Thoughts on Society and Mental Disorders

What is mental disease? When we see someone who is mentally unwell, do we immediately recognize their dysfunction? Do they recognize their dysfunction? Do we appeal to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manuel of Mental Disorders?

I don’t believe in mental disease, per say. That may raise a lot of eyebrows, but I’m looking to transcend the conventional wisdom (in truth, wisdom is common knowledge that has grown uncommon, so the idea of conventional wisdom leaves me skeptical). I’d like to take a broader, grander view of things. I don’t believe in mental disease for the same reason I don’t believe in, say, God. Both are manufactured, their cause and effects, by society.

Let me elaborate.

Everything we know about anything we have inherited from nature and our social culture. I would argue that, given the social forces of cultural influence, as well as an absent relationship with nature, people know more about societal values, its fabricated and historical values, than the absolute values discovered within nature and in themselves.

All perceptions are biased. The loss of ego is the loss of values, the loss of perspective, the loss of an etiology that structures significance and meaning.

What is mental disease? I believe mental illness is manufactured by society: civilization is a disease. I’m not the first to propose such a caustic claim, just one to reemphasize the fact. Socrates, Diogenes, Rousseau, Nietzsche, Thoreau, Freud, and many many others pointed out civilization’s detrimental assault on man’s psyche.

I posit that mental illness arises due to the oppression of an individual’s self. The self, or perhaps you could say the ego, is the seat of consciousness that structures experience in a meaningful way. It regulates its point of view as the subjective in which the objective web of the world is woven around. In order to operate functionally and efficiently, the self needs to be strong and healthy. I would argue that the self develops as the world around it affirms its nature. In this way society, our family and peers, dictate who we are, they literally dictate who our self is through their perception of and reaction to what they believe they see us to be. Think Bourdieu’s habitus.

Mental illness is the result of an unhealthy self. It is a self that cannot effectively structure experience around its “self” in a meaningful way. It therefore cannot coin meaningful associations with the phenomenal objects constituting experience, whether these objects are other subjects (people) or simply “things” incorporated into our environment.

Man is a social creature. He has evolved to such a degree that relationships with other subjects are integral to his conscious life experience, and the propensity for these relationships has found a way to forge endless webs of relationships with experience itself. The conscious experience is simply not a conditioned response. It is a relationship with a reality embedded with a key feature, that of change. Hence the continual need to communicate with the external world in order to adjust and adapt.

I believe that mental illness is a byproduct of a societal forces being impressed on the self, our reflective consciousness, by undermining the personal experience of the self, by forcing it to contort to unnatural expectations and artificial values that are incongruent with our first hand experience.

Is mental illness genetic? I believe there are aspects of mental illness that are. But what is mental illness? A behavior that deviates from the norm? An unconventional disposition that leaves you feeling unusually more or less than your fellow man, to such a degree that is unnatural, or abnormal? Is it a disease to feel too much? or too little? Society would have us believe so.

Could it be that, without an integrating support system provided by institutions like family or community, society’s abstract value’s literally destroy the self, leaving us incapable of making sense of the world, leaving our mood to vacillate uncontrollably, and forcing the self to assign values to unusual features of experience?

We look at mental disease, observe it through imaging technology, through scans and sensors, and denote a marked difference for the “normal” control group (however, whatever that “normal” actually is is beyond me). So, yes, there is something going on here. But what is the disease? It is purely psychological, purely a phenomenal product of a mind that has grown maladapted to its world. What caused this maladaption? Is it genetic? I’m skeptical. Genome research is showing that while our genetics play a tremendous role in our development, it is our environment that expresses these genes as a means for our organism to adapt to environmental demands. So that while we might observe the manifestation of behaviors and locate a physiological origin, I would argue that this observation is simply an effect, a symptom, of external demands, of environmental stimuli or trauma.

When we find ourselves bleeding, we do not simply say that the body is the cause. We ask ourselves what caused the gash, and index some sharp object we may have encountered. In the same way, when we observe a set of unusual behaviors, we do not say the mind is the cause. We look for some proper cause, some first cause that preceded the manifestation of the psychological symptoms.

