The pilgrimage from words to mp4 has been a long time coming, and just as I’ve physically switched coasts in the US, I have also switched gears in the content I want to produce online.
At first, the desire to start making videos was very foreign and unnerving. This wouldn’t be something that came naturally or be an easy transition. Alas, I could not put down the feeling that this was the next step for me, and so I am here to present to you my newly launched channel, Metanoia.
Just as it was difficult for me to get used to the idea of trying to launch a channel, it was difficult to make the first video and try to verbally explain where I’m coming from and where I’d like to go with this new chapter.
I have spent the past few months beating myself up for not writing any blog posts and for not making any progress with my manuscript. Although it’s still discouraging, I have realized that there may be a good reason I can’t seem to get my mind on anything other than making videos. Perhaps simply going with what one feels naturally inclined to do in creative endeavors is the right way to go about it. Perhaps I have been too militant with word counts, with attempting to write my story in chronological order rather than in pieces, with churning out a blog post every week, or every month even. Where is the room for growth and letting a creation become something greater than a systematic ensemble?
It is at this juncture that I’m entertaining the possibility that making videos at this time may be necessary for my growth as a writer, or for the person I’m becoming. After all, there is a lot that I am learning from this change of pace, and is also leading me to make a lot of new connections.
A dull neutrality can be born out of the ups and downs of life. The inertia of this middle ground is likened to quicksand, where any movement or struggle just sends you down further into the muck. You don’t move an inch and you don’t dare to take a breath of hope in fear that it’ll make the situation worse. The possibility of never breaking free from that moment arises, but panicking would only quicken the descent. Blindness to the predicament doesn’t do a service either. You may forget about your impediment and make a fatal move. So you numbly surrender to the outcome, to the molasses that is the present.
Is this the true essence of now? Is this what the spirit of the present feels like? No, I’d say the real present is something much more joyful. It is freedom, love, purity of sheer existence. It is much like the literal representation in The Muppet Christmas Carol where a jovial red headed muppet sings a song for Scrooge to teach him a lesson about the magic of now. It is what we always expectantly project into the future, either just beyond the horizon, or much farther. It’s hard to live in the moment when it does not feel worthy of living in. I currently have not come to a conclusion, or have found any answer that gives guidance to this at this juncture of my life. I’ve even thrown around the idea of trying to write a short story about this in an attempt to find the answer. I would title it, like I have in this post, ‘Waiting For Now’.
When what we want is in the distance, we attach that spirit of joy of the present along with it. I guess this is why many “new agers” talk so much about trying to attain abundance by already feeling like you have what you want. Time is, after all, only linear within the confines of our human perception. It is this idea that pushes me to imagine that I am in fact not sitting in a Starbucks on Long Island, but a privately owned cafe in California as I write this. I have already written Metanoia, and it is providing a second income so that I don’t have to work 40+ hour weeks to survive, so that I can explore other passions and ways of making money. I imagine the world going to shit, but that it doesn’t matter because the world I created for myself is safe and abundant with people and situations I’m meant to be around and encounter.
But my imagination can only take me so far in time and space. No matter how much I day dream, the reality is that I will wake up in the same bed tomorrow. Despite how ever introspective and insightful my followers might think I am, I do not know how to deal with this unfortunate reality, especially after trying so hard to change it. Where is the proverbial now, and how do I get there when traditional human customs do not bring me joy?
Right now I look outside and I see flowers bloomed in a summer that I waited so long for. If I had to guess I would say that it is the very nature of our lifestyles that makes it so impossible for us to be happy enough with the mere sight of this bloomed flower, and nothing else. Our lifestyles do not allow for a moment to fully enjoy the flower, the trip to the beach, or the camping trip. Have you ever felt an overwhelming sense of desperation while watching a sunset or playing a fun game, and then become confused about this sensation that came on so suddenly? I do almost ever week, and when it comes I don’t even feel like it is my own.
In these moments I am uncontrollably mourning the death of the divine colors cast by the setting sun before it’s even over. I am lamenting over the fact that precious moments come in crumbs rather than wholesome meals. I feel desperate to lose that moment because I’m allotted so few of them in a summer that becomes winter with the blink of an eye. I feel desperate to lose it because it is the only thing I truly value in this world, over anything that I can buy, or any lame social interaction that is to be had in this materialistic world. I value these crumbs more than the industry and the regimented lifestyle that consume every person. I don’t know when the next instance of oneness and belonging will come and when the sunset is gone, I feel like I have to part with my soul indefinitely. I have to go back to the quicksand, to the muck and the mud of a false present. I don’t want to be left alone with that fabrication any longer. That is how and why I find myself waiting for now, and I wonder if there is anyone waiting along with me.
