My mind. My brain.

My mind. My brain. Focusing on where the essence of me originates, where the source of my existence is emanating from.

I knew who my real self was back when I was still pretty young, but I couldn’t control whatever the rest of this stuff is. I still can’t completely control it. The rest of the stuff is the stuff that has gotten me in trouble, though it is my own damn fault for not homing in on it and eradicating it.

A vision of myself shows me that I am basically meant to survive in the woods with little or nothing at all. This civilization business is rough.

I have this compelling urge to get rid of all of my books and just return to nature as much as I possibly can.

If I can’t ever get back to nature, then I don’t really want to live a complicated life, getting caught up in a myriad of interests and concerns about money. I want to radically simplify and streamline everything.

When I am quiet, contemplative and breathing carefully and mindfully, I don’t feel the least bit different than I did when I was 16. There is no sense of time having overcome me. As long as my eyes don’t look too closely at the white hairs on my arms and I don’t see my reflection, I gaze down upon a self that seems to be pretty much the same self as my 16 year old self. I may weigh thirty or more pounds, but it isn’t noticeable with a black shirt on.

For the most part, throughout the day, I rarely have moments where I am lacking in energy or feeling burdened by oppressive old age. Since I’ve never been an especially attractive person, I don’t suffer from any sense of having once been widely admired for my looks but now rendered invisible by my aged face and head.

I’ve always been mostly invisible and usually scowled upon when passing young people in the street, even back when I was a young person.

My sense of time only arises when I pause and think carefully about how much time really has passed since I was in high school. Even then, it’s easy to dismiss large chunks of my life timeline when considering the highlights.

The question comes back to–what is originating or generating my sense of being an I? Can I use my own willpower and conscious meditation to trace myself back to my source?

Learning to accept that the plan of God and the wealth of what can be known is far above and beyond what my mortal mind can ever hope to achieve. Attempting to arrive at a personal grand unified theory of everything, an ultimate telos, a pristine metanarrative–this is the incorrect approach. Allowing myself to be excessively narrowly focused to the point where I am blind to the magnificence of the All — the complete Being, Universe, etc.–this is also a source of frustration.

Prime questions:
What really matters?
Developing an inordinate love for God that becomes idol worship is an incorrect approach. Whatever god I can imagine isn’t God.

If I am summoning a god, I am not summoning God.

Someone made all of this stuff. Was it the same Yahweh that wiped out hundreds of thousands of Egyptians, Philistines and Canaanites in the Old Testament? Or was that Yahweh seeking a new kind of relationship with humankind, and the warrior judges of the tribes of Israel just weren’t getting it?

In a grand scheme of Conscious Existence, where this universe is but one of an infinite number of alternate universes, and our planet earth is but one of an infinite number of planets bearing sentient life within our own universe, a being who is capable of creating and destroying entire worlds and sentient beings within those worlds is probably not going to ever respond to my demands as if I were petitioning a king. The most powerful king that ever ruled would be a finite being like me, worthy of my petitions and able to empathize with me.

In other words, when I think about theological things, I almost inevitably go straight to thinking that I am somehow just a few tweaks away from being about as powerful and almighty as God, and therefore, God responds to me addressing God as an equal. Jesus might respond accordingly, but he is going to respond because he emptied out his almighty spirit and became the suffering servant. He will respond to my suffering as one who has suffered the most. But, Jesus isn’t going to respond to me petitioning him as if I were a rich man calling up his stock broker to move around some investments so that he can have a few more gold toilets.

The most powerful force in the universe is the creative energy of Love, but any of my attempts to summon it or conceptualize it are going to fall short. If I seek to distill and bottle it and market it in hopes of gaining a leg up on my fellow human beings, then I am going to watch it all leak away and I will be left holding yet another idol in my hand.

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