We do not need prescription drugs to alleviate our bizarre reactions to an even bizarrer culture. We need support and discourse, love and kindness. More importantly, we need recognition. We need a world that acknowledges the self for something more than it believes it is, more than it was told. This is where love comes in, the all important quality that instantiates the ultimate relation between man and his world.

Most mental illness occurs on the fringes of society. Celebrities are not immune, for they occupy a space that is so elevated above the common psyche, even they have trouble seeing their self at such altitudes. This incongruence yields a break down. The homeless? Did they develop their mental malaise before or after their predicament? Did they come from a loving, supportive home with healthy relationships that respected and valued one another for who they were? Or did they become maladapted after the fact?

The abused, the downtrodden, the castaways, the  people who come from broken families, that come from families with broken values: these are the people who experience “mental illness”. The people who cannot properly develop a self because they have no functional or loving relationships to reaffirm the worth of their self. As a result they cannot adequately integrate their subjective self with the objective world. It becomes a problematic endeavor, especially when challenge and obstacles arise. The lack of self produces a lack of will power, a lack of authenticity that asserts an individuated self.

The self is a disposition that orients the external world in a way that elicits a given response, a mood, that produces a consciousness that gives rise to thoughts.

Society has grown to its vast proportions due to a division of labor. Men are no longer reliant on the whole of their organism to achieve balance with their world, to sustain their life. They are required narrow physical or mental aptitudes that serve a circumscribed function within a greater organizational structure. The division of labor creates casts and forces man into those casts, requiring him to subjugate what other feelings, or thoughts, or talents, or skills, or passions he might possess. We are assigned a job and stamped with a title. Just like that we have grown inward. To define is to confine, and no other place will you fine both of these than in an ornate industrial system like the one we call home.

Those with mental illness, I am sure, developed in an environment that was oppressive, that dictated the value of a self that was less than the value they perceived themselves to possess. It is not simply being oppressive, for discipline is a form of oppression that encourages growth towards very specific ends. In the case of discipline, the individual believes in their value, in the possibility of attaining the end, and exists in an environment that expects or supports the achievement of that end.

The oppressive environments I’m referring to are those where relationships exist only to diminish your value, and perhaps elevate theirs at your expense. It is a form of judging that sentences you with a self valued next to nothing you can comprehend through personal experience. Perhaps this arises because the environment is abusive. Perhaps the environment refuses to acknowledge that person’s self, and therefore provides no context in which to integrate into.

I would argue that those people without a web of relationships with others that orient themselves around the subject as an appreciable aspect of their experience cannot create meaningful sense from their world. That is, their lack of significance within a web of relationships, within system of interpersonal references, leaves them dispossessed of a structured order of experience. In a word, they have no subjective self because they exists in a world that refuses to affirm it. Without a self, without a reflective consciousness that constitutes a subjective individual, there can be no relationship with the world. Every relationship begins with the subjective, ends with the objective. The more developed the subjective, the more relationships can be developed among and between the objective world, whether they are other beings or things.

Culture manufactures mental illness. When discussing mental illness, what matters is our values and the lack of authentic communication about things that matter. No where else in the world do you find the level of mental illness exhibited here in the US. Mental illness is due to a culture that capitalizes off of solving people’s problems, whether they are real or perceived. The only problems people have is relationship problems. “People” are not the problem. Their brains are not the problem. It is a world, a culture, a society, that has forgot how to engage in mutually beneficial relationships, meaningful relationships that are reciprocal, that engage each other with equal vested interest. Instead we have a society of exploitation, of one sided dialog, of oppression. This has lead to minds that do not possess a clear idea of what it means to have original feelings, or novel thoughts: authentic experience.

There is an absence of authenticity, of autonomy, because no one possesses an actual self. Their self has been imposed on them, sold to them, by culture, through the mass media, the proliferation of icons, the repetition of signs and symbols that impress and embed themselves into our psyche, our self; and all the responses accompanying that self are acquired from outside of itself, in the world, the same place that sold them the idea that they were an individual self.

