On Truth and God

I come now, having pulled the string from my teeth.

Arriving at the shore, drenched, and covered in sand.

“The truth is God,” he said.

But who said?

And where did I come from?

The underworld is full of lies, and being thrust from it leaves one exquisitely disarrayed.

But the path is true, and so the past matters not.

“If the truth is God, then God must be truth,” I thought.

It makes perfect sense.

And when truth dies, it dies for the very idea of ‘you’, and all its lies.

He told me that all people have traded their truth for such lies. There is no one that rests in reality. And but a few to shoulder it.

“This is why the world has fallen.”

“But can one find his way back?”

“Do you not see?”

“But how can one stay here?”

“You ask how to dam the seas of Hell in hopes it won’t rise to the Heavens? Your battle takes place here, and it is yours alone.”

(Between Heaven and Hell?)

“The eternal struggle. I’m acquainted with the idea.”

He saw my Self take hold.

“It need not be a struggle, friend. A true path burns bright as it wisps away your darkness. Allow it the space and oxygen to burn, and you will continuously die and be reborn.”

“Only a God could die and be reborn.”

“This is the way.”

(Birth by Death?)

“Death isn’t something to be feared,” he asserted. “It can only lead to new beginnings. To resist death is to resist truth. Remember this: the only lasting truth is change. All things dismember. But the power to remember them is yours. Use it cautiously . . . for just as one can remember truth, so can one remember lies.”

“This is what it means to fall,” I muttered.

“The underworld is a narrow plain of untruth. And the Self feeds off this untruth. It is only here that it can thrive.”

“But why is this? Why would anyone choose to live this way?”

“People live this way because it’s all they’ve ever known. And so it is here they seek to ‘build their lives’. This is what is meant by the truth dies for you. Truth must die for lies to take hold.”

“That sounds a lot like . . .”

“Yes.”

We both paused. I cannot recall for how long.

“Please . . . continue.”

“This world is but a theme park housing fake prizes, and rides to nowhere. To wake up is to see this theme park for what it is, and what it’s done to you. See the destruction and decay, the garbage and the rubble. Feel the emptiness, and the stickiness of the empty theater floor.”

“And so truth is the one and only antidote to this?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“How can truth have such power?”

“Because it’s the only thing that’s real.”

“Truth is reality, and this is meant entirely in the practical sense. Do not lose your way chasing fleeting fantasies of spirituality. This is but another wing of the theme park, strategically placed near the path of truth.”

“The truth is not an escape,” he continued. “It’s the direct route to what is. And only in reality can one become intimate with that which binds him. Only then can the phoenix rise from the ashes. Only then can the angel find its wings.”

“Knowing all of this, it seems I have no choice,” I confessed.

“You can grit your teeth in agony for as long as you like. Once you know, you know. And soon you will come to learn that to have no choice is freedom. To have no choice is bliss. It releases you from a great burden, and leads to a natural state of being. The only reason you would act unnatural, is if you didn’t know the truth.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me . . . it was you that brought you here.”

Space Cadet

As I sit here alone and write this, I feel enormous peace.

It is possible this peace can only be felt when alone.

In fact, I am almost certain of this — at least for me, in this stage of my life.

It has never been more obvious to me than now: I have always gravitated towards being alone.

Other people, no matter how well-intentioned they may be, tend to bring me grief.

They do not realize it, but they bring with them significant baggage. (“Good” baggage is still baggage.)

The way I live and breath when alone, is significantly different.

When I go extended periods of time without solitude, I suffer.

And while the feeling of loneliness does arise in the beginning of a “run”, it usually evolves into something completely different.

It’s almost always “worth it”.

It’s like I unlock a new part of myself, every single time.

I suppose the way I think is fundamentally different from those in my life.

And when I exit “their world”, I step outside of the box, and float off into outer space where I belong.

“Normal life” does not excite me.

Pretending it’s satisfactory with you and your friends definitely doesn’t excite me.

Everybody is afraid to wield their sword, because they might get cut.

I have been cut, my friend. All wounds heal in due time.

And perhaps you will learn to avoid making the same mistake in the future.

This is how it must be, unless you are content with cowering in the prisons of hope, fear and denial for the remainder of your life.

A quote from a song comes to mind: “If it doesn’t scare you, you’re not doing it right. If it doesn’t faze you, you’re doing nothing at all”.

Anything “worth doing” almost always carries with it some level of perceived risk.

I suspect this perception develops into something entirely different with time. But in the beginning, this does seem to be the case.

I’ve never liked to do anything halfheartedly. I’d rather do nothing at all.

Either we move mountains, or we do nothing.

I admit, this comes with its own set of heinous problems. And I do not recommend this type of thinking to anybody. I only describe the inner workings of my own mind.

My life tends to be one of extremes.

