Sunday, April 4, 2010

Speedbumps, Nosedives and Existential Divergences

I have been thinking a lot about the direction with which to take this blog. Any writer knows that when preparing to compose a peice of literary art, one must keep in mind the audience to which it attends, the voice it wishes to display and the message it desires to send. I haven't been able to come up with a rational, logistical order for that. So instead I have decided to speak about my intentions of it. I intend for this blog to be a picture at any given moment of the world that continues to churn within me. When I find myself amongst circles of people, although I have managed to discover a diversity of these circles, to which each one comes to know a different peice of that that I call I, there remains so much hidden away at every other point in time. Jeff Brown has spoken endlessly of the teardrops of shame that seem to trickle behind our eyes and blind us from that of which we are, lost in our adaptations and disguises.

What other reason, for the blatant concealation of so much of I. So I have read, practiced and researched a massive array of models, theoretical conceptions, ideologies and external structures to help me work within this shame, to illuminate the parts of me that lay en-shadowed, it turns into information saturation, a spinning chaotic neuron-planet, with so many threads just randomly and chaoticly wrapping themselves in bizarre patterns. I have discovered so many different parts of myself and none of them dispaly the rational sequential pattern, I once thought governed human behavior. At times I would be doing things of which I could link in tiny narrative, only when exposed to a depth-charge (or a total submersion of self in the unknown that awakens whatever giants have temporarily dozed off and been hidden) and much to surprise what my mind had so cleverly explained and devised a path for, the universe within me, showed reason beyond the conception of thinking faculties. So, I have come to see my life as a collection of experiences that bring messages for greater than my initial comprehension, that if i continue to work with my internal terrain, watching the different components of myself acting out their different dramas, the subtle whisper of a deeper wisdom that will not engage the power struggles rampant with the others, and the weave of the events of my life in the external world, I will be most open to receiving the seeds within the shells of wisdom my life brings. Yet in that, there is hardly logic or order, just a witnessing, a being with, an experience. I often wonder how much richer our world would be and how much beauty and wisdom would be in the world had we built our external structures to reflect the honoring and importance of this process and how much easier the journey would be if it were so.

And so..this blog has not been written with the intentions of taking a particular position in any one view of the world, nor is the point to debate or oblige a particular reality or way of being or argue the right or wrong of things. It is simply to share this internal world of mine, the one that is so enshadowed not only does it find itself absent in most of movements in the world, at most times it stays a mystery to me. Therefore I find relief in a public way, that i can give permission to whatever state I am in to come forth, for better or for worse, that I not entertain the voice that insistes make sure that part stay here and i dont reveal this, or that if someone saw that....that i say yes to those parts of me, to reveal themselves to me and in their nakedness bring forth the messages they intend. As it is a snapshot of these, there will be strong opinions and emotional chaos, that undoubtedly at some times may offend people....especially noting how often we live our lives around refraining from doing so. That said, the process unfolding here is not static its a reflection, a snapshot of the birthing canal within me, that continues it's circle in a range of sanity and madness and eventually comes out the other side only the begin again as the river that ebbs silently and gently and then turns into a thrashing tidal wave.

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