Imagine the mind like a plant. Imagine that food was the soil, and that sunlight was our sensory stimulation. In order to grow, we need to find the most sunlight. Now imagine that above our plant a disk has been placed to block the sunshine. The plant would naturally grow out and around this disk. Imagine a cylinder has been placed around the plant on all sides, with only a small opening at the top. The plant could not grow out, so it would grow up until it pierces the hole, then grow out wide (perhaps this analogy resembles the saying: if you want to make the rules, you must first play by the rules).

My point is this: society is the shade, the disks, the blockades that shade the sunshine, the stimulation afforded to our minds. It imposes artificial restraints on our potential and capabilities, on our value and possibilities. As a result, the mind, just like the plant, may grow weak and whither, or develop in a erratic way, or be forced to grow in an unnatural way.

Perhaps this is simply survival of the fittest. Perhaps exploitation is a fundamental inescapable feature. But I insist that equality and collaboration yield the greatest, most universal perspective and utility. This has been demonstrated time and time again when people are seen as equal. But maybe the system of collaboration is imperfect and everyone cannot be included due to the size? I would say that this system should be trimmed, that any system that too large to accommodate equal individuals is inefficient and ineffective.

Or perhaps I’m being too creative with my criticisms.

Collected Thoughts and Aphorisms

I carry around a book that I use for jotting down snippets of notes and ideas that occur to me throughout the day. In an effort to organize them I decided to digitize some of the shorter, more random thoughts. These were taken from a weeks worth of entries. And here they are:

Embrace suffering: it is the impetus of growth

Continue reading “Collected Thoughts and Aphorisms”


Why don’t I write? Some inadequecy that lurks beneath. Something that grips my motives and violently shakes me into retreat. Why? I mean, I’m not sure exactly. Sententious speak.

As predicted, the world’s boiling over. This world, this society, living in delusional states, it’s vapid affairs simply rolling along, not because there’s any inherent meaning and necessity to the madness, but because us men, us intrepid sheep, are suckers for tradition, for the familiar inheritances we deem as having so much value. When, in reality, it’s nothing but mindless manipulation. When we try to escape, we escape only deeper, not beyond.


This summer is coming to a close. A good amount of drinking, and reading, and traveling has been accomplished. I like to think every experience amounts to some value, but I must remember that context determines all meaning, all utility, all purpose. Am I any more of a person? Eh. Let’s define the context, right? Well, I sure as hell don’t have an answer at the moment.

I need to expunge so much. Blah. I’ve been working two jobs. One, at Wells Fargo Advisors working for a wealth management group. The other, a manufacturing job at International Ceramic Engineering. There’s a pretty steep contrast between the two jobs. One is saturated with intelligent, driven, ambitious white collared workers; the other involves the illiterate, mostly foreign, blue collar laborers. At the engineering company I press buttons all day. I literally bring a book to work that I read while I’m on the job. It’s too un-stimulating to bear otherwise. I read a book every other day. It’s been great for reading. It’s also been great for showing me what the vast majority of uneducated American’s do every day to provide for their families and make a living. Vastly different dispositions in the working peers I encounter each day. Vastly different experiences gained. I’ll add more later.

Our world is pretty messed up at the moment. Or, at least, that’s how it’s being portrayed in the media and news. I’m not sure if they are capitalizing on the opportunity to inflate mild market shifts to instill fear, or if there really is reason to be concerned for the stability of the world. Riots, market volatility and crashes, unemployment, violence, political bickering and selfish debating, fiscal irresponsibility and mismanagement, misplaced policy priorities: the list could continue along.

I need to contemplate more, extract more from my mind, my experiences. It’s not enough to have an expeirence. You must make an experience work for you, make somehting of it, recall it and give it meaning, contextualize it. You know? Many people have experiences, and

Droplets in the Sea

“…for the time being I gave up writing – there is already too much truth in the world – an overproduction which apparently cannot be consumed….” -Otto Rank

This is how I often feel. About everything. Sometimes I get comparative and I forget that the driver behind my actions should be purely expressive and therapeutic. There is no absolute truths, no direction to speak of, no purpose for all. I often think that I am speaking or writing over a clamoring chorus of cacophony so that my contribution only adds to the confusion, to the dissonance. So I decide that I’d rather not write. But it needs to come out. It is a compulsion that bubbles up and bursts into a full spectrum of epileptic color. I need to get in the habit of writing again, or thinking consistently, with a purpose that I can arbitrarily delegate to myself and justify through my actions, not because there’s any inherent merit.

