A friend passes by as I sit around smoking a cigarette. We talk about something of no consequence. I show him the headline of the newspaper on a stand nearby. 26-year old girl raped by 5 men. I ask my friend why anybody wants to read this. Why anybody cares. Because it happened near us and we are interdependent with those people.
No, I’m not, I realize. It could happen in the same house I live in and it would have nothing to do with me. Why don’t the newspapers write about a father who passed the street with his kid without accident. Sure, it happens all the time. It is normal. It is not important. But a raped girl is not any more important.
My friend says that this stuff concerns us because it shakes our worldview. Does it really? People die all the time. And more than that, the newspaper is full of it all the time. There is nothing worldview-shaking about it at all. It is just a cheap effect. Why did I care in the past? I was proud of living in a horrible world. Of thinking I was better than that. I fantasized about saving the world, making it good. But it is not bad. That’s just our judgment.
Why do we care about rape? Why do we care about massacres? More people die of hunger than of any massacre. We eat animals and never think of their lives. So why care about other people’s misery? Because it harmonizes with our own?
My friend gets angry at me. I don’t know why. For suggesting the newspaper write about something equally unimportant, but much more uplifting?
Continue reading “A moment of clarity”
An interesting little exercise came to me. Trying to love myself never really worked for me. Basically, I would focus on something I do not love, and then try to love it. I couldn’t. But I noticed something of value: When I try to love, I create a distinction between the loving entity and that which is to be loved. The loving entity fails to love the thing which is to be loved, so I assumed love was nonsense. But you can take it a step further and instead of focusing on loving that thing, focus on the loving entity. And when I do that, I get an image in my head of the loving entity. And when this happens, it becomes obvious why the loving entity is unable to love that thing – because this entity is a representation of a form of conditional, rather than unconditional, love. A representation of a form of love that I have come to learn as real love during the course of my life.
To continue, I then try to love this loving entity. Which brings up a different loving entity that is trying to love the first. Again, this is a representation of conditional love, and so I go on and try to love that entity.
This is a great exercise because it shows me from which place the love that I am trying to give is actually coming. And the farther I go back in the chain recursively, the purer the love becomes and the less susceptible it becomes to doing it the wrong way. The farther I go back, the more the voice of love becomes my own – and not one that is learned.
Continue reading “Recursive self-love and false lovers”
I wanted to go to the city today to buy something. As I contemplated the idea, I started to feel anxious. The idea of being in the city centre with lots of people around me did not feel absolutely terrifying, but still very uncomfortable. Social anxiety, or perhaps a mild agoraphobia, would be the correct scientific term.
Usually, I just push this stuff down and throw myself into the situation – or avoid it altogether. But in the long term, this kind of coping seems to make things worse, not better.
An idea that sometimes helps me be mindful about my emotions and thoughts is to see myself as pure consciousness or soul – let me call it operator for the sake of this article – residing in a human body, which I interpret as a computer with software on it. Or a tablet or an iPhone, whatever you can identify most with.
This concept helps me to detach enough from my emotions and reactions to observe them and try to understand them.
Social anxiety can be such a program. Its basic functionality is: Look for signs of social contact. If detected, create a push notification to notify the operator about the danger, and create physical resistance in the form of automated movements and/or pain to avoid exposure to the danger.
Continue reading “Fear is a program on your body computer”
I have been pretty obsessed with the idea of unconditional love recently. And I still think it is an important thing to get to know, even if I am not there yet. But my obsession may have blinded me to other aspects of reality. Yesterday, I came over an article that elaborates on the power chakra.
It made me think about the ways in which I give up personal power in my daily life. The ways I either compromise my own boundaries or disrespect those of others.
A very good example of this is how I used to follow around women, listening to their personal problems and stories, in the hopes for more – which never came. It was draining, but I was not respecting my gut feeling there. In fact, I was ashamed of it. Recently, I have become angry about that and I have even written angry text messages to those girls.
But the important insight for me is that I have indeed allowed them to use me for their nonsense and then discard me, even if that was on an unconscious level. They were only doing what I, on an energetic level, gave them permission to do. I had hidden motives, sure, but they still did nothing I did not fully allow them to do in my heart (or power chakra?).
Continue reading “The ways we give up personal power”
I want to ask you a question. I want to ask you to answer it spontaneously, without thinking, out of your gut. The question is: Who creates all the pain in your life?
Okay, I admit it. I am not that creative. This question is just a variation of something a woman asked me in response to a Quora question of mine about free will. She wrote: Who creates your life? Although it seemingly had no connection to my question, I felt a deep desire to answer this question. And although I did not fully understand my own answer, it was simple: I. I create my life. I choose everything I am and everything I experience.
I still do not fully understand it. But I can not deny that the only answer that feels right is still the same.
There is a cool site called Existential Comics with lots of comics poking fun at philosophers of all ages. Here is a fun bit about stoicism. The message is a bit similar: You can not harm me. It is only me who can choose to suffer from events I have no control over.