I will go extremely long periods of remaining indoors where I speak to virtually no one.

At times I deliberately make myself inaccessible to almost everyone in my life, including my own family, regardless of the repercussions. Not out of spite, not out of malice — but out of necessity.

I tend to sleep too much, or very little.

If I’m captivated by something, nothing else matters.

If there is a mission, nothing else matters.

In stark contrast to this, I also have an immense desire to roam the world as a free man, and will continue to do so.

If there’s nothing I deem “worth going after” however, this lifestyle can certainly devolve into something akin to purgatory. I have also noticed this type of thinking tends to rear its ugly head in the presence of others.

It’s not even that they “don’t think big enough”. It’s like the way they view reality on a fundamental level cripples anything even relatively inspiring before it has the chance to reach the doorstep.

Many of these people would call my lifestyle unhealthy, unbalanced, irresponsible — selfish, even.

But I couldn’t care less what Joe at the water cooler deems “unhealthy”.

I have always seen through the lies of society.

Even as a small child.

Even before I knew they were lies.

I have always sensed something was grotesquely . . . off.

I have found the masks people don to be woefully transparent. And behind these masks — behind all of the jokes, fake smiles and false identities — pain, disappointment, and discontent is all that remains.

I am no stranger to these ways. I have been shaped by this world, just like the next person.

The only difference between me than most is the willingness to see things as they are.

And I will succumb to this no longer. I will rise from this muck, even if it kills me.

The vast majority of people in this world will not understand this. They have been duped into duping themselves for so long there’s simply no going back.

There will always be a limitless number of ready-made rationalizations at your disposal.

The people around you will always be more than happy to see you remain exactly where you are, regardless of what they might say.

And if you try to leave the ranch, they will fight to keep you there. “Crabs in a bucket” is one of truest metaphors about human behavior (and my personal favorite).

To escape Earth, you must first make it past the guards. These are normal, everyday people — friends and family included.

There is nothing inherently “bad” about these people. But they cannot join you on your journey into outer space.

They did not sign up for it, and can only advise against it.

To truly lift off, one must be alone.

If you speak to anybody consistently, let it be restricted to those who help propel you forward, rather than those who hold you back.

This may be one or two people, if you’re lucky. The truth is most people worth talking to are virtually inaccessible by design.

I am aware these are fairly strict ideals to strive towards. Ruthless, even. And this is why they are not meant for the average person.

But these are by no means rules. Once again, I only describe what seems to be the case for me.

If you run to others in hopes they will be equally inspired by your vision, you will be sorely disappointed, and the inspiration will wane.

And if it’s not inspirational, life-changing, or personally meaningful and significant to you in some way, then what’s the point? To simply survive?

I suppose if that’s what you want to do, then you have every right. But you will miss your life.

Every day will melt together and harden into weeks and months and years of insignificant blur.

Is there anything inherently wrong with this? Of course not.

But these are unconscious leaps towards death, and we never see it the day it comes knocking. We are blindsided at every turn, especially the last.

If there’s no mission, life becomes an exercise in acceleration towards death.

Perhaps this is what most people subconsciously want. I do not blame them.

But there is another way to live life. I do not know how to find it, only that it exists, and can be found. Oftentimes it takes on different forms, and cannot be sought out directly.

Perhaps the question that now arises is not “is there anything that would make your life worth living”.

But rather: if there’s anything that would make life extremely precious to you, then what would that look like?

Usually it gives you some type of leverage. Once again, it must be “worth doing” to the point where it’s already done.

Either things happen, or they do not.

But when we make things happen, we do it in spades.

It’s not inside the box, my friend. It’s not even on this planet. And you cannot see it from where you currently stand.

The entire point in seeking something like is that it’s one of the few escapes from the purgatory you now call home. It’s a wormhole to freedom.

How to access it may be indescribable, and futile at best. It’s likely this place can only be found by the one seeking it.

But if it is sought, it is found.

The only question that remains is, will you venture into the deep unknown?

I can honestly say I’m not sure why anyone would do this. Even with the promise of true peace. People only believe in what they’ve seen and heard. To conjure something new is too much to ask from the conditioned, compliant, ignorable masses.

I only do this for myself.

To disassemble my mind, bit by bit.

To be on the outside, looking in.

Falling Hard on the Rocky Floors of Reality

The truth comes down on me hard.

I have been caught in a tormentful spell: the natural result of living in domestic hell.

I have been chasing things I thought I’d learned not to chase long ago.

I see a path laid before me, but I have not been able to overcome the constant torrents life throws at a person.

And I have not been asking the right questions.

How can one truly escape this, not temporarily, but permanently?

I know the secret.

I know the truth is that it’s not about attaining anything, but abandoning everything.

This can be described as a pathological divorcing of oneself from their most beloved illusions, delusions, and addictions.