So what have I been thinking about lately? Generally speaking, how everything is an illusion. How we are so totally blind to ourselves. It’s wacky just thinking about how inane our belief systems are, our quirks and world views. We justify what we’re comfortable with. Humans attract more of the same. I heard on an NPR segment these academics call it an ‘echo-chamber’, or an ‘identity silo’, if I’m not mistaken. The speakers were discussing information systems like Google or Facebook that have algorithms that feed us more of what we like by accessing our browsing or interaction history. It all operates off of confirmation bias. The vast majority of people do not deliberately seek out information that conflicts with our world view or philosophy. In fact, many people get agitated when they are exposed to systems of thought with which they disagree. Instead they find information that confirms and reinforces an insular world view or belief system. This creates a concurrent resonance so that information going out is confirmed by information going in. It is a reverberation that amplifies beliefs. The result is a severely skewed picture of the world. The threat is radicalism.

Anyway. We all do this. People are not prone to novelty or newness or anything foreign or unknown that may threaten or unravel our nice picture of the world. People like the path of least resistance, comfort and ease.

All belief system’s are lies (‘Myth’ is a nicer word). Mine as much as any one else’s. But why I think mine has more legitimacy lies in the fact that it has no legitimacy. (Legitimacy is an ethical claim, not a quantitative or measurable claim. My belief system would not produce a successful priest, or lawyer. Perhaps, only a good citizen of the world, or philosopher. Perhaps it’s only good for me, Michael.) My beliefs are arbitrary. Most people would never dream of throwing their beliefs to the wind and calling them arbitrary. Why? Because our belief systems offer us techniques for dealing with the world, with other people, with ourselves, with mortality. Beliefs make everything sweet and sanguine. “The believer is happy; the doubter is wise.” But the longer we hold onto a single belief and fail to venture into new perspectives of the world, the longer we are exposed to sheer ignorance, and the harder it is to escape.

Yea. Beliefs. Character. What the hell is character? It is a defense mechanism. Like all of our ideas that provide us with an orientation when confronting the world. If we fail to maintain character, we fail. Our shortcomings are exposed, our wretched limitations lay open for us and the world to see. Inconsistencies in a world where people depend on consistencies, on ideals and values that endure beyond temporal constraints and natural rotting.

Yea. Beliefs are limitations. We spend our entire lives building these vast belief systems that serve one function: to limit us. They limit us to the overwhelming possibility that has confronted us since our birth. What in the hell is this place called earth, mom, food, hot, pain, god, lies, trust, etc? These ad hoc, explosions in our face, these phenomenon that we didn’t choose but were thrust upon us. The sheer ridiculousness of entering a world overflowing with sensations and ideas.

The moment we exit the womb we begin to limit, to delineate the contours and trace out boundaries of experience, cutting off and segmenting this ocean of possibilities into more manageable pieces for consumption. We ‘rationalize’ this world by limiting it. By censoring it. By condensing it. By symbolizing it. Ugh. It’s all a myth. We are afraid of possibility, of potential. If we weren’t, we’d be something else, we’d be continually born anew.

So much to think about.

So my current situation. I need to get active. Analysis paralysis. A general listlessness about life has settled on my mind. It’s pathetic.

I ran today. I will run tomorrow, and lift. I am spending the remainder of my summer restricting my caloric intake and subjecting my body to intense physical stress. I’m well aware that the mind is connected with the body, the heart, the soul, whatever. A sound body is a sound mind.

I will read more. I say, more than six hours a day. Very doable. A book a week.

I don’t understand people who live on a superficial plane of existence. There are multiple layers that we wear. There’s the superficial layers filled with linguistic clichés and verbiage that allow us to navigate through interpersonal interaction. Then there is a layer that yields our beliefs, our defense mechanisms, our reflections and questions. The final layer is a recognition of our fear, our denial of our inadequacy, our frailty, our inevitable death that will arrive no matter how much we make, what we know or achieve or believe. That is the breaking point for most people, when serious changes and restructuring occurs in their mind. When the other layers have failed, this layer takes control.

