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I have been asked why am I so angry at God, and my reply has always been, "How can I be angry at something I don't believe in?" Part of what I am angry with are decisions I have made because I used to buy into the idea that there was a god and I submitted to the guilt because I believed I was a sinner. In reality, I have no one to be angry with but myself. I sacrificed my long term happiness and became something I don't believe that I really am. And for what... my imagination? Fuck!
A man spends his life damming up a river because the valley beyond seemed so supple and furtle. But in a moment of clarity, he realizes what he has forgotten is that which came before has been flooded and buried beneath the murky depths of the pool he has created. He stands before the edge of the pool, peering down, hoping for a glimmer of the past, yet nothing comes but echoes of distant memories and his own sullen reflection. Angered, he tears at the confines, rock by rock, possessed by regret. The water will always flow where it needs.
From here the storm seems close. Standing alone in my defiance, as if locked in some immortal challenge with the storm's blackened clouds raging just off the horizon. Do I dare taunt it to draw closer and bring all of its might down upon these lonely shores? These shores, my shores, for which I claim the right to label if by only my sheer will to survive its total isolation. I raise my fists and shout to the heavens with all the fire I can summon in the hope to hide the seeds of fear that rot me from within.
Procrastination - it seems that I always have something better and more exciting to do. The problem is I am getting distracted from the last better and more exciting thing to do that crosses my mind. So I just spiral downward, farther into this hole that I have dug for myself and, as I have discovered, I am completely unmotivated to crawl out. I attempt to summon some semblance of impetus, but fall flat under the next distraction to overtake my weary mind. I just can't seem to keep it together regardless of how many twilight pep talks I give myself.
When I was nine, my grandfather died. That was the beginning of a whole series of firsts. It was the first time I had seen my father cry. It was the first time I had seen my family experience tragic loss. It was the first time I had seen a dead body. It was the first time I was afraid of my grandmother while watching her go out of her mind with grief. It was the first time I thought about death, wondering where grandpa really went if he wasn't right there. It was the first time I felt alone.
There was a time when I saw the world contrasted by black and white. I righteously pronounced my idea of good as right and everything else as evil. Perhaps it came with age or the passage of time spent examining my own thoughts, but the neat, orderly world I once knew as a child seemingly melted into this palette of gray. The truths I once understood to be fact were mercilessly drowned out by the possibility that I may be wrong. Was I lied to? Were those that taught me the ways of the world ignorant of its true mechanics?
Waiting for inspiration. I sit here, blank and lamenting for another demiurgic moment to strike, allowing me to write something of brilliance. It comes, sometimes. But those fleeting moments lately seem so few and far between. I tire of the process of writing a word, deleting a word, writing another. It seems a dance that only Sisyphus could understand. I struggle with defeat, fighting the urge to just throw in the towel and settle myself in to finally acknowledging the heaping pile of failure I have become. Try to focus! Focus on successes and triumphs once passed. Dammit! I'm fucked!
I am staring at a blinking cursor thinking about what to write. Nothing is coming. One would think that writing one hundred words for one month would be relatively easy, but it isn't. I am not a great writer by any stretch of the imagination. I wouldn't even say I am a good writer. Hell... I am not even a writer. Who am I kidding? I would like to write more, which is why I am going through this exercise in the first place. But I can say that I am getting a bit tired of looking at this cursor.
Do you think animals contemplate if they have a purpose in life? Do you think they wander around, wondering if they are really fulfilling their purpose? My guess is probably not, yet the incredible planet keeps on spinning around just fine. So why do we seek out a purpose for our lives; I mean a purpose that is of a higher calling than that is expected of the animals that we share this planet with? It seems really absurd that we believe that we have some purpose other than to survive and reproduce. Beyond that, the rest is just gravy.
I try to avoid having expectations. Expectations lead to disappointment. Disappointment leads to resentment. Resentment leads to depression. Depression leads to a false sense of self that spirals out of control to a point where I start mandating things about my life or ways that I perceive things in life. If there is one thing that I have learned it is life never meets my expectations. Though I know this, I always have them. Why? I set myself up for a sucker punch every time I enter a situation, have an expectation, it doesn't meet my expectation, I get crushed.
I think most of us just want to be sheep. It is just too damn hard to think for ourselves, so we just herd ourselves along and follow along with the path of least resistance. Perhaps it is because of our pack mentality, but I think it is a shame that the wolves of the world realize that many of us are easy pickings because we just don't like to think. You are probably sitting there thinking, "I am a thinking individual, capable of rationally thinking things through and would never get taken by the wolves in sheep's clothing." Bullshit!
When I was a kid, I had a tight knit group of friends. We ruled our suburban, white neighborhood and made all the vows that stupid, young, white suburbanites made to each other, "We'll be friends forever, dude." Right around the time that highschool was over, my path diverged and I moved on. After finding the majority of them on Facebook, it seems a lot of them stayed in touch and, though they are not best friends, they are friends nonetheless. I'm don't know where my defect is, but I just didn't see my future there. Now I feel... regret.
In that moment it was as if I was floating outside looking down on myself. The pallid light from moon that shone down from the cold, dark, early morning December sky gently kissed my face. And my face, cold and pale, as if all the hope of an earlier time had flowed out like blood, dripped from my chin and collected in tiny pools on the ground under which I sat. How I wish I could have brought forth some kind of an emotion - love, hatred, sadness, loss or loneliness. But in that moment there truly was nothing left.
In sixth grade, I wrote a poem for a class project. I remember sitting down and allowing myself the freedom to let whatever come out manifest itself. When I turned in my work, I didn't really think much about it. In fact, to me, I just turned in an assignment. A few days later, my teacher stood in front of the class and read my poem to the class with near tears in her eyes. I sunk in my seat, embarrassed at first. That was until I realized I had also moved some of the other children with my words.
