To Those Who Watch the Watchers

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To those who watch the watchers,

When deliberately addressed, fear grips you by the throat as you fail in vain to express yourself. Denial is always your first step for the things you tell yourself are not so. The game of blame will be tossed around in order to juggle the burden of who said what how. But direct my finger shall go, pointed at the depths of all that you know. I have a message for you, for you who keep notes on the other watchers alike. For this innocent war, driven by then in order to never again become now, to be smothered. To extinguish the flame that only grows as you look at it. My wisdom to share is a simple one. Trust yourself

To those who watch and watch I begin by wondering, why do you have so many layers? Is it your superior complexity as your ego shall subtly suggest, or is life just a game of tag? One with infinite ways to go, and so, you develop the sight because of how far you could not run when your demons came screaming, you’re it!

Learning from the experience, you told yourself no more. You watched where others went in order to never be caught again. In this quest, as time goes on, you eventually found a difference between right and wrong. But I go back to my alleged wisdom and ask, have you forgotten that seeing and looking are nothing alike?

I think another analogy shall suffice. One day, probably long ago, you sat in your beautiful little home. Designed and decorated to your liking, your paradise was full of light as the gentle sun rays glided through your widows and illuminated your rooms. With a soft breeze cooling the house to your liking, you would find yourself at ease as you knew you were safe. But then one day, as these stories normally go, a storm came knocking. Blowing rain and violent winds throughout the house, your beautifully designed decor became a ruined, wet mess. In haste to preserve what you could, you closed every window and pulled the shades. Neighbors eventually came to check on your disgrace and you quickly learned to turn them away and lock the door in place. Shielded from the world in your cocoon, as you tried to rebuild with what is left, independence is something we find ourselves getting better at with age. But how do I distinguish the fine line of watchers watching watchers? How do I poke this particular case? It’s to say that you close this house but have a room made of glass. Just a spot, separate from the rest where you can see all and it can see you. Vulnerable as it may seem, partial is shall always endure. And on this line is where I place my reassurance, you have so much more you can be. 

Picture me as one who has been to your front door, not the side door made of glass. I knock lightly and await your response. Of course, you being you will instead insist that I am at the wrong door, but I know better. And you know that I know better. So I knock and maybe giggle in anticipation, but after some time I smile and leave you a note. The day ends and when all other eyes are closed you walk to that front door and unfold my little letter. Hi. You don’t have to answer the door for me, I get it, I honestly don’t even know if I could open it for you. But I just wanted to remind you where your front door is. I just wanted to remind you that you don’t have to keep running from the past. And I wanted to let you know that you can trust yourself, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. So I guess I just suggest that you open the windows and let in some fresh air. It’s not always storming and who knows, you may just catch a fleeting sunny day. 

Sincerely, 

A friend

The Beauty of Falling in Love

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Would you believe me if I said that I’m falling in love? Call me a romantic, but falling for love is surely one of the best ways to be. It’s a sort of calling that pulls me closer to the source. Rumble to stumble, I approach the warm gooey core that I call home. Where the snow falls only light, and the sun is never too bright. It’s a place where smiles are always returned. Where a simple touch can speak its own set of words. This land of the cliques and lip-biting pleasures follow a marble path capable of walking itself. 

I think people fail to see the beauty of this in-between. I know that I surely do. That this entrancement itself is something to strive for, not just the result. I know you will be skeptical. You may think that I am afraid of the end so I instead justify the middle. And to an extent you are correct. I am afraid of what happens after I am done falling. Of actually making a decision and seeing past the glow of her skin. Maybe it’ll still shine bright, or much how one smothers a small flame, the firepit may just become a burnt-out hole. 

I have a dream to share with you. It’s been a few weeks, so the beginning is lost. There was some conflict, and then I’m sure a resolution. I think I was protecting a few cows for some reason…¯\_(ツ)_/¯. 

Anyways, at the very end of my dream, I sat in a field of grass. I had something like a cloth over my eyes. Covering my view, all I could do was sit and feel. Suddenly, someone came from behind me and pressed their body up against my back. Wrapping her arms around my torso, the warmth of her clothes radiated into mine. Enwrapped in this feeling, I couldn’t help myself from smiling. It just felt so amazing. Like pure love had found me and called me their own. I could have cried, maybe I did, I wouldn’t remember. 

Sitting there with no clue of who this lover was, a growing ich to turn around began to take me over. All I wanted to do was to kiss this person. To have our lips touch and transcend from two bodies to one. This ich grew, the love was getting stronger. My back, once riddled in knots I hadn’t noticed before, was loosening with every breath. Shifting from a sharp unfeeling spine, it softened and lit up as the moments passed by. This love was so great that after what felt like a lifetime I turned around to face my beautiful other. Finally reaching for her, something changed. It felt as if whatever we had, whatever that moment was, vanished as soon as I broke the trance. Shifting the limbo into finalized action woke me. 

There’s something beautiful about the prance of love. The ritual of flirting. The spontaneous acts of showing how great you would be for that special other. The nervousness to do everything right because you think they do it so naturally. It’s both innocent and ancient. Our journey of love begins far before we’d like to admit. Love is why we do. Maybe not all the time or with everything, but I think it certainly should be. 