Anywho. I don’t get superficiality. I’m great at it, at bullshitting. Most people exist in this layer. Banter. That’s all it is. Useless noise that gets us what we want, a reaction out of people, out of our world. But most people don’t move beyond it. Ever. They exist there. Their mind is so pathetically shallow. That’s why we have Television and the internet and games and amusement. It placates our superficiality. If we actually had to think about life, about our beliefs and actions and deliberations and consequences, most people would unravel or lose themselves.

I watch these people rush to watch their favorite television shows. Their TV. They don’t read. They listen to their music. They read their fantasy novels. They indulge in religious services or shopping sprees. All superficial techniques for avoiding the self.

It’s insane. They don’t write. They don’t read. They don’t converse about meaningful projects. About feelings, about dreams, desires, goals. Knowledge and creativity isn’t prized like it used to be. It’s all about amusement, or power.

So. The human condition has been swiped aside. The humanities departments across the country bear signs of the recent insignificance that plagues them in the face of power. What thrives? Engineering, business, law, science. Disciplines that allow us to master others, master our world. Why do they have the greatest growth? Because they allow for the accumulation and application of power.

Everything comes down the this will to power. I need to think more on it and write more later.

Language. Ideas are public goods. There is no private language, just as there is no private ideas. If it is an idea, it must be accepted and shared by the community, otherwise it will fail to flourish, and die. Ideas are public. You cannot escape the conversational constraints dictated by the public arena. Artists do this though, or attempt to. They create feelings and ideas where there was none previously.

My language traps me. I cannot think beyond it, I cannot communicate about it except with the language I have been afforded by my culture. That is why reading is so amazing. It allows me to transcend my limited abilities so that I can articulate and convey ideas to a broader audience.

/end rant.

<Bed time>


Recent Random Thoughts

Don’t tell me how to live, man. Show me.

Random thoughts collected the past few weeks:

Words. The vehicle of ideas. Words are empty without affect. Like ether hitting the air, once spoken their sedating effects escape and are gone. One may find their memory trapped and resonating in the occasional hearts and minds of men. Words implant ideas: sewn through vapors; inscribed on soft tissues. Men are the leaves of time. And every man must fall.

Never wait till it’s too late. Never wait till the time is right, for that is too late. Prepare the soil long beforehand. Prepare, organize, go out of your way, smile, pay compliments. No detail is too minute. Everything you do will lead to a moment. Do not wait for that moment. Treat it as if it has already arrived. Not as a point, but a process.

That which moves me is that which moves the world.

If you cannot instantiate a generality, you have no imagination. The task of philosophers is to produce generalities from particulars. The task of teachers is to produce particulars from generalities.

Perspective requires distance between two points. You must allow time to fill this distance. Time is necessary for experience.  But not all time yields experience.

The young are naive. It is curious that people long for youth.

If you are going with the flow, you are not swimming against the current.

There is no unity. There are only modes. Modes of being, existing, thinking, feeling, perceiving. Do not seek to unify, but to diversify. Employ these modes, these states of being. Make them work for you. Do not be one person, but many.


I cant sleep. I went to bed at 230am thinking that I’d be fast asleep by now but no… that isn’t the case at all. Instead I twist and turn and adjust and readjust the covers and think about random thoughts. Just dwelling. Where? I haven’t got a clue. Somewhere on the margins of my mind where passions mix with memories and modes.

Clouds with eyes. Snail eyes. They petrude from the starry night sky and blink. You reach out to touch and they retract, only to inch their way out, slowly with caution, and peer once more.

Some friends stopped by tonight around 100am. Very uncharacteristic for this crowd, but then again its finals week and they’re all finished up. I, on the other hand, have an exam at 1200pm tomorrow. I need to wake and take my sister to work and study for a few hours more. At this rate I’m not sure if I’ll get the sleep I need.

