One day finding this balance will push me off the edge.

Whether or not you are religious, an atheist, spiritual, or generally just self-destructive, it’s hard to disagree with the idea that we’re looking for something. Seeking out things to complete us. To fill in gaps and crevices that hurt, fear, and doubt have left in us up to this point in our lives. I took this idea to heart for the first 24 years of my life. I was in a chaotic, hedonistic, destructive cycle of manipulation, drug abuse, and self deprecating behaviors. I remember making the conscious choice to feel as much as possible. To experience as much as I could manage; to push my emotional threshold to its ultimate limits.

Looking back, this seeking out of experience was always in me. I saw my life as a movie, and I wanted it to be seen and respected. To be idolized and worshipped. My suffering mattered so much to me that I wanted everyone to see it and be jealous of the beauty I created out of how deeply I felt for the suffering of human beings I had not met. Because it is true, I did and still do feel the pain of everyone I see and meet. The only difference is back then, I wanted everyone to know it.

I think most artists feel this way. They get lost in becoming important. If you give into this obsession with isolating yourself with an abundance of empathy, you can create beautiful art. However, you can end up feeling so deeply misunderstood and alone that you in some ways despise those who do not also trade in their mundane, normal lives to destroy themselves with empathy. To the one doing it, it may make them feel like a martyr. In some ways… they are, but to those around them, they are left to wonder why it is that their friend is feeling so misunderstood, when they are standing right next to them, feeling as though they would do anything for this friend.

But there is an inherent disconnect there. One friend has given up much of their ability to function in order to internally analyze the world around them. They do this in order to objectively see the world in a creative way. To use themselves as a conduit for a muse that can express the inner workings of the world through art. The other friend, while seemingly not as important, is the support for the other. The one that keeps them somewhat connected throughout their days of nonstop creatively analytical, isolation-inducing, thoughts.

A strange thing happens, however, when the modern day deep-thinker realizes they have no support. They awaken to realize that they themselves are responsible for providing that support to themselves. Personally, LSD and Psilocybin were conducive to this awakening for me. I realized those around me were unable to understand the way I saw things, and what I ultimately wanted out of life. I understood I was alone in this world. Not in a pitiful way, but instead in a powerful way. Ultimate responsibility can feel crippling, or it can feel empowering. I broke away from what the world made me feel obligated to do, and I was able to convene with who I came to understand God to be, in order to find a way of living that would make me feel at ease.

To be both the creative, chaotic, destructive force, and the strong, orderly, supportive force became a hard thing to manage in my life. To find a balance between pleasurable destruction and grueling, unrelenting structure can be comparable only to finding balance between good and evil, or the God and the Devil themselves. It is a dance between two equally enticing dancers. They swing and sway to beautiful pieces of music, reaching out their hands, as if asking you to fully experience the love and understanding they each have to offer. I have danced with both of these dancers, and I would love to say that one is ultimately better than the other. You would think dancing with God to be superior in most situations, but sometimes life needs some of the suffering and fears and doubts that come along with the demonic boogie the devil likes you to do. To neglect that would be a refusal to grow.

Now instead, I have found a day of dancing with both to be quite useful. As one of my favorite Incubus songs belts out, maybe the goal is to feel “Hell and Hallelujah every day.” Maybe we can dance with just one some days. Maybe we can dance with the devil just long enough to miss and long for the significant feeling of being held by the eternally supportive structure and understanding that is Truth. Maybe some days we can step back and wait until they decide to dance together. You can also remove yourself from the dance floor. Take a seat at the side of the room for a change. You have fought long and hard. You are probably tired. Your feet are sore and throbbing. Let the eternal dancers dance for a change. You will feel deeply glad that you are able to be apart of it from time to time.

Just look at them go.

Is this soul black, or navy blue?

Those closest to me get concerned when I’m not smiling. When I look at peace. When I’m not asking for anything different to be happening in the world, and I’m just going through the motions. This isn’t sadness. This the most content and peaceful I can be. The goal isn’t to be laughing maniacally throughout the day, so happy and glad things are so good right now. Nor is the goal to be feeling so deeply saddened and broken that you’re feeling not only every emotion on the spectrum of your own mind, but the emotions of the entire world. All at once.