Do you know the feeling that I am talking about? I’m sure you do. It’s wonderful, isn’t it? It is not something to be rushed. Or something to be held. It is something that is and therefore makes. 

I can’t express in words the feeling that comes to me when I look around and remember what I’m seeing. Life is not something that we are placed within. It is instead the very thing that we are. The world you see is nothing separate from the person you see when in front of a mirror. Reflecting back what you give, your reality is given birth. Does this counter an objective/scientific belief? I don’t believe so. It instead adds to it. Therefore, what better life to make than one that uses love for its core.

I’m falling in love with someone. She’s as wonderful as us two together make her. I enjoy the path we lay together, and the circle we flow in. Yes, I know that things don’t need to change if I finally just tell her. But they might. So that’s why, for now, I’m okay with the thought of her dancing in my head. I’ll do my best to not reach out and take it because if love is given enough time it will heal you until you can know without seeing.

My Rage Against Racism


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Keywords: LiveLifeLiberated, My Rage against Racism, Systematic Racism, My views on Racism, What is systematic racism? United States, Black Lives Matter, BLM, All Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, Protests, Current Events, Police Brutality, George Floyd, Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Philando Castile, Breonna TaylorJamar Clark, Philando Castile, Police Protests

My Hundredth Post!

Wow, my hundredth post. Like… wow. It’s insane for me to realize that I’ve been writing on this blog for nearly two years now. And in that time I’ve written a hundred posts! Like what? How? It’s just insane! The whole thing truly is. And I sure do love it. 

I’ve spent this last week rereading my old posts and editing them up a bit… yeah, a lot of spelling mistakes, oops. First off, damn was I certain about my views in the beginning. So for any of you early readers, thank you for putting up with my arrogance. 

It’s funny to look back at it because I can fully understand why I came off the way I did. You see two years ago I had my first revolutionary conclusions on the world. For the first time, I had a complete understanding of society, individuals, people, you name it. It was perfect in my mind. Therefore, I knew it was a matter of opinion, but I simply only saw my opinion and no logic could break it so I figured what else could there be. 

The learning curve I was missing was that there is much more than just logic in this world. Yes, a logical conclusion is ideal, but at the root of all logic lies an assumption. And that my friend is what I was missing. An assumption is at the heart of everything we define as absolute, and it wasn’t until my next wave of assumptions came in that I saw more realities emerge. 

From what I’ve read, this is a natural part of essentially growing up. The process of realizing that your perspective is only one, of which is no more or less biased than any other. And so, truth is not found with building up our assumptions and perspectives to logical heights, but to instead maximize the assumptions and perspectives we have considered in our life. Because it is only at the root of thought that we can begin to see the truth. Haha, or maybe that’s another biased opinion. 😉 

The second thing I noticed with going through my old posts is that I used to be so much more serious. Geez, was I on a mission or what? Of course I still look to add helpful knowledge and understanding into the lives of my readers, but wow did I do it in a different way than now. I had direct messages. Direct ideas and views that I intended to address and call into question with each post. In other words, my driving force was to create change in the way that I thought was best, not just change for the sake of change. 

Now, I suppose I like to write in a looser feel. Besides it being more fun for me, I also hope you as the reader find it more enjoyable. Not just that, but I think this ties with the arrogant old self as well. I have always wanted you to feel and/or be a little better (notice the subjective word choice) with every blog post you read from this site. I used to think that had to be done in a certain way, but now I acknowledge that it’s more complicated than that. It’s unique to each reader. Therefore, I can’t just use the one size fits all model. I have instead resorted to looseness in my posts so that it is more about the message you take from these posts, rather than the message I intended for you to take. 

Rolling to my third reflection, I have my views, views that I think could help so many people, but that doesn’t mean they will. Something that took me a while to recognize is that truth is not our driving principle. As a species, I don’t believe that we strive to find the things that are most true. Some of us do, most of us think we do, but for the most part, we do not. I feel that our driving principle is instead to find the things that make us comfortable. The things that reinforce our realities, rather than destroy them.

And that was the awkward part for me. Because I made the blog thinking I would really turn some heads. I didn’t think I knew everything (or maybe I did think that and I just didn’t want to believe it), but I thought I knew enough. Enough to shed light on a subject that others were not. And with that glimmer of a light shown, I assumed that would be enough to get the reader thinking on their own. That the kick start is all that would be needed for them to then consider it and let me know their thoughts. And together, because that truly is the reason I made these posts public in the first place, we could get to the next step. Together we could consider what neither of us would have on our own.

But that’s not what happened. Instead, there was a silence. And not only did that make me sad, but it confused me for some time. I just didn’t get it. Even if everything I was saying was wrong, just say so. Reach out, break my logic or prove there are other assumptions, something, anything. Yet rarely anything happened. As I said, a silence.

So, what are my wise words? What masterful insight have I gathered from these one hundred posts? Well, I’d say that it’s okay. It’s okay if things don’t go as you planned. And it’s okay if the unexpected eventually becomes expected. 