My thoughts. What thoughts. It’s all the same. Over and over. Cruel. To have form or be formless? To mold to the world, permeate and penetrate its pores, saturate and shape with its contours and fall gently on my feet with formless grace? Or do I ram and butt and blow the world around me? Do I force it to mold to me and make it in my image?

Colorful stringy things. Lily pads. Plum fruit.

All I had today for food was an eight ounce steak, an apple, a coke, and a glass of milk.

The ants go marching. Giant iron telescopes. Lion eyed. Smile. Flash.

We are the source of it all. The juicy details. The leviathan. Concentration. Attention. Ten-hut. My toes are cold. I battle with my room mates to keep the heat up. I don’t like paying more in utilities as much as the next guy but you gotta stay warm for christs sake. A home needs to be habitable. And not just habitable so long as you’re wearing seven layers of clothing. I like the nude, and winter doesn’t jive too well with that. I have to compromise and wear a lot more clothing. But anything more than two layers, in my own home, is just unbearable.

I need to sleep. Care bears. Clouds. We see people as we are.

The waterfalls cascade upwards. Rain trickles up in binary digits. Cascading code.

I need to smack the shit outta myself. Wake up. Not now. But in general. Now I need to sleep. In general I need to wake up. I need to get zesty about life. I don’t wanna talk about meaning, existence or any of that bullshit any more. I just wanna be content with whats happening.

Freckles and a smile. Cubicles. Rows of cubicles. If you lived in a digital world, there would be no more icicles. Only cubicles.

Who am I going to be? Every day I become more of that person. Who will I be someday? What will compose that person. Breath in ten times. Feel light headed. Be absurd.

Erase. Pink e-racer. Ticonderoga.

My lap top is half closed on my lap. I’m typing with my eyes closed. Images pass through my mind. They exit through my finger tips. Leather hats. Feathers. Beads. Mountains. Glorious mountains. Ice capped mountains. Their peaks frosty and blue. Dark blue against the azure sky.

Echoes. Giggles and playful things. Smiling eyes.

Sleep. sleep. Leather. Dark leather. The story is ending. The scene is closing. The plot has unfolded. Turn the page. Turn to the last page. Moustache.  Blur. Hard work.

I press the eraser into my eye.

The sky is beautiful. Not now.  In my head. It is majestic. Pink . The flowers move back and forth in the breeze like excited little school children. They shake with excitement. The sky is bleeding upward away from the horizon. It bleeds with the dreams of those who sleep. Our dreams will bleed for those still awaiting the night. What a magical place. Inside my head. The arches. These twin arches. They transition from silver to gold and back again. Family is important.

I want adventure. I want to so bad it ruins the taste of life. Adventure. Daring adventure. Risky adventure. Adventure that is open and bright. The adventure where everyone is expecting you. Where there are countless paths and everyone has something marvelous in store. A new person. A new discovery. Wonders lurking like salamanders. Cool places rich with surprise. Every corner turns over a new leaf.

Vermont. Chapped lips. Pine trees. Maple trees. Gray skies. Blankets of sullen snow. Virgin snow. Snow like a canvas stretched out on mother earth.  A half painted canvas that wears its way in with every passing day the sun shines brighter. Each trail is a bursh stroke. Summer sets in as cold gives way to warmth, as pallid playgrounds portray their hints of color. With these days the canvas becomes full of life. The canvas is no longer pale but teeming with painted living. Vivacious life. Under the shade of great big trees. Pine cones. Water ice. Dusty trails. Dew drops. Sweat.  Patios. Insects buzzing around, landing on pages as you rock in the breeze. Nod your head into its arms.

Random musings.

Just some random thoughts.

I decided, not too sure when, that I am trying to advertise less, and do more. What I mean is this: Talk less, do more.

I noticed on facebook and twitter and myspace and all that social media, that people have an opportunity to selectively portray a certain person to the world. Typically a person that they feel most accurately portrays the real them. But, honestly, how accurate can that be? Our perceptions about ourselves are clearly biased and subjective. So over the years I’ve been trying to advertise less and less of myself. I won’t lie, this is difficult at times. Its so easy to throw information about our ideal self out there for others to digest with hunger. So I decided I wont. I guess this little online journal is where most of that stuff comes out but I’ve convinced myself that no one really reads this stuff- save a few livejournal friends with a curiosity others (much like my own)- so it doesn’t matter what I put.

