Illusions of Torment

In the moments that have passed since I wrote the words you are about to read and this moment, just a Saturday night polishing up some words written over the past weeks, several thoughts occurred to me, judgements, such as, why share this, to what ends, wondering if I should publish these words here at all, what exactly am I giving here and who could possibly receive anything from this, within those judgements I made on these words, there is that idea of a me, a thought, one that I can be hurt or destroyed, so I decided that rather than believe that, I would simply say, I am as far out there in the universe as I will ever be, so yeah, I am down with that, I can believe that, I am here to bring different perspective, that is all I have to offer you, but as we will shall see, if we really look inward, we begin to examine the nature of our situation, a situation we all share, we see it is pleasure and pain, but to share with you, the giving and receiving, I must let you in, for me that not always so clear how to achieve, in writing or love. Anyway, take it or leave it but I offer this up to receive if it is meant for you.

There are moments a man finds himself with the peace to really reflect on present circumstances, acknowledging what is, in reality the peace comes from the acknowledging, and this is where the choice has to be made, glacially slow in style and form, life comes together in ways within our dimension of rational thought but just outside our grasp of understanding, here I am, siting back, watching it unfold.

Clear back in November was the last time these feet set foot on an airplane, by my count, my longest stretch in one spot in nearly four years. Such a circumstance tends to slow my creative juices, if past results are in fact indicative of the truth, eliciting the question on occasion from friends, “have you been writing?”, pages and pages, notebook after notebook, empty pen after empty pen, been that way for the last year, but not the sort of writing that has any direction or concept, rather, ramblings of the self, an exploration of my consciousness, been doing some sorting out there you could say, in journal writing there is nothing to judge, nothing to edit, it is pure stream of conscious or unconscious thought, just a purge if you will, writing to no ends, to no purpose, it is pure, and someday, some human is going to read it all, I imagine the look on their face when they unlock that cabinet and find the stacks of journals, and begin perusing through all my thoughts, “me”, something tells me it will all be oh so familiar to them, and ultimately that is the point I am attempting to get at here… Back to the reduced travel, being in my energetic space, my home, brings me gratitude for the stillness, after the living arrangements kept these past few years, but that is certainly not to say adventures don’t await in future moments, because they do, grander visions then I have ever dreamed but for all intents and purposes, I have been fully living out my best hermit self these past few months of winter, but for the first time in years, there are no winter blues, suppose that is also just an acceptance of what is, which was most likely a symptom of not accepting my circumstance in the past, its winter after all, cold, dark, and dreary. Those blues were reason to escape for sunnier skies and beaches these past three years.  What I am trying to get at here is that the stillness in relative geographic location but within the flow of consciousness, has been needed, grateful for it!

Back to that writing thing, as an act, it is certainly something the self identifies with, to write interesting things, transmitting curious ideas of conscious thought with our symbols of language, drivel for another human with free will to choose to read or not, it is an interesting pursuit to say the least, and something that is mystifying when I consider it, what place does it come from within me, as mentioned before, its not something I seem to control, not with my will anyway, and filling up a few notebooks every couple of months, is not the same thing. Suppose one could say I am writing for myself, the sorting out of self and what is, occasionally that will work out into some muse to publish, but not with consistent regularity. The flow of interesting words and ideas, personal ideas that stretch my reality beyond the fabric of space time and human consciousness, there is the appearance of weight, gravity, such that I wouldn’t dare share, feeling some need to hide these away, the illusion of security created by isolating my mind into this safe place, in my journal away from prying eyes, these are the deep recesses of the illusion of self and its struggle against pure consciousness.  My torment is contained in those pages, or the illusion of torment anyway, the illusion of torment all humans face, the illusion of self, the chatter, putting it down on those pages brings awareness to it, consciousness, awareness to the sorting out of thought and circumstances, creating awareness that is not without the thoughts of the self, but rather conscious thought integrated with the illusion the self creates, that is where peace lives for us humans.