The goal is for your emotions to be emotionless. Like a fallen tree on a beach shoreline, every wave just gently running along your spine. A stone pillar protruding from a waterfall, the cold water cascading over your forehead like a warm shower. To be a being that can withstand the storm occurring around it. There are no ideologies there. There are no expectations for who you should be there. There are no political discussions or narcissistic or depressed, needy coworkers waiting there. That’s when you feel most alive. That’s when you feel most secure and safe.

But don’t worry. You wont stay there long. You’ll bring yourself out worrying about some unattainable expectation in time.

So if you see me there, just let me be. I’m home for the time being. Don’t take me away from that. I’ll gladly go with you, but I could forget my way back.

Sifting through memories and plans.

I sit here at this computer desk I put together IKEA style, listening to LoFi hip hop playlists, typing on this iMac that I bought to feel more sophisticated and artistic. I’ve been sick with some sort of stomach virus the past few days. Got to skip out on a day of work, only to feel behind on work and out of sorts when I returned tonight. A little more irritable than usual, and a lot more emotional volatile than usual, but as I tend to do, I warmed up to my chosen time clock enclosed prison right around the time my friends and I returned from lunch break.

I’m sitting here trying to get all of these thoughts out before l attempt to lie down and get some sleep before another day at work. It’s 8:13am, the time when most normal people are pulling into the parking lot of their own jobs of choice (or luck around these parts), or maybe sitting down in their first college or high school class of the day. In some ways I sometimes find this contrast of my life and the lives of what I feel like the majority of the world hold to be some sort of metaphor for how I feel in relation to this world itself.

I seem to feel the most awake when those around me are most asleep. I mean this in the most spiritual, #woke way possible. It pushes me to pose questions such as “Are the feelings I get when surrounded by an abundance of negative triggers what keeps me feeling so conscious of my own actions?” or “Is it even possible to be completely conscious of my actions if I weren’t surrounded by blatant examples of what I don’t want to be like?” Sometimes I even drift into the realm of asking presumptuous of questions as “Is it better to be consciously aware in a see of sleeping minds, or asleep in a see of equally conscious minds?”

Then I get to this point where I decide that if I want to really spend my time asking these never-ending questions that basically only shuck and jive around the same answer, I might as well just shave my head and become a monk. To fully commit. Because honestly, sometimes I feel like every question really does have only one real answer. One that leads to a solution. All else leads to other questions. Which sounds kinda simple, and obscenely obvious, but if you take a step back, and look from where birds feign ignorance of the ugliness of the world, you’ll see that every answer is really a complicated version of the same answer. We know what to do. From a biological, evolutionary, religious, or spiritual perspective, there’s gotta be only one way to reach “homeostasis” or “inner peace.” It’s more or less up to us to train ourselves to become faster and faster at reacting with the right answer at the right time.

But there are times it truly feels like humming a melody in key while nothing is playing in tune around you. Or maybe catching a fly ball with the sun in your eyes. Holding your arm outstretched; one eye closed, with fingers reaching like winter branches towards the space where you last saw what you were looking for, only to hear a thud. To look down to see it rolling towards the fence. Would we really go blind if we used both eyes, you think?

Anyway, these bumpin ass beats and the growing tightness in my neck are beckoning me to find a pillow to rest my head on. This writing really does relieve some stress. More people should write to no one. To an imaginary audience. I’m entertained. My ego is fulfilled. No harm done.

Well here it goes.

Creating is just something I do. Day in and day out, I’m internally exploring abstract concepts and ideas, analyzing the actions of myself and those around me, and transposing melodies that the world never really gets to hear before I release them, unheard, back into the void from whence they came. I feel that by not sharing these things, I’m doing a disservice to the world. Specifically a disservice to our those with whom these thoughts and creations could potentially resonate with. Maybe by sharing them you can cope how I cope. Maybe you can cope using what I do to cope. Maybe you don’t cope at all. Either way, here it goes.