I am fascinated by some of the things that people believe. More over, I am thoroughly impressed that people will use these beliefs in arguments as legitimate talking points to prove their positions as if you would accept their points on face value. For example, I had someone tell me that God is controlling our global temperature and has been for millions of years. This has me baffled on so many levels. First, I thought you had to believe the world was only six thousand years old. Secondly, really? You think God has his finger on the temperature gauge? /facepalm/
I was thinking about the process of creation today. When a creator creates something, they literally pour something of themselves into that which they are creating, breathing a life of it's own into it. The reason for this is because the creation is only half of the process. Without others, outside of the creator, to share in the creation the creation withers and dies. A beautiful piece of music would go unheard. A wonderful piece of art would go unseen. Some elegantly strung together words would go unread. Perhaps we are far too critical of creation these days? Don't hide!
I think many Atheists have it wrong, in a sense. Though I subscribe to many of the Atheistic points of view, I think they way I have heard many Atheists argue with those who put their faith in deities is patently wrong. I believe that religion, as imperfect as it is, has taught humanity quite a bit and has somewhat elevated our thinking above just a "survival of the fittest" mentality. Though I think a faith in religion is still wrong and archaic, I do view it as a necessary evolutionary step and not just a silly delusion to disregard.
Trust is a strange thing. When you loose it, it seems that you can never really earn it back. Though every word from one's mouth may be straight and true as an arrow and it may hit the mark every single time, there is still that tiny bit of doubt. I used to believe that through the passage of time eventually the doubt would fade as the proof the trust would be presented over and over and over again. But, it seems that doubt breads mistrust and therefore that which was lived in the past is lived again and again.
I don't believe anyone realizes how damn broken I feel. When I was young and felt broken, I ran to my dad. When I reached a certain age I realized I couldn't do that any more; it was time to fix things for myself. But I still feel broken. I feel like the whole damn world is crumbling around me and I don't know what to do. Worse yet, those around me are leaning on me as I leaned on my father. I wonder if this is the way my dad felt or if I am just an epic failure?
An elderly man sits on a park bench watching the world go by. As people pass before him, oblivious to his prying gazes as they go about their lives, he wonders what they are thinking. "Are they happy, sad, or indifferent? What are they thinking about?" He tries to place himself into what he figures is their world now, but realizes rather quickly that his day in the sun has been over long ago. So he just sits. "What are they feeling as they hurry from this place to that place, ignoring not only me, but each other as well?"
I once had a vivid dream where you were sitting alone in the middle of a completely white room. You were wearing the most beautiful, radiant, white dress I had ever seen. A strange, white glow illuminated the entire room. It was bright, but it did not hurt my eyes. It just made everything completely wonderful and warm. When you saw me, you simply stood up and smiled at me as if all the bad things we had gone through had simply vanished. I stepped toward you, nervous yet anxious and we locked in an embrace until I woke up.
I don't think I ever really appreciated the right here and the right now. "Back then" always looked better and I couldn't wait until "I got there" was here. Now is always too painful as I sit here in the moment and I am never content with sitting here in the shit I am in right here and right now. Think of it this way, in the past, I was dreaming of the shit I am in now. Now I am dreaming of the shit I will probably be in in the future. It is futile not to appreciate now.
In a thousand years, nobody will remember most of us. Well, actually, in the next one hundred years most of us will drop into obscurity and be forgotten. Our children's children will barely think of us and when our children finally die we will die right along with them. If you don't subscribe to the idea of an eternal life, does this idea haunt you? For me, I would rather have contributed something to humanity than to have been remembered by humanity. I am OK to be remembered only by my children and to have my memory die with them.
I wish I had time. Time in general. I just feel that I don't have enough of it. When I was a kid, I remember spending hours hanging out in my room just doing nothing. No distractions and letting my imagination go where it chose. Now I am lucky to hold a single thought in my head for a second before I am distracted by this or that. I hate it; this time in my life where I feel like I am being pulled apart by the seams. I'm told to go faster, but I need to fucking slow down.
When I was thirteen, I had a job as a paperboy. Every morning, rain or shine, seven days a week, 365 days a year I got up at 3:30am to fold 150 papers, jump on my bike and deliver them to customers by 5am. The strange thing is that I never did it for the money. I did it because I loved the solitude of that time of the morning. It was eerily quite as the world around me slept. There is something about that time of day that I love. It seems funny that I actually miss that job.
In high school, I was the "shy/nice guy". At least that is what the girls all used to call me. I knew how to treat the ladies and I treated them very well. However, I honestly don't think that is what many of them really wanted. I was mostly left out in the cold because I wasn't overly aggressive sexually, even though I thought about it constantly. I listened to them. I mean I really listened to them and what they had to say, even when they would talk about other guys. And yes, that fucking pissed me off!
Oscar Wilde once wrote that "Scepticism is the beginning of Faith." I believe that one should always constantly challenge what it is that they believe. Blind faith can lead to a devotion to something harmful to one's self, a community or the world at large. I have seen this not only in my own life and through my own experience, but on a macro scale, played out through world wars, crusades and ethnic cleansings. People that blindly follow this or that have always baffled me because it just doesn't seem logical. Perhaps I just give humanity far too much credit.
I have never done anything spectacular. Much of my life has been pretty damn mediocre as a matter of fact. Sadly, I think a lot of what I touch turns to shit most of the time. It didn't seem to start out like this. But thinking back, perhaps I was just too young to have noticed. I don't believe in curses, but if I did, I would swear I was. After reading these 2800 words, I have come to the realization that I need to do something spectacular. I think it is just about time to shine. I am due.
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