The journey is going to be a long one.
That much is for sure. This is a long trip and I’m only just readying my house for the absence of myself. Cleaning cubpoards that will gather dust as I’m gone. Washing dishes so that burglars will find a clean home. But this home no one is going to break into while I’m gone, because I’m taking it with me.
Like a snail takes its shell, so I’m closing up shop and getting out, taking my whole self with me, but on the outside. This is a trip for all of me, seven year old and adult, happy hyper friendly bloke and confused lonely depressed stricken soul. Angry independent and crushing neediness all in one. This is my trip, with all of me. And I’ll have to be strong. I’m going to be wearing not just my heart, but all of me, right out there on my sleeve. Because there’s no other way to do it. I need to sit on the outrigger of my own soul and watch the world go by.
I need to sit there, my adult self, with my child self sitting close by, arm around me in protection until I shrug myself off, almost immediately. I sit there beside myself at ease and at peace because finally I’m me, through and through. Not just some me that loses itself to auto-pilot because the rest of me is locked away inside, the creative self is locked away deep inside, only peeping out through the crust of broken dead dreams when I’m too out of it or comfortable and happy to defend the gates I built so long ago.
Like Return to Oz, my inner self is over run with demons on razor wheels, running around slicing myself up as I try to repair the damage. A running argument with myself about what I did and did not do right or wrong. It does not matter right now. Because that argument has been ongoing most of my life and does not, has never, helped me solve where I am or where I want to be.
I may have a home, but I know that I can have more. I may have a family, but I know that I can be successful and happy and supportive to all I love and everyone I care about. If only I can get past this lump in my chest, choking me back. I retreat even as I write, but I know this to be true. My young self is afraid of the harsh reality that I’ve protected myself for so long. Not the reality of the outside world. Not of the reality of pain and suffering or war and murder. But rather the reality of what I have chosen to do with my life up to this point. The paths I have taken and the paths I have not taken.
Yet still the seven year old Me shakes his head. This is not true either. Pause.
So what is it? What keeps the tears flowing as I write the poetry, prose, gibberish, streams-of-consciousness. That I do not know. He is gone, hidden back down in his hole. Come back. Play again. I miss you. You are me and I miss you, me. I miss me.
I remember a long time ago when I was happy, truly happy. Not just when I was with other people, family, friends, loved ones, but when I was alone. I was truly 100% happy all by myself because I knew who and what I was. I was true to myself.
And I want that back.
I want the honesty back.
I’m sick of all of the arrogant self-awareness masquerading as anger and violence, blatant sex and hatred, war and self-righteous religious zealism. This is not how the world was meant to be. We’re supposed to help each other.
Does no one remember the image of heaven and hell?
Hell is a table surrounded by chairs, each filled by a person with a long knife and fork for hands. There is food in front of them, but they cannot eat it themselves, because the foot is too far away at the end of the fork or knife, so they are forever cutting themselves and those around them as they try to eat the food in front of them. Some fight for food off other people’s plates, cutting and slicing other people in their attempt to eat, but are still unable to feed themselves.
Heaven is that same table, with those same people. But instead of trying to feed themselves, which just leads to misery and pain, they are feeding each other. Everyone is fed, happy, comfortable, warm and caring. Everyone feels good about themselves and each other because they are sated and helping others.
This life is not about dying to get to the next region, the next reality, the next world. This life is either heaven or hell RIGHT THE FUCK HERE.
Why is it so hard for everyone to see? What makes it so difficult for each of us relatively intelligent human beings to realise that we are missing the point of existence.
Who cares what you make? Who cares who you are faster than? What you take from the mouths of others, how quickly you can knock someone else out, are all false realities based upon our own need to fulfill that dark hole. Our desire to feed ourselves from our own and everyone else’s plate is what makes us so miserable.
Suicide bombers are not the answer.
God is not the answer (in whatever guise he/she/it/they take).
We are the answer.
Stop for a moment and think about what I’m saying/writing.
Stop for a moment and run through your day, imagining that you did everything right instead of the way you felt at the time.
Instead of shouting at the driver in front of you for stopping at a cross-walk to let the mother and child cross the road, sit back and realise that if you are late it is your fault so instead of getting stressed out, make a mental note to leave earlier next time.
This is true of every step in every moment of every day of our lives.
Our lives are OUR responsibility, no one else’s.
WE are responsible for OUR happiness.
It is NOT someone else’s job to make us happy, to give us what we want out of our lives.
It is up to US to make ourselves happy with what we have.
And if we are not happy, we should DO SOMETHING POSITIVE in our life to change that which we are not happy with, to make it better.
If we do not work on ourselves, we can not complain about our lives not improving.
If we work on ourselves, our lives WILL IMPROVE.
Hard as anything.
I’m doing it. I’m walking the fire and hot coals to get myselves back together so that I can move forward in my life, be the best father that my child could hope for, because that is what would make me truly happy, soul-deep. Everything else is just a bonus.
Don’t go for my goal. Go for you own goal. But really go for it.
Don’t compete because you want to be better, faster, stronger, smarter.
I guarantee you that there will always be someone better, faster, stronger, smarter than you.
Compete because you want to be better than yourself. Next time round you want to push that much harder, run that much faster, dance that much better, swim that much faster, paint that much smoother, live that much happier.
For if you do not take control of your own life, your life takes control of you.
Wake up and smell the bullshit.
If you are unhappy, it is YOUR FAULT.
If you are not where you want to be, it is YOUR RESPONSIBILITY to change where you are to match where you want to be.
YOU are in charge of your own life, your own destiny.
YOU are in charge of your future.
Think misery and misery you shall have.
Think love, happiness and joy,
Love happiness and joy you shall have.
This is not about god or God or gods.
This is about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.
Remember who you were when you were seven.
Remember what you wanted to do when you were seven.
Then look at who you are, where you are, what you are doing right now,
Through those eyes.
And tell me whether you aren’t just a little bit embarrassed by how far you have strayed from what you wanted then.
Why have you strayed? Is it because you are so different to that person back then?
I don’t think so. If that were the case, you would not be able to feel so close to yourself then.
We pile on the years as if they are an excuse to be assholes and bitches to each other.
We put on our cynicism as the armor and the sarcasm and bitterness as our weapons against a world that dares to question our negative reality. That same reality we use to justify our own shitty behaviour.
That same reality we use to justify our betrayal of our true selves.
Remember what it was to be a child. Don’t ever forget.
For when you forget that, you are no longer living.
You are dying. From the inside out.
Why not choose to live?Tweet