I always have so much to say. I walk around throughout the day, and tell myself to write this or that down, insist that I should part with five minutes and divest of these incessant thoughts, journal them, write them, expunge and excrete them.
Where am I going? From where did I come?
There are no easy answers. Life is a continual process of finding and losing.
The penchant for destruction, for self destruction, for self annihilation, lurks close. Always. I cannot stop it from encroaching. All I can do is build a wall of habits, of orderliness, of repetition.
Instill in me a sacred mind. Something holy and divine, illuminating, collective and conscious. This is my prayer.
Where should I go? Into the darkness. Very well. Let the wall come down. There are no more safe spaces, no place to retreat. I must face my dragons, must confront my demons.
When you can be anything, are you something?
What am I made of?
Business and books? These dichotomies of the soul bend me, near break me. Existing in this world as a whole is near impossible to balance. They want you something or nothing. You cannot be everything.
What do you have to show for yourself? We lie, and convince ourselves that our existence is worth its weight. That we produce, but our results are paltry, and rarely stand alone, or they stand alone, and no one cares, because our ends are selfish and self serving, and we fix the game, a game that we play with ourselves, in our favor.
You are not great.
You have not sacrificed enough for truth, for the raw skeletal essence the frames a worthy life.
I’m in Vegas, alone. My partner is in Germany, with his girlfriend and family. I could speak at length about this subject, but I’d rather wrestle with these abstract irritations scratching my soul.
The darkness is where you must go. We avoid it, like the plague. We avoid it, unconsciously. Go forth, into the darkness, into the chaos, where pain and suffering await, the deepest abyss of hell. That is where you must go. You must be willing to die. You must be willing to be crushed by the weight of failure, until you can no longer breath, and your last cry is a prayer for salvation, from yourself. You must die. You must die. You must die.
The cathedral of stable assumptions must collapse, like the temple of Jerusalem. Come down in an earthquake, because all that is perfect, all that is divine, all that is held up as precious and holy, must die. Only then can we be born again. Only then can a new self arise.
Everything that you love most dearly must dissolve into the ocean.
Throw these ideas away. They are not you. They are attachments adorning you, obscuring you, weighing you.
Do not think.
Only when you are nothing can you be something.