Virtual Reality Earth

Recently I read an article about how Pokemon Go is helping people with depression. As everyone knows, the major difficulty with depression is that it makes it nearly impossible to simply get out of bed in the morning and begin. Pokemon Go can trick people into lessening the burden of going outside, exercising, and interacting with strangers.

While this is appreciable, it also makes me think how unfortunate it is that we need to create a virtual reality that reminds us of the adventure, wonder and discovery that there is to be had in the world.  When asked if I play video games, I often say “No, I’m too busy playing in this virtual reality.” If you logged into your Sims game, you wouldn’t immediately move your Sim over to the TV and start playing video games. That’s pointless, and reveals the loss in awareness of your higher self, the real self that lives beyond this simulated world and logged onto Earth to complete some assignment. We are, I suppose, lost in the game of life, impeded by amnesia, and convinced by the illusion.

We have lost the magic that there is to be had in the “real world”, whatever that term means. Do remember that there is surmounting evidence that this reality is a hologram. Quantum physicist Leonard Susskind is the leading mind of this new theory, whose mathematics reveal that there is an equivalency between our projected image, and the self that exists beyond this boundary:

“We are actually projections of equivalent versions of ourselves that live on the outer surface of the universe”

In a sense, your body is an avatar and you are a co-creater of the universe, of your life. If you knew this world wasn’t the only reality, would you be more courageous with your life?  Would you take risks and pursue your true purpose? Above all, there is much more than meets the eye, and embracing the unreal world will help us live fuller lives that we could not attain through escapism. I urge everyone to go out on quests, pursue challenges, power up, and live the lucid dream.

Featured image by Corina Chirila

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The Human Capacity for Love

I think that regardless of whether or not others are willing to admit it, people get into relationships, choose to love romantically and feel the need to be in a relationship because it does something for them. They do it to fill an empty space, whatever self serving, or altruistic space that might be, or even to just make life more interesting. The fact of the matter is that human love is conditional to varying degrees depending on the person. This does not make humans bad, or lesser beings. It is simply what they’re capable of doing in their current state, much like how your dog is unable to discuss politics with you.

I don’t usually talk about such personal matters, but recently a friend was interested in my philosophy/maxim on love and relationships. She had questions. She was asking because she knows me, and she knows I wouldn’t have a typical attitude on the matter. I just didn’t have a concrete answer for her, but I think I do now.

I was having a hard time trying to explain how I’m incapable of feeling love from people. I surmise that this is because conventional human love and my idea of love are not the same. When it comes to sex, I see it largely as a performance meant to satisfy one’s own physical or emotional  needs, and thats it. We attach things to this condition, like love, but that’s not love. As a sensitive person, I sense other’s need to fill some faculty. It can be some infatuation, some boredom, some physical interest, some area of their life. It is almost as if everyone is walking around with an empty cup, and trying to get someone they run into to fill it for them like homeless beggars. The way I see it, my cup is already full. When you have a full cup and are surrounded by desperate people with empty ones, you learn to become very protective of this cup. You do not want some energy vampire coming along and taking everything you worked so hard to make for yourself. That is what is happening when externally I am emotionally distant. I’m simply highly aware of a person’s desired conditions (and these vary greatly person to person), and base my involvement with them on this. To be perfectly honest, I believe that what I am can serve no purpose nor fulfill  any condition for anyone on this Earth, largely due to the ironic reason that I myself am complete and fulfilled with my own cup of love.

Having said this, I feel true love from things like animals and places. This concept is beyond what many can comprehend, but I also think there are many who can relate, and thats why I’m putting myself out there in saying it. In the case of animals, their conditions are a bowl of food and water, and company. Things that keep their bodies from dying. These conditions are so elemental that it feels closer to unconditional love. The mutualism that exists comes from a pure place. In the case of geography, it is an even purer form of love I’ve been able to experience. When I go to Fire Island, my childhood playground residence, I feel like I’m coming home to something I intimately know. For once, I get a sense of being seen, that something recognizes my true essence, not for any particular reason other than I’m there, and have spent a long enough time to leave an imprint on its surface, and vice versa. It is an equal exchange. I do not believe people are capable of seeing me in this way. We have not been equipped with this capacity for one another, yet…On Fire Island, there is a sensation of being held, and thats not something I know how to explain.