It’s all so confusing you know? Ha, that might be why I love it so much, I don’t know 🙂

There’s my insight. Just smile. Lately, I’ve been ending a lot of my posts with a smile. Why? Well, because there is nothing more perfect than that. From what I’ve gathered, people will listen when they want, and they won’t when they don’t. People will understand you when they want, and they won’t when they don’t. And of course myself not being exempt, we are humans that create our own reality. We define the is and the is not. So to think that I can show you something that you don’t want to see, or tell you a view that you have no intention of listening to, is complete stupidity on my part. Therefore, it’s not about the ideas I have to share, but instead the feels. The experiences and moments. 

You see, it’s different because a feeling is something that can be shared, while an idea is given. I can’t give you anything that you don’t want, so there’s no need to try. Instead, I have a feeling that I want to share. Mutually felt. And that’s the warmth of a smile. A smile of support. A smile of gratitude. And a smile as a reminder that it’s okay and it always will be. 

So yeah, my message then is a smile. This may sound crazy, for insanity is genius without an audience, but nonetheless, my message is a smile. Maybe a thumbs up too, why not? I hope this blog helps or has helped you. But if it hasn’t, that’s okay, nobody is doing anything wrong, we’re just different.

I’ll keep writing, for now, but I just simply wanted to do a nice little recap. I’ve also made a new category of blog posts that you can find through the link or to the right of this post via the dropbox labeled “favorites”. There I have my ten favorite posts ever written. So, I hope you enjoy that and feel free to contact me with any questions, concerns, issues, solutions, or anything else you may have. 

Oh, and one last thing. If you would like to join the free subscription to this blog, please click the link below. All I do with this is notify you when I have a new post, I promise it’s nothing scary or spammy.

Subscribe!

And as for my promised final message, I present to you a world famous selfie with a thumbs-up:

I hope you have a good day 🙂

Take Me to Church

Big head, small brain. The thoughts do not come without a composer to take their lead. Lead you shall. Lead you will. For in the mind of one is the will of them all.

God took their hand and made them one. As one, the young mistook it as two, but who would say this is wrong.

They felt abreast thoughts without anything more than the orchestra they are. Oh how it felt. Oh how it was.

For heaven can appear up high when that is the direction you’re told to look. Look below and you find the same, but same has nothing to blame.

Except you! Don’t you see my child, it is all you. A kin to what you know and must create. Allow feathers to flutter and you shall not fall. No matter the reason! Flight is all.

Now step back and see. Direction is one and god is none. You… are some.

This is my Life

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No matter what phase of life I have found myself in, this life analogy seems to hold true. I’m not saying this is true for everyone, surely it could be, but for certain I find it accurate for myself. Recently I even added to this analogy. I developed another layer of personal truth to this metaphor. So, here we go. Might as well share it:

Picture yourself in the middle of the ocean. Turning your head a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, you see nothing but the endless blue. There’s nothing special about your location; it is unknown. You’re simply treading water as the ocean moves around you.

The water is currently a lovely light blue as the sun beams its beautiful rays through the sky. A few clouds here and there, but for the most part, the sky is left empty for the vibrate shades of blue to fill in the rest. This day is a nice day. There are many nice days. And as you may have guessed, not all days are nice days.

Sometimes the ocean is hit with a storm. Pulling and tugging, you are sent left and right, up and down. As the waves grow larger, you feel smaller. You’re powerless, desperate for the wave’s mercy. At these times you may wonder if you will survive. If you will be lucky enough for the waves to give grace and let you free. 

This is of course false. For no matter the wave, it is you who carries the strength to stay afloat. And although it appears to be the ocean that determines your survival, it is actually always yourself. It is how you pace yourself. You can kick harder, learn a better technique, or move your hands side to side faster, all allowing more of your body to be above water. All allowing bigger, steadier breathes. Let me tell you something, to take a deep breath after a long night can feel exhilarating. But it’s hard to maintain.

The more you move your body, the more tired you become. Although you are warm from the sun and breathing with ease, your muscles begin to ache. They start to scream out in agony. Although you may hate to admit it, you’re simply not strong enough. You know you need a break.

So you let yourself sink. Lowering your body until just your mouth is afloat. Taking slow breathes, your muscles relax. Depending on how tired you are, you may just sink all the way.

Taking a big breath right before your rest, you allow your entire body to sink as your muscles completely stop moving. Hovering just above the surface, this too, surprisingly, can feel like a lovely rush. Your muscles are at total peace. No movement, no pain, no need. And for a few seconds, it’s okay. But then you are faced with a decision.

Feeling your lungs convert the once beautiful oxygen into carbon dioxide, you desire another breath. You desire another gulp of fresh air. Sometimes you do, but other times you hesitate because you’re simply so sore and tired. Left with the ultimate decision, some never rise back up, and thankfully, most do.

There’s another part to this story that you may not know. Some hear of it and they laugh. Some consider it and they grow scared. Some do it and only then do they understand.

Although the ocean appears endless, it surely is not. It is vast and wide, but it has defined boundaries. It has edges that we call land. Where one doesn’t need to tread water to take a breath, they just simply breathe. 

