Sunday Morning Thoughts: 9.30.18

Not meaning to be insulting, but, it is a fool who thinks self-discovery can be accomplished during life.

Of course, that isn’t to say the task is impossible. Only that it happens at the end. That a full picture is required if you want to truly see the lot of who you are. And that’s only if you’re lucky. Most folks go out in all sorts of shapes- but aware, conscious and calmly contemplative is not as popular as you’d hope.

Most people shit themselves at the end.

Our lack of future sight and addiction to hindsight often prevent us from seeing who we are becoming. We can only see who we were.

And, I suppose, who we are. That ever fleeting and oh, so finite moment of now. The impulses we feel. Without meditation. Only action and emotion. Some may say that is the purest self. I hope that’s not the case.

It is as easy as watching the news to see that impulses are more than capable of being hurtful, hateful and immoral.

So, for the sake of my own argument, we shall say self-discovery is only realized at the end of the self.

Or, I’m just being stupid again.

It is very possible. A person who does what I do should not be rambling against self-discovery. I motivate most waking moments to the effort. And I have discovered things along the way. About myself. And not all of them are peace and love and happiness. Plenty of them are vile and ugly. There are parts of myself that have brought me shame. That have impacted the lives of others in ways I wish they hadn’t. I have been ashamed. I have decent history of apology. And very likely have a few more left in me.

That’s part of it though. That there are more apologies. There are more laughs. Tears. Screams. Sensations of all sorts. With more life to live, comes more discovery. Gotta use that present tense. Discovered is for the dead.

I’ve been trying to pull the weeds around my own mind lately. Some physical domicile changes along with a purging of the mania that comes with a hot New York summer. Attempting to confront my anxieties. Pushing my attention and energy towards tasks I feel for whilst if not breaking, at least managing bad habits. Recently, I’ve been in both the chair and on the sofa for dude based, open heart therapy sessions. Bro to bro, if you will. I’ve been working on this thing I call a person. That I call myself. Trying to make someone I like. Someone I can be proud of. And that my daughter will be proud of.

I showed her Joan Jett the other day. She dug it. I think I’m doing alright.

But life. Oh, life. That beast I choose to chase.

The Great Shakespearean So On.

And we, but actors.

I dig the oneness and all that. We are but a single spirit and so on. I get it. I’ve been to music festivals.

But we shouldn’t let that become our laziness. We are not some hive species, always interconnected, direct and aware.

We are each of us a singular ape-like thing, set upon this earth for likely no reason. But we got thumbs. So, we pick stuff up and look at it. As do our brethren and sister ape-like things. And so, we tell each other what we saw. That’s our oneness.

And I like that a whole lot better than being able to instantly metaphysically connect to all and others of the species. I like the stories. Because even though we all hit the same vague points- joy, sorrow, rage, bliss, regret, etc. – it is our specifics that weave us. The specifics are the discovery and when we share those specifics, we start to become one.

‘Look at this rock I found.’

‘Cool. I found this plant.’

‘Cool.’

‘Cool.’

We’re on this path until we aren’t. And sometimes the aren’t ain’t up to us. And gives us no warning. So, don’t just hope you’re doing alright. Make it so. Ask other ape-like things if you need to, but the final product still must come from you. And generally, if you do what you like and what you like doesn’t hurt people, its probably a good way to go.

Because, poof, it’s gone.

I always thought Edwin was cool. He was cool. Forever cool. Even when we were teenagers, which is when I knew him. Insane to me now that someone could be that awesome so young, but he was. Always smiling. And not in the way that people say when a person dies and they want to remember them smiling. I mean the cat always had some sort of grin. And an inviting one at that.

He’s the dude who wore nothing underneath his graduation gown. I suppose his purpose was to show the audience his ass, or what have you. The ‘Man’ found out before he got the chance. They let him walk across the stage. Just had a teacher walk with him. Just in case.

He’s dead now. So it goes. Motorcycle accident. I couldn’t tell you the last time I saw him. Sees strange to think of a person after so long, particularly when they have passed from this existence. I wonder what his journey was like. I wonder what he saw.

I bet it was a good story.

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