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How could one not feel true love from these things?

You may have noticed that this idea of love is purely platonic, and it is this that makes me question whether or not I identify as asexual. I seem to fit the bill in many respects, and right now that is what I’m calling it. But I’m open to being wrong about this, as well as being open to the idea that my condition doesn’t have a label or a name. Perhaps it is just how the unique expression of my soul manifests when allowed to be its true self.

Rebecca, I hope this either answered your question, or provided some sort of insight into my attitude on this matter. In the meantime, I am searching for better ways to explore this aspect of myself, and how to explain it.

Featured image by Anthony Garratt

Contact

A few nights ago, I awoke at two in the morning covered in sweat. Uncomfortable enough to do something about it, I went upstairs to turn on the AC and stumbled down the hallway, the urge to get back into my bed overwhelming as always. But this time, as I walked past the back door, I was abruptly drawn to go outside and look at the stars.

Despite the strong pull, I had to stop for a moment. Was it safe out there when I was home alone? It is easy for me to feel alone in the middle of the night, even with someone sleeping close by. What was lurking in the dark? Ever since a nightmare I had years ago of a mysterious, malicious man coming at me in the night towards my house, it was difficult to not be scared of being in that doorway, let alone walk through it.

Once I shook myself out of the dazed sleepwalk, I quickly became aware of how silly this was. It was a beautiful, clear night and I’d be a fool to not enjoy it, if only for a moment.

I sat on the deck stairs, the air soft from land that emitted heat of the summer sun. I live right behind a highway, and it had never felt as still and quiet as it did then. I could feel the world sleep, and for the first time it brought peace instead of loneliness.

Suddenly something caught my attention, a flash of light in my left field of vision. I turned towards it, thinking it was a shooting star that I had missed, and I saw it again, this time as just a flash. “Hi!” I called out happily. Right then, a huge meteor flew across the sky. I laughed with a giddy lightness, and smiled at the thought of a small, grey alien with those giant characteristic eyes casting a stone across the waters of Earth’s sky to meet my salutation. It felt a lot like Interstellar, when Cooper tries to deliver a message to his daughter across time and space through a medium that surpasses all realms of our current understanding. Whatever was out there, I felt warmth and company in the light-polluted dampness of night.

  Upon reflection of the moment, the feeling of soft support and company was strange, given that it was scary to go outside alone in the dark in the first place. Once coming back inside, I realized my basement was more spooky than my backyard. The yard had a horizon that I forgot about, a backdrop with pinholes of light from other worlds calling out. It was a cramped space that I hid in that made me feel safe. Outside, I felt love and wonder. I questioned if people would change if they were forced to sleep under the night sky again. It’s strange to think that although we’re afraid to go out there due to exposure, it is actually more embracing and kind than the box we keep ourselves locked up in for comfort.

Contact with boundaries internal and external are necessary, breaching thresholds that harbor love and wonder, the sky a symbol of the frontiers of our minds, our psyche. External boundaries may even mirror internal ones, and so crossing one reciprocates the other. As they say “As above, so below, as within, so without, as the universe, so the soul…”  –Hermes Trismegistus 

It is not just about putting ourselves out there just so we don’t excessively shelter ourselves. It is about making contact with the divine, whatever that may be for each of us. It’s about looking out and wondering what is looking back, and what they see. It is about feeling the softness of our frontiers, not just their occasional harsh, unforgiving nature. Despite whatever lies in their crossing, the ultimate is love and compassion.

I walked back down stairs to my bed, forgetting to turn one the light to the staircase, holding on tightly to the railing when I judged the last step. When I got to the bottom, I felt it level, and walked off onto trustworthy ground.