I can’t tell you the direction to swim, and only you can learn how to swim, but I can say it probably doesn’t matter. North is as good as South as long as you keep swimming North once you have begun. As long as you are not discouraged as others swim past you and tell you to turn around. They don’t know any more than you do. That’s okay. Because they will find their land if they keep going, and you will find yours. 

Life is treading water in an ocean that has a mind of its own with goals external from your own. It does not own you, but it does affect you, and you must learn the difference. No matter what you hear, just remember, there is a path worth going other than down. You just have to believe it, even if you don’t see it. Because who knows, if you go far enough, you may just find a nirvana you can reach.

——-

I’m full right now. I am whole. And there’s so much left to do. So much left I could grow to. It’s only up if I want it to be. This brings a thought to mind. There’s even more to this analogy.

To continue life’s analogy there is a mountain to the land that you spent so long traveling to. At first, you think why climb it, but then you think why not. And so, you do.

Slowly, you play on the terrain you never knew existed. The sturdiness of the rocks, the sun’s warmth captured by the land, and the calmness of breath all come to your attention as you feel your complete control.

This mountain is tall, older than time, and you are small, younger than you believe. But it doesn’t feel this way as you get higher. The mountain doesn’t feel so different anymore. And although you don’t find another climber, you feel less alone.

This mountain for some is endless. Endless to them because their finite selves simply took too long. For others, it takes decades, or years. Maybe for a lucky few, it’s only months. But no matter who you are, it’ll take time… lots and lots of time.

Upon summiting this mountain, you see a view that dreams were never so creative to make.

The view is everything. Everything to exist is in front of you. Everything that is, is right there and of course, you smile. Because from up there everything is beautiful. Everything is perfect. And nothing is separate.

Sitting down on the mountain top, you cry, you laugh and then you see. Just seeing. You see until you can not any longer. Because your brain gets tired since a finite mind can only hold an infinite experience for so long.

With tired eyes, you thank yourself for treading water for so long. Because only then did you have the strength to swim. You thank your need to breathe because then did you desire land. And you thank your finite existence because that is as perfect as you need to know.

Your eyes close and you never move again. Are you dead? Well to you, yes. But to them, the one sitting on that mountain top seeing all, they died the moment they took their look upon all the perfectness. The body smiled atop the mountain, but the I at that point knew better than to say it had ever lived.

You are a House

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Let’s look at your house. It has a particular size, shape, color, interior, exterior, age, wear and tear, and location. There is nothing special about this house other than the dimensions that it is defined by.

And of course, this house is on a street. The street determines this house, and this house determines the street. Influencing one another, they flow in self-creation. Now, of course, this house can be built how it would like, but there are regulations. Could you imagine how a street would look with one bright pink wooden home in the rural brick surrounding? It could happen sure (assuming one has the funding to even do so), but it would be difficult. Neighbors may protest, sightseers may question, and the pink house would be blamed for disturbing the peace, “for just needing to stand out.”

With hundreds of other houses lined on that same street, the house is a part of a neighborhood. As neighborhoods are, they exist somewhere. They are next to certain neighborhoods and farther from others. Just like the houses that make up this neighborhood, the neighborhood has a spot with other spots being filled by other neighborhoods.

Finally, of course, this house believes it has an owner. And that my friend is what makes this house so interesting.

You see the house is a bit confused. It has been since it was built. The house believes that it is a tiny human living within the house. So, rather than seeing itself as the house, it believes it resides within the house. That it is instead something that uses the house just you use your arms and brain.

The reality, whether this house sees it or not, is that there is no person in the house. To be in fact there is nothing within the house other than the rooms and the things within the rooms that are currently there.

And it’s quite sad really. Because we can understand, once we know that nobody is in the house, that the house is perfect.

Why? Because there is no value to any part of the house. No color of paint on the walls is better than any other without someone saying so. No room can be more important than another without someone “needing” to have or use them. And no furniture, or mattress, or sink, or refrigerator, or oven, or literally anything would need to be replaced. All these things would instead just be so, and nothing would require it to be “better”. The house itself can cater to all its needs. 

What are a house’s needs? Nothing. It prefers to stand tall among the other houses but it surely doesn’t need to. 

And at this point, we must be exact. The “rooms” are 3-dimensional boxes. The “house” is a larger box that holds all the smaller boxes in their current form. And the neighborhood’s arbitrary borders truly do not exist. You see, in reality, all these things are really just one massive, infinite thing. One thing that is everything and therefore nothing. That my friend, is the universe. We my friend, are the universe.

You may ask yourself, why will the house continue to exist then? If the house is truly just a box, then what is its purpose? Homes are built to shelter and protect their owners and guests. That is their function, their reason to be. So, what can be said for this?

That question, that way of thinking, is limited. It still frames reality assuming that the one asking is a person within a house. You see, what greater purpose are you looking for? You are perfect! You are one with everything and everything is one with you! Can’t you see how amazing that is? Can’t you feel the sensation of total bliss as nothing can harm you? And can’t your existence be such a miracle that you enjoy every waking minute because that is just another minute you have provided yourself to experience everything that you do?

A house is really not a house, but we shall call it one to understand. A house is not alone. And a house is not owned. It itself is the owner of its own creation. And it itself is the determiner of everything that it defines as truth.

