Befriending

Jealousy. Bitterness. Spite. Rage.

These course through me repeatedly at various intervals, turning the inner eye inside out. The minuscule veins bloom from the sight-bulb as it scans the lives of others through a putrid lens of desire. It’s an unpleasant place, but there is something validating about it as well. There is a strange pleasure in misery. Why?

It occurred to me that part of jealousy involves the desire for a better life for oneself. The characteristic of jealousy is wanting what someone else has, yes, but wanting good things for ourselves in a sign of compassion for ourselves. It is not reflective of the hateful anger swamp we inhabit when we feel jealous. There is a seed of wholesome want in the rotten fruit of jealousy, and in removing this seed, cleansing it, and planting, we can reap a great harvest from something that once was only pain.

Everything in us is on our side. We just have to undercover how it’s trying to help us, and what it’s trying to show us. Everything teaches. The demons aren’t actually trying to destroy us. They’re trying to destroy what they think gets in the way. Sometimes they think we’re the problem, and then we have these wars in our psyches, when the real problem is our inactivity in tending to ourselves. Teach the demons what to attack and they will serve us. Understand the roots of apathy and unhappiness and then we can use this ferocious energy of the darkness to our advantage.

Everything inside us wants to win. Befriend the demons. Create a unified front. Identify and attack the true obstacles. We can defeat agony.

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Feeling Good.

Again, the artists struggle. I feel good, so I have no real desire to write. But here I am, writing. Motivation, inspiration, they can come from all kinds of places. Do not stay miserable to stay rooted in creative impulse. There is a creative landscape beyond desolation, and it is fertile. Plant your roots here, grow your legacy here. Keep the awe of the desolate darkness but strengthen it with the liberation that comes from peace.

I have moments of integration. I feel like a different person. Or rather, fully myself, rather than being the torn rag of a woman. The psyche is a strange place. It automatically morphs into a reflection of what it is exposed so, and must be rebuilt and restructured as needed. This is your primary interaction with life: how you use what you’ve witnessed.

Anger, bitterness, spite, these can all be so valuable in building discipline and focus. They can be transformed into valuable energy, and can strengthen you in a powerful way. The value of sheer nerve. It’s beautiful. Life is beautiful.

 

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Effort

The realization that I have never really tried. Sure, I have tried to make situations work out  as best I could, but ultimately that was so mired by problems and pains that the effort was put into not falling apart, rather than the objective at hand.

Have I ever really taken care of myself, in a full way? How hard have I fought the darkness, used all the tools at my disposal, instead of succumbing immediately? The familiarity of misery. We long for what is familiar at the cost of what is possible. For life to truly move along, to truly evolve, I must be rid of old belief systems, ways of live, and ultimately people and environments.

What am I willing to sacrifice? To discard? Even if it has been the one pillar of my life, perhaps it is holding something which is not true shelter. The ability to envision a better life precedes having one. This involves identifying what must go.

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Briefs

Years ago I titled this blog after the realization that every day was a chance at redemption, that every day I has the opportunity to rise out of yesterdays ash and reach something higher. Not to suggest that each day burns, but I carry acres of ash from old fires and have no choice but to rise. Otherwise life is spent suffocating, choking on dead dust.

Dust, blockages, breathing. Blockages. Clutter. I am surrounded by beautiful clutter. What it takes to change any habit is absurd. A tidy desk. I am amazed by those who traverse truly treacherous terrain, the stone dagger landscapes like Madagascar, the inner equivalent, and manifest ease into their life through noble efforts of self-discovery.

Can I not value myself in this way? Am I not exactly the kind of person I admire? And if I am not, is it not in my complete power to change this? It is.

 

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The world is equally beautiful every day, the same inexplicable deeds divulging, perhaps with equal ratios of good and horror. How can we really know they aren’t always balanced? Perhaps twohundredandtwentyfivethousandbillion acts of kindness and love can be tallied against seventeenhundredandtwentyfivethousandbillion acts of sorrow and evil. When you’re on the painful side I suppose you won’t care that love is winning. Maybe it would give you hope. An interesting idea nonetheless.

After every bout of horror, I have always returned stronger than ever to an immense sense of wonder for life. Faith in hanging on, in fighting, has never failed me. And many others. Take comfort in this. There is endurance. There is victory.

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Hold

I have been given a masterclass by the universe in noticing fear. I am motivated by it in deeply entrenched ways, and it’s hegemony is impressive. It is inherited from my family, written on all the pages of my consciousness, and I stand vigilant with a small eraser, rubbing out this graffiti at every opportunity. Sometimes it comes off clean, other times the graphite smears and I have a larger mess than when I started. Delicate touches with the rubber saviour are then required.

The internal does take on the external. I realized that I always expect my peace to be disturbed, as I grew up with unpredictable bouts of anger and shouting. My psyche has taken this on, and does not allow a healthy or peaceful perspective to remain undisturbed for too long. This differs from the expectation of feeling happy all the time-people conflate unrealistic exuberance for stability too often. Earlier today, I realized my peace is safe. No one is going to barge in and scream at me, figuratively or otherwise, and I can stop doing that to myself.

Understanding that the past is past. Understanding, on a visceral level, that you are safe.

The task at hand. What I hold everyday.

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Perfect Sight

There is a white hot rage in me, mixed in with a black tar rotting decay. A festering volcano, the afterbirth of trauma. Lack of control of internal emotional processes. This is a legacy of being overpowered, you really lose agency over yourself. At it’s worst, it is an ultimate loss of control, so-called madness, insanity. In it’s more mature manifestations, at least one can manage their outward behaviour, but the inner realms are lawless lands, where the past roams free and bleeds into the now, staining everything.

Times heals nothing. Going through the fire is what cauterizes, disinfects, and heals. And you cannot run through because then you are simply incinerated. You actually have to walk through. Slowly. It is a strange truth. I never thought I would have the strength to do this. To cut out the people who needed to be cut out, to speak the deeds that were done, to face the past and say no more.

Even as a child I knew my parents had to go, at some point. I always knew they were not for me. The clarity of this was so intense for so long, I’m not sure why it dissolved. Why did I feel like I needed them? The raw rage of youth was so wise, so true. When did I stop listening? I am not sure. I lacked vision when I was younger, the vision of truly escaping them. It was unimaginable. It was a freedom beyond mental conjuring. Rage is so valuable if we take what is best in it – the seed of truth. There is a reason we feel it. To understand this reason and  plant this reason into our consciousness so we may reap the appropriate actions, this is how we can use rage.

You already know everything you need to know. Any tool from the outside is to help you get inside. Clarity is there. You just need to clean your vision. Or rather, clarity comes through cleaning vision, and you already have perfect sight.

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