It is pathological because the pain runs so deep, that only the most desperate are willing to cross such a chasm.

At the other side of this chasm lies an apocalyptic world that tells the story of a destructive past.

We don’t really know what happened, and we most certainly don’t know why.

But it did.

And we couldn’t help but look the other way.

Self-deception is the ultimate self-defense mechanism.

But once such a thing is seen, one cannot help but to fall hard on the rocky floors of reality.

I have not been able to sleep, for whenever I lie down for a much needed rest, my mind grows unhinged.

I cannot even enjoy a simple movie at this point, as my mind automatically redirects itself towards painful realities: a foreshadowing of what’s to come, unless I do something about it.

Truth be told, there is little I can do for anybody else. Most of what I envision will indeed become the dreadful reality of those I hold in my thoughts.

However, as a full-time outsider, my fate has not yet been sealed.

It is with my sincere recognition that I admit this unfortunate truth:

The pain is neccesary.

But, it should not be glorified in any way.

Because then it wouldn’t be real pain.

It would be a running away from it.

The one who truly comprehends reality will experience the pain of it in its entirety.

A covering of the eyes and ears only leads to a numbing stupor: an unsatisfactory life lived in a world of “comfort” that cannot provide anything other than diminishing returns.

I don’t like pretending in this life.

I will honestly say that it gives me anxiety when thinking about having to “put up a show”.

This is why I avoid most people. Because it always feels like they’re trying to convince me there’s a light at the end of their tunnel.

Or that they have found something “worth living for”.

Something to “look forward to”.

But it’s not.

It never is.

It’s always a settling.

And I am unsettled by settling.

It makes me want to run the other way, move to the other side of the world, and never speak to anyone again.

The torrent is that controlling.

The sitution is that dire.

Perhaps only now, am I beginning to truly understand that this torrent cannot be tolerated.

You can’t make deals with it.

It will own you if you allow it even the slightest inch.

Is this the result I’ve been needing to see from this experiment of mine?

I have been compiling many writings. I have gone through several powerful transformations.

The result is nothing short of a sporadic and odd, artful practice.

But like the first horseman to charge over the hill and into the battle, you tend to take a beating.

There’s been several times when I couldn’t help but ask myself: “What the hell am I doing?”

Of course, this is where the magic happens. This is the unknown, volatile element.

And I would rather ride the waves of volatility than be stuck in a constant sideways downtrend.

Anything else is living in ignorance.

And quite frankly, anything else is boring.

You may continue taking shelter in your ignorance for as long as you can, but when the time comes — and yes, it is a question of when, not if — your illusions will be shattered, and you will be brought tumbling to the ground.

Perhaps the ground is exactly where you need to be.

At least it’s solid, and real.

The alternative comes to me in a comical vision of bobbing for apples.

Why would one do such a thing? How ridiculous is it?

But we all do it.

I feel that statement holds such grounding power that I must sit with it for a while.

Yes, now that I have taken a breath, I have come to another conclusion:

The pain is good.

If you do not feel the pain, then you will not be sufficiently motivated to become free of it.

And you will forever spiral into the dark abyss, which claims the hearts of countless men and women every single day.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you will wake up to the horror of this.

And if you’ve only forgotten, you will now remember.

And there’s nothing more to say about it.

Although, as something compels me to publish these thoughts, I will close with this:

As I said, I have been compiling material for over a year now. It is spread everywhere.

Honestly, it’s slightly overwhelming.

I have no idea what I’m doing. And yet, I know exactly what I’m doing.

I feel the next step is to go through it all, and see what’s what.

If this venture in discovery yields what I suspect it will, I will be publishing much of it throughout the foreseeable future.

Until then, I remain, rebelliously nobody’s.

Something Within Me . . .

I once came upon a cliff.

Below it: an endless ocean of possibility.

Something within me wanted to swim.

But something else, desired only to preserve my life.

And this something else was stronger than I, for I lived through this something.

Its whispered lies were so convincing, so nefariously subtle — that I mistook them for thoughts of my own.

And so I blinked.

I turned my back to this cliff, and made my way back home.

A part of me sighed in relief as I walked through that familiar door, and told myself that I was simply not yet ready.

But this wasn’t the first time I’d turned my back to this cliff.

In fact, I’d done so several times before.

And yet, this time felt distinctly different . . .

Returning to my old comforts — reverting back into my default state — these things no longer felt like guilty pleasures.

Something within me: a wholly different beast from that which convinced me not to jump — it hungered for a new life.

For it had outgrown the so-called life I built for it.

You see . . .

There was a time when . . . if I was in my most vulnerable state . . .

Minutes before drifting off to sleep . . .

. . . Something within me . . .

It would speak truths to me.

But gone were the days in which it delivered me visions with grace, for it was consumed with the mourning of visions past.