A house is made of materials the same as any other. Such similar materials that one could mistake one house for another (and that truly wouldn’t be a mistake). You see the houses just think that they are different because they all believe that they have different owners. And if they would just look inside they would not see anything but themselves, yet as much as they think they have done so before, rarely has this act actually been done.

When a house can see itself for what it is, it will learn to love its finite parts. It will understand that when it eventually falls, because it surely will, that its pieces shall be reused to build something else. Maybe not even another home. Maybe it’ll go into the dirt and eventually decompose into the soil and allow a new form of life to flourish.  

It shall not perish. No. For that is impossible. It will change, but let’s be honest, the only reason we think any change at all is happening is because we are still looking at the object as a house. Haha, even looking at it as an object is a misconception. 

Don’t you see? There is nobody in the house. And since nobody is in the house it is not a house at all. It is a part of the universe it resides within and is. It is perfect because there is no other way to be. Perfection in a lack of difference. Perfection in an inability to compare. Perfection is simply perfectness. 

And when that house falls just remember, nothing is lost, it can only be found.

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Explaining Privilege

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Life is really hard. Like, really hard. It’s confusing. It’s unpredictable. It’s a solo adventure. And sometimes, it’s just flat-out sad. 

From one perspective, hell is all around the world. Tragedies occur every day. 27 million people are still enslaved this second. Roughly ten percent of the world’s population lives on less than $1.90 a day. And as we kill ourselves and each other, the very Earth we do these activities in is continuing to crumble.

Extremes like these are by no means the limit to this hell we call life. The systems of oppression we live within, limit the wellbeing and ability of minorities all throughout the United States. The imbalance of enforcement has led to mass incarceration in proportionately towards people of color and only .05 percent of sexual assault charges lead to time being served. Along with stigmas and social norms that ban the ideas and actions of anything not wanting to be heard.

Let’s get even less extreme. Let’s go to me. A white, straight, middle-class, relatively intelligent, blue-eyed male living in the United States. What do I have to complain about? Well, in one sense, a lot. 

The biggest relationship of my life ended terribly. I have divorced parents who raised me in polar opposite environments. I was diagnosed with mild Asperger’s syndrome and celiac disease. I constantly go in and out of the ringer called depression. The occasional mild episode of insanity likes to sprinkle itself into my life. And some other shit I’m sure.

People around the world have their lives ruined by things that they have little or no control over. Things that we did not want to happen, yet do anyways. I feel that everyone must have their fair share of personal experiences that makes, or has made, our lives really fucking hard.

So what should we think of this? It would seem that no matter who you are, or where you are, life can sometimes be really hard. The thing is, and this is a tough pill to swallow, as hard as your life is now… it can always be harder.

I’ve had a hard life. I really think I have. It has been pretty gritty at things and my mental issues have rarely helped. But… as hard as it has been for me, it could be sooooo much harder.

Who would I be if the size and distribution of melanocytes in my skin tissue were large enough for society to deem me “black”? Genetically the same of course, so probably pretty similar intelligence and mental circumstances. But how many microaggressions would it take until I felt the effects? How many people zoning out as I raise my hand in class would it take until I stopped? And how much concern would I receive for my subjective mental health issues? Would anyone even bat an eye at my cries for help, or would it more likely be seen as an “emotional outburst”? (Oh wait, that’s just if I was classified female).

** I do not intend to justify or normalize the situations that I wrote above for people of color or women. I am simply referring to the case-proven studies that find microaggressions and subconscious biases as factors that influence how people of color and women are seen and heard. Of which are truly unfair and unjustifiable. **

Who would I be if I was born into poverty? If all I had to my name were the things I carried? They would probably weigh me down. Not the objects in my pockets of course, but instead the burdens lying within my mind. Would the stress of not being guaranteed dinner distract me from my algebra? Would my stained, handy-down clothing stop others from approaching me? And who knows, maybe I wouldn’t have been cheated on… because she would have never dated me in the first place.

Who would I be if I was born in Malawi? Or Somalia? Or Tanzania? Or are all of them just “Africa” in your mind? Haha, that’s assuming you knew they were in Africa. Who would I be when the average GDP per capita is only $596 (it’s $62,794.6 in the U.S). I suppose the stigma would go away, but how does one grow in such an environment? How can someone, assuming still me with their “relative intelligence”, prosper and add something to even themselves. And this is assuming we won the lottery of not having a deadly disease (such as HIV, Malaria, TB, etc.), not being owned (assuming poverty alone isn’t ownership), not being one of the 60 million children without primary education, and not being one of the 3.1 million children who die each year from undernutrition.

The point of this post is not to make you feel bad. And it’s definitely not intended to belittle your own suffering. It is instead to show that privilege, by sheer luck and systems of advantage society seems to pretend are natural, has allowed you, me, and so many others, to live a better life than the one we have now. And it’s still hard as hell at times, but damn, it can be harder.

The Land of the Monsters

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Waking from a sleep that is in its own way a lifetime, a boy is flooded with thoughts that equate to when one considers the vastness of the universe. Only when one first realizes they too shall grow old and die. Only when words like ‘sonder’ and ‘rubatosis’ integrate themselves into one’s lived experience. 