I have been doing meditation for about half a year now and about two weeks ago I had a short insight into how this is true. I was at cinema and the ads started running as they always do. And as always, I had a reflexive reaction to them: I felt contempt, boredom, ridicule.
Continue reading “Is your pain created by yourself or others?”
My first day as a free man in two months. I take a ride into the city to buy a cheap checkers game. On my way around the cathedral I hear a woman scream. A man is firmly holding a relatively attractive young woman’s two hands at a restaurant table. Let me go, she shouts. I wonder what it is about. I look at her hands; she has some kind of necklace wrapped around her fists.
I suspect she attacked the man and now she is getting what she asked for. Let me go, you asshole!
She looks around; a few somewhat amused people are watching. Help me! Help me, you cowards! Aah, you are hurting me! I feel mild shame, but I will not interfere in a situation I know nothing about. Besides, it is interesting to watch. In fact, it is interesting that there really seems nothing I can do without knowing what happened. Justice is a blind bitch.
Continue reading “I saw a crazy screaming woman today – she reminded me of me”
A phallic symbol like the carrot is overly hard-pressed to represent a pussy and yet this fertile bosom, this female soul which I so desperately want to pee my semen into always seemed like that to me. The more I want it, the more intense my desire for sexual catharsis, the more absolute seems my conviction that I will never get it.
I wrote about it before, in a slightly different manner.
It is a cruel, weird and illogical mindset. Is it even a mindset? Can this conundrum overlapping complexities, of self-cancelling frequencies in my mind be called a set up? Or rather pure disorder?
Yet this deserves its own short article. I already decided that I am not further interested in boxing my way through to pussy just for meaningless notches in my own carrot and this theme of being forbidden something absolutely desirable simply for it being absolute desirable keeps coming up.
I think it can be summed up with the idea of a quasi-communistic – that is, delusional – great leap forward. The externally encouraged hope that if one keeps acting moronically, one will eventually reach that which is desired.
And what is that? What is that highest desirable thing? It is to be fully and unrestrainedly yourself and still loved and desired for or despite it.
Continue reading “Pussy, the dangling carrot”
I can not recall a single genuinely happy moment in my life. I mean, yeah, there were moments where I forgot my pain completely. Like when I kissed the girl I was infatuated with.
Most of the moments, I did not actually know of my pain. But it was always there, no matter how little conscious I was of it.
When I saw other people who were genuinely happy, all I could see was a fake facade, because I had no reference for that kind of feeling, for that kind of connection with others. I could not understand why people hug each other, why people smile at each other, why people give compliments to each other, why people respect each other, how people can love. Most of all, it puzzled me how others could like me. It seemed like they were ignorant of my true nature.
It seemed to me like happy people were different kinds of people, somehow fundamentally separate from me. All the happiness anyone ever saw in me was either the high of a fix or a skilled pretense.
That is what I thought life was: A contest of faking happiness.
The art of living – for me – was always to find the perfect tapestry for the ugly and cold concrete walls of my existence. But the walls are wet and the tapestry rots quickly. Restlessness ensues.
The perfect moments of my life were moments when I forgot my pain the best. The perfect moments of my life were moments of perfect drugs.
How do I know that that is not all there is? Because I had a handful of short and vague dreams about true joy. It vibrated inside me and radiated out into the world, making everything beautiful and making other people feel my love. My whole life pales in comparison to a second of that pure joy.
Continue reading “I can not recall one genuinely happy moment”
Some days ago I visited a nearby forest. It was almost dark and when I approached the trees, I heard animals move hastily. I was afraid. As I entered the woods, I was immediately immersed in a feeling I recall from my Ayahuasca ceremony, as I had been running from the others.
Trying to make out shapes in the noisy dusk, I became very alarmed and realized I had no weapon. I intuitively looked around and saw a dry branch that I decided to break away from the tree.
As I went about doing it, this sheep voice entered my mind again.
But that is just a piece of wood. You are naive. You must ask a professional hunter how to do it the right way. You are not even a real warrior.
That was when I realized how profoundly I lacked confidence in my own judgment.
I asked god for love and trust in my reason and my wish was fulfilled. For the first time since I can remember, I trusted my intuition. God’s respect for me accomplished it.
I broke off the branch. It was hard and stiff. I decided it was a good weapon and moved on without further doubt.
Continue reading ““Big Game” praises a father’s disrespect”
For me personally, going on a rampage is not a real option at the moment. I just do not want to die. And I want to eventually fuck all these problems in the ass and then get some. But anyway, what are some alternatives to starting to run around killing people?
Your background and preferences may be completely different to mine. I do not know. Frankly, I have not considered it. Maybe you read my first article and think I am a loser who can tell you nothing. Well, I can understand that. No offense taken.
Anyway, here are some ideas for alternative ways to deal with the rage. If that is your motivation. Which I assume, because – as mentioned in the first part – this is not an article for psychopaths who do it for fun. Which I can intellectually understand, but it is not who I am. If that is who you are, my thoughts are meaningless to you.
Some of the following tips are based on my own experiences, others are based on hearsay and speculation.
Continue reading “Should you go on a rampage? – Part 4: Alternatives”