As its cries of desperation grew louder, I knew this something could no longer be contained.

If I was to end its unrest, I’d have no choice but to make the jump.

But when would I be ready — what had to change — what did I have to do?

The people back home claimed they had the answers for me.

And if they didn’t, they assured me the people in the nearby villages would.

I’d visited many of these villages myself in the past, seeking to learn from those who claimed they knew the way.

And they’d tell me how to dive, how to fall through the air, and how to brace for impact.

But I always felt like there was something missing . . .

And so I continued searching for answers.

For what was I to do when I was swimming in the water?

What if I was to be carried away by the waves?

I set out to these villages once more, in an effort to make my final preparations . . .

Upon my arrival, the locals were quick to ensure I felt at home and comfortable.

I studied their words long and hard, and held my newfound intelligence with high regard.

But before I knew it, another two years had passed.

It was a lot of work, you know.

I had to learn the proper techniques, breathing patterns — the right way to make a stroke.

To simply make the jump on intuition alone?

A fool’s journey, surely.

And fool’s drown, do they not?

But here I was: a couple of years older — a couple of years wiser.

Certainly I was no fool.

Certainly I was ready to make the jump now — ready to leave home forever.

I approached that daunting cliff once again, this time carrying with me an immense pressure to throw myself over the edge.

And yet . . .

. . . That insidious something else . . .

That ethereal force that exerted a tyrannical level of control over my being . . .

It continued to protest, what I felt like was, my one true desire.

Once again . . . I found myself stalling . . .

Once again, I found myself defeated.

And this cliff — it began to haunt my every day existence.

No longer could I lose myself in the distractions of the world.

For this omnipresent, gnawing feeling — it was tearing me apart.

Something within me — something much bigger than “me” — it knew I was supposed to make the jump years ago.

Back when my intentions were innocent, and pure.

All of this “preparation” — all of this nonsense — it was nothing but a clever little trick to keep my feet planted exactly where they were.

I had nothing to show for my efforts.

Nothing!

I didn’t know what to do anymore.

All I knew was that I couldn’t continue living this way.

I had to leave . . .

I had to go . . . somewhere . . .

To go searching, for what I felt was missing.

Something I couldn’t quite put a name to . . .

And so one morning, on what seemed like a whim, I began to plan a journey to the opposite ends of the earth.

This would lead me to Buddhist temples in South East Asia, and ultimately, to the study of philosophy and religion.

But I never quite found what I was looking for: that which I’d hoped would push me over the edge.

After some time I returned home, empty-handed.

I continued to study the human condition, but I was grasping at straws.

My back was against the edge — and while I’d always known of the cold, harsh reality of time intellectually — this was the first time I’d experienced such bitter winds firsthand.

There was only one thing left to do.

And come hell or high water, I was going to do it.

And that’s when, by what seemed like sheer chance . . .

I discovered that which would change my life forever . . .

It was like a beacon in the night — and something within me was drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

My spirit was raised from its slumber, for it had no choice but to answer the call.

This is what I had been searching for, all my life.

THIS!

I had awoken.

And I was ready — ready to begin my true journey.

Like learning a new language, this journey would demand complete and total immersion from me.

And as I surrendered myself to it in its entirety, each day brought with it a new transformation — a new level of understanding.

My life perspective — the lens from which I viewed the world — it was changing quicker than I ever could have imagined.

And while many of my suspicions and tightly held insights were proven to be true, this transformation was largely an unlearning of untruth.

I was making my way out of the illusion, and it was surreal.

And that daunting cliff — that precipice which haunted me so — it began to lose its power over me.

For I learned secrets, that few will ever come to know.

I learned that . . . living on the edge . . . is a dangerous place to live.

Not because one might actually jump . . .

But because one likely never will.

The truth is . . .

Most of us will straddle this precipice for as long as we can, before turning our backs to it, and returning home to die.

Even when we KNOW it’s our destiny.

Why?

Because the human mind loves nothing more than to be on the edge.

To fantasize endlessly about jumping.

But to actually jump?

No . . . the mind fears nothing more than this . . .

. . . For that would mean changing everything . . .

It would mean venturing into the unknown . . .

. . . Embarking on a journey of self-discovery . . .

And ultimately . . . destroying the parts of ourselves . . . that we’ve hung onto so dearly . . . for so long.

You see, when I left home on that journey — I never really left home.

I’d abandoned my physical place in the world — but I’d yet to abandon who I thought I was, for what I really am.

To many, this would sound completely insane.

Utterly impractical.

But if one truly wants to live . . .

If one truly seeks to revel in the grand divinity of his existence . . .

There can be no other way.

The masses . . . they’re convinced the alternative is the most comfortable way to live.

But this is but a slow death.

You see, man fears nothing more than himself.

And this truth — it’s the most important I’ve learned yet.

For it was always my greatest.