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.
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 emotionalneeds, 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 fulfillany 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.
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 characteristiceyes 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 althoughwe’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 on 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.
I wince at the roar of machines churning, the walls of my basement shaking. Others are numb to it, but to me this defilement of the environment is likened to a dentist drilling into someone’s gums, the churning teeth and veins the same as butchered wood and roots. It is all a bloody, gory mess either way. For me, this is what it means to be a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP).
For those who consider themselves a HSP, loud noises and large crowds are a common deterrence, but for someone who is spiritually and emotionally connected to the Earth like me, the abuse the environment takes every day is a particular nuisance. It’s not easy being a HSP and living where I live. Now that it’s summer, someone in the neighborhood is always cutting down a tree, pounding down into the earth to get rid of it’s roots for some project out of self service. As if they don’t have enough non-indigenous plants that require loads of chemicals and water rather than using the space and resources to feed themselves, Earth’s ultimate gift to humanity. I’ve always said that humans are a species that rake up leaves so that they can put down fertilizer. Everything we do is backwards and without consideration.
Where I live, the population is 7.6 million, higher than the country of Norway, on a piece of land that spans 118 miles. It wears on someone like me, and there is not a passing moment where I am desperate to leave the bickering, angry people who do not even realize just how unhappy they are, that life is not a fixed state but something ever-changing and separate from their perceived reality. It is the collective unconscious that I seek to escape, the people who do not want to ask questions, who do not work on themselves and merely exist for empty pleasures.
On a side note, I’m here because there’s no longer a place in the country where a recent college graduate can live off of minimum wage while looking for a job in their field (if you know of a place near the coast, let me know).
Most are numbed, and raised to accept the desecration of nature. They are completely disconnected in their minds and hearts, although not in their physicality as science refutes this. Atoms in your body are derived from the universe, with our planet being our closest relative. Everything is recycled and necessary for a healthy biome, and since humans live here and were created here, they are not above this.
As a HSP, I feel this without a choice, and I walk around with a wall around me just so that I don’t get sick, but this is no way to live. I sometimes wonder if I don’t know who I truly am, as I’ve never been able to live in a constant outward expression of authenticity, although I’ve been doing the best I can to slowly put pieces of myself together to see the whole picture. Walls make it difficult to reach out to anything, to open up and experience what is left, or meant to be experienced.
Perhaps what is worse about everything is that us highly sensitive people are also expected to not be bothered by these things amidst a world of desensitized zombies. It is not normal to be on edge, to be tired, to not want to go out into loud clamoring nonsense. I hear the voice of the collective unconscious, the voice we’ve created, it says “Now go behave and party your evenings away until you no longer have the capacity to think or feel. You do not need real relationships, only people to pass the time with. Also, make sure you have a job that supports this habit, and don’t forget the gym membership. Running on a treadmill for 2 hours burns more calories than a stroll through nature. You’ll need that from all the drinking.” Now, I never partake in this atmosphere because it is in complete dissonance to my being, but it’s a constant roar that can be heard in the background, a thriving culture for much of the human population.
If by any chance you are a HSP and have a blog, I challenge you to write a post about what it’s like for you. Include whatever you want in it, whether it’s a focus on what deters you the most, or additional thoughts on the matter. Tag me in the post or let me know so that I see what your input is. If you don’t have a blog, let me know by leaving a comment.
Lately I have had one subject come back to me repeatedly over the last few weeks. It came at the right time when I felt, and still feel like I have no time to accomplish my goals and dreams, that each minute not spent writing, or not looking for jobs in my field is time wasted, that every move I do not make is a step backward. What I’ve been shown through accounts that I follow and through the guidance of others are the necessary functions that doubt and inertia offer.