Emotions bubble up like a packaged deal with these thoughts. Anger, joy, fear, pride, lust, greed, happy, sad, and most of all, confusion. It’s all there in one mouthful, but just as my mother taught me, don’t bite off more than you can chew. Because with these thoughts, these emotions, this moment, can come suffocation: an entrapment with no walls;  fear with no threat; a death with no life.

Get a hold of yourself! The boy was young, and with that, his brain was silenced. For a person is a god of themselves without the devil of insecurities weighing on their decisions.

Opening his eyes, for what could be the first time, the boy finds himself lying in a field on his back. Naked, without contemplating shame, the boy takes note of his new sensations. Cold from the dampened grass gently pressed against his back, yet warm from the sun’s rays sprinkling throughout his body. Quiet from the stillness of the land, yet loud as the breeze conducts its symphony through Earth’s vegetation. Colorful with the natural wonders all around him, yet colorless in the brief moments his eyelids refresh the view. 

Digging his fingertips through the blades of grass that rest beneath him, he finds the soft, cold soil. The edges of his fingers then begin to follow the greenery as they rise from the ground below. Gently rubbing along these thin plants, he traces their movement as they travel up to the sky.

Now, with both hands pointing at the absolute blue, the boy takes note of its brilliance. Without a cloud in the sky to ground one’s thoughts, he wonders just how far he would float until Earth grew jealous and asked for his return. Like a sailor out to sea, he wondered if he would grow tired of water and search for land, or if the land would become obsolete. 

The boy then came to a conclusion that would never bend. An assumption of the world that would be true for him until his end. Earth is his home. He loves his home. Whether that be the moist soil that tops the land, the heavens illuminating the sky, or the never-ending ocean filling the in-betweens, the boy loves it all. Earth, in its many forms, is his to love forever. 

Accepting his thought as fact, he feels that it is now time to move, for an assumption begins every path. First pushing with both palms of his hands against the sturdy ground below, he curls his back upward to an upright position. As he moves, his vision changes from the sky above to the land around him. He is delighted. Watching the squirrels chase one another, the birds gossip in song, and the autumn leaves fluttering to the ground in their unique shades, he knows that he is not alone in calling Earth home. 

Getting to his feet, the boy begins to walk. Walk to where? Well, that’s easy, he followed the path. Existing for him, and him alone, the boy would have preferred to skip down the yellow brick road his eyes configured. 

Why was the boy imagining a road? Well, in short, the boy was only human. Humans are bound to a road they set themselves yet are convinced it is set for all.

Walking the path, he encounters many different shapes and sizes that we call nature. Grinning from ear to ear, the boy feels enwrapped by wonder. A heaven that he hopes has no end. No, a nirvana that he will allow no end. He loves his home, and just as children believe that they can protect their parents, the boy knew he would not let anything hurt his beloved world. 

Unfortunately, high expectations are commonly followed by disappointment. With every created heaven, there must lie a hell.

Skipping through the forest, on the path he would never question, whistling along with a nearby robin, the boy skids to a stop. He hears a noise in the distance. Happiness flutters into confusion which subsides to fear to then deflect into anger. Another boom fills the air. The racket is loud and destructive, carried with this sound is death. The boy is sure of it. The noise is infiltrating the harmony and as a third crack jolts his eardrums, the final stage is reached. The boy’s anger becomes an uncontrollable rage. 

What is that? It needs to stop!

The boy flounces towards the source of the noise with his fists clenched. Does he notice the path veering with him towards the commotion? Does he recognize that his unbinding direction turned ninety degrees within a flickering second? No, of course he doesn’t.

He had only been speed walking for five minutes until he knew he was close. The cracks and smashes were growing louder. Destruction was unarguable now. The boy was certain that something was meddling with nature. Something was breaking the peace.

Nearing the fight against his unknown foe, his impatience grew yet his intelligence persisted. He wanted the element of surprise on his side. Sooner however than anticipated, a dark figure suddenly comes into his view. He jolts to the side, pressing his back against a tree. Slowing his breath, he feels certain that it didn’t see him. 

After a few moments, he hears another explosion of noise from behind him. The boy nearly leaped out right then as he watched an entire tree fall to the left of him. A TREE!?! IT’S KILLING TREES!?! 

Self-control now hovers at rock bottom as he risks a glance from behind his hiding place. Wiggling his head so that just his right pupil is exposed, he sees the back of an eight-foot figure. No, ten-foot. Hunched over, the thing was looking down on the ground. Right on top of the boy’s path that now swirled all around where the thing stood, it poked and pried at something on the ground. 

IT’S DESECRATING THE TREE!

The boy sizes up his opponent. With large sasquatch-like feet, accompanied by hairy legs, the creature first seems to be some kind of animal. But when continuing to look up its body, the boy notices its square metallic torso. Extending from that torso were two crab-like snappers picking at whatever was on the ground in front of it. 

A MONSTER!?! The boy thinks. AN EVIL MONSTER! IT MUST DIE!

The boy did not shutter as he advanced. He was not going to let evil exist in heaven. He did what he knew was best. 

