. Despite my fears, I act on what I choose to believe based on what kind of person I choose to be. When I let the past decide the color of the actions I take in the present, I give that past power over my present. When I don’t trust DJ based on old fear and irrational interpretation of him being home ten minutes later than usual, I am giving power over my personal narrative to my ex boyfriend who cheated on me, which is where the fear comes from. He has no business in this life, so when this fear arises I look at the facts, weigh them against my emotions, and usually discover I’m being irrational.

People call me naive a lot, so I know I’m naive. I also know that people say they feel seen by me, like I really heard them. People open up and tell me things about themselves they wouldn’t normally tell perfect strangers.

The saddest part of being insane is the part where, if you recover, you realize that by acting on instinct based on past traumas and archetypal fears instead of in accordance with the context of the present moment, you hurt people by not seeing them correctly, which causes the arguments.

The part that is worse than that maybe, is the moment you realize that this is normal human behavior, perfectly natural, and that what you were desiring to destroy the whole time was not outside of you at all but merely and intrinsic part of your civilized personality desiring the demise of your natural human heart’s desire to be truly seen.

We want to proceed in the direction of certainty, ridding ourselves finally of all need to feel and interpret and live and sense and touch and go and wonder by aiming for some utopia enforced by fascism.

Consciousness seems to fight for its own demise.

If the complaint is without a solution, look within.

The ego death is the experience in which we encounter the changes that kill personality, awakening us to the unconscious wherein we find answers outside the bounded language and “rightness” of our culture to inform a new rightness from a more all-encompassing landscape of truth wherein the things that symbols represent exist unfettered by representation. The collective unconscious.

Some believe this is what we tune into when we do acid or mushrooms the way my grandpa did in the sixties while my grandma watched over him, her sober flower girl instincts leading her to love and joy and tolerance of what she did not partake in but appreciated witnessing.

Yes we’re polar opposites, grandma and grandpa.

We are here in the soup today without sanity to find a missing piece of human nature, some part of us that has been misused and abused, some mechanism of judgment used unjustly.

We name it police and government and politics and race.

I name it fear and hatred.

I can’t right the many wrongs in the world. I can’t even right all of my own wrongs. I don’t believe in progress for the sake of progress. Progress in the wrong direction isn’t progress at all.

When I’m insane, the best thing to do is care for myself radically and to radically trust those who love me and whom I love because we share experiences together that tells those people who I am and will help to keep me on an even keel, morally.

When I’m most insane, morals are relative. Kindness is subjective. There are definite answers to fantastically abstract questions and certain ways to proceed across an open playing field.

The scariest part is realizing we are all making this up as we go along and no one really does know if the world is going to end or the virus is going to mutate and wipe us all out or if an earthquake is going to hit or a heart attack is going to thump rage blood into the last breath of the life of the person who shares you. The one who knows you best.

We are in this together until the end. I pray the part of us that desires to eradicate human nature finds value in those mistakes made upon civilization by it. I pray the courage to forgive and believe and create wins out over pettiness and anger and hatred, justified or unjustified.

Six months ago I hated you all. I know the demon can be put down with love and understanding. I know choosing to love and understand what we don’t know means a change in personality and that changing ones personality means temporary insanity and vulnerability and trust and facing fears.

I know that with patience and understanding, a collective vision creates collective action. I know our collective is enormous and I’m just one in a small family in a 390 square foot apartment, but a life is worth a thousand voices…many more according to BLM protests.

It is no small thing to be one person.

If one person had done the right thing, the BLM movement would never have erupted nor so many movements for peace and justice and equal rights and opportunities before today.

I am two states away from where my grandpa’s absence left a crater in the heart of my family. Grandmas house was the safe zone. It’s where the the best of our family’s golden years were spent, where innocence thrives and salami sandwiches and juice boxes and cousins and games color shared memories of a time preserved in our hearts as the time of plenty.

We don’t know what they will do about the house or the bills or how long grandma will be able to persevere without the one who shared her, who knew her across all boundaries.

We weren’t expecting the time to run out as quickly as it did.

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