Writing down the random images in my head sometimes leads me down a strange path. Sometimes there is no clear path. So we have to navigate blindly through the chaos of our individual mental illness or physical handicaps. One minute you’re walking a very familiar stretch of road. On the side walk, passing by the corner convenience store, then your suddenly stuck between floors in a stairwell with no doors. You can see through the spaces to the places you want to go, but there’s no way to get there. It’s out of reach. Panic sets in. Frustration and desperation floods your active thoughts and actions.
Close your eyes.
Looking inside yourself, picture what you see outside the cracks. Where is it you’re trying to go? Is it something you thought you wanted or is it that you find yourself someplace else? No destination is ever written in stone. The stone merely is carved out by the path your life has flowed. You can’t truly enjoy the beautiful pattern until you step back and see the whole thing. We are insects working to burrow in the earth or in a tree. Maybe we build great combs of gold. We are no different.
A lot lately I have realized that my anxiety and panic comes from the questions of why, or What, or how? Accepting that I’m only here to eat, shit, fuck, is to boring and mundane. I’m not some mindless organism strictly here to multiply and help decomposition of the planet, am I? conscious thought sometimes is some cruel bullshit.