The boy kicks down on the monster’s calf, causing its knee to drop to the ground and lose its balance. Not missing his opportunity, the boy extends his arm and pushes as hard as he can against the front of the monster’s metal chest. Forcing the monster down, the boy is about to kick its head in when he froze. 

Seeing the monster’s face for the first time, the boy was shocked to find the face of an older man. Maybe around the age of sixty, the face looked as human as they come. One chin, two cheeks, one mouth, two ears, one nose, two eyes, and one forehead. Just the average person with the body of a monster. Funny how looks can be deceiving. 

In the boy’s hesitation, the man, no, the monster took action. Extending his its claws, the monster grabs a hold of the boy and throws him. Flailing through the air, the boy lands hard onto his stomach.

Getting the wind knocked out of him, the boy takes a moment and realizes his error. He no longer had the upper hand. Hearing snaps and cracks, the boy sees the monster advancing. Struggling to his feet, he braces for impact. 

The monster kicks the boy, sending him back into a tree. Peeling away from the tree, the boy barely avoids another blow as the monster barrels through. Destroying the entire two-hundred years of photosynthesis, the monster takes a moment before continuing to pursue his its prey.

Aching all over, the boy gets back to his feet as he decides between fight or flight. Looking around, the boy knows the decision is made for him. Seeing the upturned dirt and leaves, destroyed trees, and squashed brushes, the boy knew he could never run from such cruelty.

Looking the monster in the eyes, the boy screams as he runs forward. Leaping to his feet, the monster is caught off guard by the boy’s sudden attack and fails to avoid a direct blow to the face.

Dazed, the monster stubbles a step backward. The boy sends another punch, and then another. With his right fist growing sore, he begins to alternate between right and left punches until the monster is down to his its knees. 

This time, without hesitation, the boy does what he should have from the beginning. Taking the monster by the head, the boy shifts its chin as far right as it will go and then pulls up. Instantly snapping the neck in half, the monster drops to the ground.

Breathing heavily, the boy looms over his kill for a moment. Oblivious to the black ora of energy steaming off of him, he told himself that it was over. He had won and in this victory, he was not only relieved, but he was also happy. Smiling like the devil himself, his guilty grin could not be concealed even if he cared to try.  

Using what strength he had left, the boy reaches down and pulls on the monster’s chest. Surprisingly easy, the boy is able to remove the metal torso from the monster onto himself. He realizes then that the metallic frame was only a form of armor. Once removed, the monster’s bare chest lay vulnerable for the world to see. And that, like its face, was as human as they come. The boy fits the armor and agrees with himself that this will protect him in a future fight. 

Time to go back to heaven, the boy thought.

Before he was ready to enjoy the wonders of planet Earth again, curiosity overtook him. Tracing his steps in joyful dance, the boy walked back to where he had first found the monster. Now standing where the monster stood before the boy interfered saved the day, he looked down.

The boy saw thin strips of wood peeled from the broken-down trees. Entwined, the wood bent around itself into a ring. Extending up and out, it seemed to grow branches in obscure angels. Covered in a stickiness that the boy later identified as sap, a sprinkling of a thousand pine needles were gathered throughout. Making a glowing green, the tree on the ground seemed more alive than most of the trees around it. In short, it was art. Beautiful, art.

Looking at this creation, however, the boy saw everything but. Broken limbs, dead trees, nature destroyed. That is what he saw. With rage boiling once again, the boy looked at the evil he was witnessing and apologized to mother Earth for not stopping the massacre sooner. 

He promised Earth, his home, his nirvana, that he would not stop until the land of monsters was cleansed. Not until every ounce of evil was rectified. With this purpose came fulfillment. Although he believed he failed today, he knew he would not fail tomorrow.

Stomping the art to pieces, the boy continued forward on his golden path. A swirling, beautiful walkway with no destination other than up ahead. 

The boy spent the rest of his life walking the path. Laying waste to all the monsters he came across and collecting their armor and weapons as he went, the boy grew better and better at stopping his evil. Not because he wanted to. No, he dreamed every day of being able to sit back and relax. How great it would, he thought, if only there wasn’t so much evil in the world. You see, he didn’t kill monsters because he wanted to, he killed them because it was the right thing to do. 

The Yin and Yang of Identity

Image Credit: https://www.corporatecomplianceinsights.com

Being one of the trickier ideas I have attempted to tackle, it took me weeks of deliberate thought to come to a conclusion on the subjective understanding of identity. Attempting to write multiple blog posts on the subject, it seemed impossible for me to understand the idea of what we identify as. Knowing that the I that I identify with was merely a construct, I questioned how identity worked since there was nothing absolute about it. To better understand this idea, I investigated my own past and found personal proof of this subjective identity. An example of such is that at a young age, sometime in middle school, I began to dress a bit more casually. And by casually, I mean that I began to resort to the cheapest, comfiest clothing I could find. Going from jeans to sweatpants and button-downs to t-shirts, I began to downgrade the quality of my outfits. It was only later in my life that I began to question why I would do such a thing. At the time I gave people the usual answer of, “It is more conformable”. And that was true, I really enjoyed comfortable clothing at the time. The soft material of sweatpants was far easier to sit in compared to the tight, rough cotton jeans I moved away from. Therefore, I was not lying, yet I always knew I was holding back the whole story. There was more to it than just physical comfort; I realized in later years that my transition was also for mental comfort.