There is flow to this experience being a hominid, the most complex and sophisticated pattern of energy and matter in the known universe, the human body and mind, consciousness, we know that we know, I better stay on track here, the hominid experience, this past year, simply an abundance of life, beautiful life, there was new love, and lost love, friendships made, friendships that have faded, all of which could be forever, or maybe just for now, who knows, profound sadness, tears of joy, elation, and then all the curious experiences of life, sensual pleasures, delicious food and drink, a great cup of coffee in an exotic local, travel, learning, or just staying home and being a hermit, all the stuff the self might judge, as good or bad, and everything in between, with truth being, this flow of feeling is perfect however its unfolding for me. That is not to say that feeling is not real, it is very real, in fact I have been feeling profound sadness after losing love, but in that feeling is the experience we are meant to have, its perfect, just as it is. There is no other state to attain, no magical bliss away from pain, there is just consciousness to what actually is. Within the illusion of torment between the self and what is, I can now see as clearly as the Milky Way blazing across the darkness of an early fall sky deep in the Rocky Mountains, this is where much of my writing has come from in the past, I suppose in that place of turbulence, people find creative inspiration as a way to due battle with the endless thoughts of the self, I can understand that, shit Van Gogh cut his ear off, and Thoreau withdrew from societal norms, creativity sometimes comes in the reflection of torment, so now I am faced with a new circumstance, what to publish here to give you the same peak into my mind, which has been the ends I always aspired too, where this “me” currently resides, a place of peace, an awareness to the matrix if you will, as opposed to that space in between the self’s illusion of torment and what is.

I suppose this represents my best attempt at that aspiration, letting you in for look see, as the adventures pick up later this year, this time of stillness in geographic location will end, and I will be headed to dance with ayahuasca again, business and friends beckon me from Boston, mix in some van life later this summer, a time to be filled with endless highways, mountain rivers and lakes, its all coming into view for a long stretch, trout and mountain vibrations. These sorts of moments typically inspire creativity for me, the change of scenery shaking something lose that in the moment seemed lost, there is simply no forcing such issues in this universe that our consciousness exists within, the trying is a futile act, it must come from what is, not from the self’s desire for the act.

I mentioned earlier that just maybe I was sorting something out with my writing, as if there was even something to sort out, but that’s beside the point, this is the illusion of self, and the source of the torment and pain that is very much human, this is where we judge ourselves, judge others, judge our circumstances as right or wrong and everything else imaginable, we tell ourselves all sorts of thing, the thoughts are endless, we are selfish, we are greedy, we are too poor, we look funny, we are not good enough, not successful enough, we are just not enough, basically every which way we can conceive how we might be flawed or lacking, all those things that exist within the illusion of self, the list could go on and on, but the reality is this exists in all of us in one dimension or another. So are we all flawed fundamentally? I think not, maybe it is happening for us. Just maybe these thoughts are not real, not in the way they are presented to us by the self, but we can’t help ourselves, we are taken in by illusion, it is so real, a perfect dream, our whole experience of being human is filtered though illusion, a book if you will, of our past experiences, memories, and the core conditioning imprinted on us as brand new human children, to which we act out throughout our lives. While I know my story is unique to me and comes from a different place than others, the truth is every human being walking the earth is posed with this same experience in one form or another. Just maybe that in and of itself is the gift of human consciousness, what we are here to live out, to experience it all, all to the purpose of fully becoming what we are, pure conscious energy, and in that our judgements about the pleasure and pain of the experience are all part of the illusion.

Back to this ayahuasca thing I mentioned earlier, what else can I say, my adventurous spirit keeps things interesting and I wouldn’t stop it even if I could, I awoke one day, back a month or so ago, and knew that I had to dance again, made my reservation that day, it will have been just over one year since my last visit to the top of the spiritual plateau, my reasoning, as we peel back layers of self and become more aware, we find more self, more consciousness too, but also more self, layer after layer, if that makes any sense. Its time to peel back the next layer of the onion, core conditioning to which I have full awareness, but the tentacles of chemical neural networks are rooted deep in my brain, layered in unconscious parts of my mind, the core conditioning that writes the story’s for the illusion of self, I am betting that Maya Aya can help me let go, to see beyond it, what might be possible for me in this experience, that is my intention, and with understood intent is the only reason to make the choice I am making, signing myself up for certain pain but also delightful beauty, the extremes of feeling that is conscious existence on earth, nothing to be entered into lightly or without due regard to the power you are harnessing. 

Probably about time to put a bow on this thing, wrap it up, so I will offer up a perspective, it is all I have to offer you, a way to look at our collective experience; I recognize that I am an actor playing out my part in the cosmic movie of life on planet earth, there is gratitude for the part I am playing, a force to be reckoned with, pure conscious energy, diabolically methodical so long as I take breath into this body, I will act out whatever role my mind can dream up, playing the game, in all its perfection, as the universe experiencing itself within the cosmic plot, just as you do, just as we all do. The remembrance of which can shift the perspective of the human experience to one of peace, creating distance from the illusory lens of torment, one of stillness, sort of like seeing it all for the first time, with the curiosity of a child, and that is out there for all of us, we have all the answers we will ever need, there is nothing to search for, nothing to find, there are no answers that exist outside of ourselves, each of us are already everything we ever needed to be.

This whole thing, the pleasure and the pain, is pure bliss, the epicenter of experiencing the entire universe, I can imagine no dream any more real…

Joshua

“Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself” – Morpheus