You may already be aware of these functions, or think they are obvious, but they easily go unnoticed despite their transparency. For example, there are instances where doubt is necessary to attain true confidence. When you experience doubt, you are asking the right questions, and taking the right initiatives. You are pushed to think about the things that need to be dealt with in order to achieve a goal. With this process of self checking and examination, you can eventually find yourself in a validated place. The same works for when you have writers block, or when you find that you can’t bring yourself to complete a task. When you experience one of these ruts, it is best not to fight against it. Stillness, meditation, and remaining quiet can birth ideas and action:
“Taking attention away from your goals brings you to a state of receptivity” -Wisdom of the Oracle
Trust in the timing of your life is also necessary. There are going to be times of traffic and red lights, and times of green lights and accelerated lanes. Fighting against this natural flow that cannot be changed is exhausting, and a waste of effort.
It is also in this way that our perceived enemies become our allies. The more a negative force is applied, the more light that wants to shine through the fissures. I will soon be approaching a scene in my writing where I directly address this concept, using the example of a fallen angel and a guardian who become entangled in a dark dance. After the most intense suffering subjected to the guardian from the dark entity’s intent, the bringer of light calls out “How does it make you feel? That the more you exert your darkness onto me, the brighter my dim light shines in it’s shadow?”
So you see, if it was not for polarity, for the opposing forces you’re up against, your light would not shine as bright. Just remember that the next time you have someone or something giving you a hard time. The challenge is your chance to shine.
I cleaned out from under my bed today. Everything under there was from elementary school (somehow, at age 22). It seems as though I was quick to throw away middle school, but not so much my elementary years. I can recall having a fulfilling 5th grade. I had 3 best friends, one of which was in my class. Even though life got strange at times, I felt capable despite insecurities and obstacles. Right after that, all three friends moved, my muse died (I was a creative kid), and I distinctly remember going into every department store and finding nothing that would fit me, a metaphor for the times.
I was a better artist at 10 than I am now apparently.
Despite having a fond recollection, I look back and I feel detached from this person. I cannot connect to the photos or memories, although they are still strong and clear in my mind. I’ve never been one to dwell on the past, “It distracts from the now” as Edna from The Incredibles famously stated.
Several weeks before this mass removal of childhood paraphernalia, I found myself dwelling on the little known fact that all the atoms in our body are recycled every 7 years or so. It was a topic I naturally gravitated towards given my recent checkpoint in life. We are not made up of the same composition we had when we were born. Everything was replaced, and deposited somewhere to maintain a general form. In this sense, we do not have the same exact makeup when we were seven either, or during our favorite adolescent memories compared to now. Even the expression of our DNA can alter slightly when environmental cues turn certain genes on and off (This is called epigenetics in science. In a spiritual sense of ascension, it is called DNA activation).
For me, there is this disconnect, and relation existing simultaneously. It’s as if it is already a past life, with a line of consciousness connecting all physical states of being, holding them together. Coincidentally, my Uncle sent me a quote from James Gleick he thought I’d like that pertains to all of this. It states “Mind must be a sort of dynamical pattern, not so much founded in a neurological substrate as floating above it, independent of it.”
Perhaps past lives are like that when we die and finally remember what we are. Although these past character states used to be our most recent self at one point, we moved on and no longer associate it with our compete identity. Perhaps our identity is more of what we are now and where we are going than what has happened to us and what we previously experienced.
Who are we, or perhaps, what are we? Just a thought…
“…the sea’s only gifts are harsh blows and, occasionally, the chance to feel strong. Now, I don’t know much about the sea, but I do know that that’s the way it is here. And I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong, to measure yourself at least once, to find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions, facing blind, deaf stone alone, with nothing to help you but your own hands and your own head…” – Primo Levi
Let me just say, I hate this sculpture.
I don’t know where it came from or why it’s there. All I know is that I’ve had to look at it almost every morning for three years. Three years and thankfully not four, as I spent one year in California, which only seems like a dream now.
It is displayed up on a hill that the express bus passes on its run from the South parking lot to campus. Every morning I saw this wretched thing and questioned what it’s supposed to mean. What’s the point of a concrete swing frozen in time? Why is it pale yellow? I don’t know what the actual intentions are for it, but to me it symbolized something very cynical, dark even. Like a warning sign to anyone entering campus, there’s a subliminal message of fruitless efforts, inhibition of joy, and an overall sense of hopelessness. Fruitless efforts for when you’re on a swing but the chains are fixed. Joy of a favorite pastime activity taken away. Knowing that even if the thing were to come to life, you’d only go back and forth indefinitely, until you got off. As of 5/20/16, I got off this swing and walked away.