I was, and still am, an extremely emotional person. Growing up with this characteristic made certain parts of my life difficult. Accompanied by my social awkwardness and slight Asperger’s, I was an easy target in middle school. Not in a way that I was bullied, but I simply couldn’t win any fight I was thrown in. Verbally, I was a lost cause for most of my childhood. I seemed to always fall short on comebacks/what to say to the other middle schoolers who were desperately attempting to release their raising testosterone levels. 

Therefore, I adapted. If I couldn’t win the verbal fights/stop them from happening, then I found the best course of action was for it to not both me. I figured that if what they said couldn’t hurt me, then I would be fine no matter how many arguments and smack talkings I lost. Not being a conscious thought at the time, I slowly started drifting into that persona. I wore clothes that showed that I didn’t care about what they thought. I brushed off any insults and made myself seem impervious to them. I came off as someone who couldn’t be hurt, which led people to question why they would even bother.

I share this experience with you because it truly confused me when trying to understand identity. It confused me because that persona, that identity, was constructed. I made that person up, and then made myself as close as I could to that person. I can very objectively reflect on the situation and see that now. Yet here I am, twenty years old, and now I can say that I continue to wear sweatpants and ragged clothing because I truly do not care. Unless I am going to an event with required formality, I typically wear the cheapest clothing I can find. A running joke with my friends is that every day I have at least one piece of clothing with at least one unintended hole in it. These days, I believe that I truly wear these clothes because it is cheap and that I would prefer to spend my money elsewhere. 

Now what confused me for so long is how this could be. How could something that was once a construct feel so true and absolute about who I am as a person today? How did I go from forcing myself to wear cheap clothing to believing I enjoy cheap clothing because the idea of consuming high-end clothes disgusts me? This question is what left me clueless about identity until I literally and figuratively saw the answer I was looking for.

 ——-

Walking back from class, I was listening to Caamp with my headphones on. Feeling great as his beautifully raspy voice filled my mind, a visual experience began. Much like a daydream that I didn’t really expect/control, I began to picture one of my friends and I were facing each other. With defeat in her eyes, I imagined her looking down to the ground, ignoring my attempts to cheer her up. Eventually, the version of myself in this hallucination pulls from behind his back a glowing orb with a mix of yellow and white colors swishing around on the inside. Smiling, I show the orb to my friend. This orb symbolized hope and happiness, and most of all, love. Shaking her head, my friend reaches from behind her back and pulls out her orb. Unlike mine, hers is the same size, but entirely black. Her orb symbolizes worthlessness, hopelessness, and death. Showing me her orb, through no words at all, she explains that it is just different for her. She explains that she is just not like me in that way and that we pull our energy and ourselves from different sources.

The vision of myself is not convinced. Continuing to smile, he reaches from behind his back again and pulls the same orb that she has. It is all black, and just like hers, it symbolized death. Holding one in each hand, my friend looks confused. She questions how that is possible, how I can have both death and life coincide. Then again, without any words, it is understood that this is possible because I made them both. Neither are final, and neither are absolute. I explain to her that I began with the black orb, but as time went on, I didn’t want that anymore. Artificially, I created the bright yellow and white orb. And do not be mistaken, just because I constructed it does not mean it is not real. In their own ways, each orb is as real and powerful as the other. With this understood, my friend put her orb down on the ground. Using her pointer finger, she slowly poked the black orb and just as her finger made contact with the orb, a circle of bright yellow and white splashed around her finger.

The visual then ended with me almost getting hit by a car in the physical world… I was a bit preoccupied and did not think to check before crossing. That visual thought let me finally understand identity. Rushing to the nearest empty workspace, I quickly wrote the segment below in fear of forgetting:

There is no true identity, but that’s okay. It is instead forever changing between everything you encounter and experience. The things you encounter, which is derived from nature and nurture, determine who you are and who you want to be. You are no more the person you want to be than the person you are. The person you want to be is what motivates you to be who you are now. The person you are now shows you what you wish you were more like. It’s the yin and yang of your identity. The way to find true happiness in relation to identity is by being happy for who you are now, yet also striving to be a healthier person. To have a goal of how you want to become, but not need to become it. Neither identity is more real, which is odd at first. At first, we feel that who we are now is the true identity, but that would be the same as saying the future does not matter because it is not the present yet. Who you want to be is just as important for who you are because you once wanted to be who you are now. It’s a constant perfection of who you are. And it is this perfection that is relative to what you feel is perfect. Which to reiterate, your definition of perfection is contingent on the internal and external interactions you have had throughout your life. The yin and yang of identity is a constant one because there is no absolute person you are and there is no absolute person you want to be.

I have found identity to be a rather complex balance between who we want to be and who we are. Always subject to change as time and experiences present themselves to us, I find nothing absolute or restricting about identity. I instead find it to be something that fluidly moves as we learn to care or not care about things within and around us.

If you would like to share your own views or confusion on the topic, please comment below to allow a productive/healthy conversation that we can ideally both learn from.