I’ll admit though- this livejournal stuff is very therapeutic. I noticed that I sometimes catch myself censoring some entries. I do my best to make myself bad for this. If you can’t be honest with livejournal, how can you be honest with yourself?

But then again… I often tell myself lots of fanciful things so that I will come to believe them and eventually act on them. This is my thoughts, my real journal, or this online journal. I do this because I know that who I realistically think I am is not who I ever want to be. I have an ideal plateau of cognizance that I strive for. A person who lives through his deisres and goals.

O! New thought. Bye.


I want to be happy. I want to be free. I want to be an iconoclast, breaking all the social molds. I want to free myself from the propaganda. I want to rise above the petty politics of culture. I want to see the bigger picture in everyone. I want to surmise the means to the ends. I don’t want to impress. I want to express. I want people to lick the flavor of my words with delight. I want to plant endangered seeds of thought in the minds of many. I want to watch their world change and grow unfamiliar before they let go of ideal and accept reality. I want to escape the cliche titles and stigmas. I want to transcend the norms without being labeled postmodern. I want to retain direction without being called rigid or conservative. I want to swim freely in the ideas of men without the fear of losing my own. I want to make a mark that hasn’t been seen before. I want to speak words of wisdom the appeal to everyones need for meaning and familiarity. I want to provide real sense. I want to invoke the need to listen. E pluribus Unum. Out of the many, one. I want to show people the way, the truth and the life that they oft miss.

Even realists are ideal. They expect the world to be predictable. The world is never predictable.

lissome cognition’s

The problem with the world?

People do not know what they want. You ask someone what they want out of life and they don’t know. They might give you a vague, round about answer, but they really don’t know. They have wishes but no dreams. People coast through life, expecting good fortune to come their way. Very few individuals go out and look for favorable circumstances. Those that look know what they’re looking for.

People just drift. The vast majority. They may be ‘good’ people with ‘good’ hearts, but they are totally helpless. How do people think life works? The materialists out there, fueled through the evolutionary framework that bred the notion of determinism, point to outside causality to place the blame and point the finger. People genuinely believe that certain people are born with better lives than others, endowed with better gifts and talents. This is a lie. This is avoiding the responsibility people have with the life they are given and the gifts they do have.

I watch people, in the store, the mall, the food isles- and I look upon them with disdain. They buy, buy, buy- indulging in simple satisfactions to make up for the major dissatisfaction they call their life. Some people are happy. Those people are ignorant. The ones who settle. The saying “What you don’t know can’t hurt you” is a lie. On the contrary, what you don’t know WILL hurt you. Only, you may not know it. Foolishness. We have unlimited potential. We are the only people who hold ourselves back. Most people fail to think. I suppose they fail to seek the truths and principles that lead to fulfillment. I think most people have bought into the lie that however they decide to live their life is up to them, and no one should tell them otherwise. These people miss out on the larger treasures in life. They display the greatest weakness among men: Pride. Humility reins over knowledge and power and love and goodness. “Every man I meet is my superior in some way, in that, I learn of him.” Can you imagine the positive world we’d live in if people took time to learn from others, either what to do or what not to do?

I wonder if I’m ever apart of the very masses I speak of. If those greater souls, free from being buffeted by external occurrences, all while maintaining a loyal responsibility to themselves, look upon me as a slave as I do others. Am I a slave in my own way? Have I overlooked some greater truths that may enable me to achieve greater happiness and fulfillment? I pray I am not so naive. I pray that my eyes would be open to the ostensible opportunities of life. I am still in the nascent stages of wisdom. I will never stop extending my reach, however weak I may be, however many times I may stumble and fall. I will maintain a stolid resolve toward flawless refinement.

Many people face life’s vicissitudes vehemently trying to reconfigure their external world with no success. They cogitate “If my world will be right, I will be right” but the very opposite is true. “If I am right, my world will be right.” `

Change the way you think about the world, not how the world thinks about you.