It must be very hard for others to understand, with the great reputation for “higher education”. I understand this, and I also understand that this is my journey and you have your journey, and there aren’t going to be equivalencies at ever turn. But I mean every word when I say this was the hardest part of my life. To me, this was a time when I was thrown into a dark room with no light and no exit point. It was like being stuck on a road that never ends. I strapped myself into some sort of machine that looked like Kerry, but was not Kerry, and went about my life in the way that was asked of me. I didn’t feel like my life was my own. All efforts I put forth were washed down the drain so consistently that it brought me to the point where I even questioned if there was some divine intervention putting all it’s strength into sabotaging my plans and putting me on an entirely different route. It put a veil between me and the rest of world so that when I went to push, nothing moved. Every visualization of of trying to become something was squandered, and no one who knew me saw it. I don’t know how they could. When you’re moving through a similar medium, and people experience something entirely different from what you are, it is almost impossible for them to put themselves in your shoes, and so on top of everything also came isolation and loneliness.
Thankfully, when I turned away form the world and went inside, I found something. It was Metanoia, a light in the dark, something with potential disguised as something small and ambiguous. It was a seed, and it’s this seed that I’m going to water and nurture from now on.
The human race is dissonance, a cacophony of emptiness. People castrate their consciousness with alcohol, drugs, sex, money, and comfortable routine. Being even just a little disconnected from that in developing years allowed for an authentic emanation of self. This sets me apart more than anything else from my peers. It just may be the disruption in the pattern that made my efforts ineffective here. I found essence, and thats all I want to experience now, untainted by the vibrational garbage drowning it out and forcing it under. I look around to see that family and friends have not been as lucky to have a center. Or am I the unlucky one? Facing the blind deaf stone alone, it sometimes feels like I was placed in some sort of solitary confinement born out of the collective unconsciousness. When you enter, you begin to live another life entirely. Facing the blind deaf stone alone, I’m not accompanied with anyone who has the capacity to see me, or know what it is I’m trying to achieve here. I’m up against so much right now. I’m up against my unconscious peers when I seek enlightenment. I’m up against my genetics which was born out of generations of people who were afraid to take risks and lived comfortably numb, asleep at the wheel as my brother likes to put it. I have no role models, or examples to follow. I have no way of navigation. I have no finances. I only have a vague sense of the home that lies somewhere on the other side of this, far, far away. I desperately want to get there. I am uncertain, but determined, and maybe I needed Stony Brook University for this reason, to be plunged into darkness so that I would no longer tolerate anything but light, and everything that comes with it.
To all those listening, thank you, and I love you.
Heaven is not so much a place as it is a perpetual moment.
The air is somehow both cool and warm as I breathe the saline scent of ocean air into my lungs. There’s no one in sight when I scan the horizon, but I do not feel alone. In fact, I feel more accompanied than I ever have been. The sunrise is welcomed, casting slightly different shades of orange and gold than it did when it left the day before. I drift off into contemplation…
I’ve learned at a very young age that people can be an unreliable source of love. It’s not necessarily their fault, we are only human. Families move. People lose interest, find a new person, or new group to associate with. In the worst cases, some will even be subjected to their own mortality early on. It’s not complicated. Others are not always going to be there for you, whether they can help it or not.
I’ve also come to find that everyone has a different idea of loyalty, and that others won’t always try to see from different perspectives in the way I do. I’ve become accustomed to the fickleness of human beings, even learned to anticipate it.
However, it is true what they say: when one door closes, another one opens, and sometimes for a good reason.
I had a unique childhood, cast away on barrier islands on the south shore of Long Island. I was able to find love in the extraordinary, beyond flesh and bone, and I am thankful for it. I found love in the persistent undulation of the Atlantic. I found love not just in the heart of others, but in the heart of nature. I found solace in the relentless way waves crash and recede. I found it in the micro and macro cosmos of all things, both living and seemingly inert. I found it in the potential of a drop of salt water. I developed a deeper appreciation for the physical properties and processes that govern our world. I began to associate love with what was raw, and unseen, as I knew there was more than what my eyes informed me.
I’ve learned almost everything I need to carry on with life in the temple of nature, a perpetual moment of love.
Metanoia 