i am starting over again from scratch. there is no reason to be concerned about what might have happened before. there is no need to be obsessed with anything in particular. i can accept my limitations, my weaknesses, my human foibles. i can accept that most people i meet won’t ever like me or even care to get to know me well enough to honestly state whether they like me or not. i can accept that i am not going to change the world, heal the world, make the lives of others better. i am not in control of their lives any more than i am in control of my destiny. i control my life marginally, primarily in the sense of being a dutiful adult in this culture, but i don’t have control over my life in the sense of where and when i will die and where i will go after i die.
i’ve asked christ to be the shelf upon which all of my struggles rest. he can hear me and help me or not, it is his will that must be done, not my own. i don’t control christ as if he were some kind of magic talisman or genie in a bottle. christ owns me and controls me. christ owns this universe in the end. the telos is his, not mine, not humanity’s.
i go online and read about the struggles of others, the sins of others, the problems and the confusion. all of mine are minor and hardly worth noting in comparison to some of the things some people face. i am no expert in any other human being, so how can i say how much of one person’s problems are self-created?
time passes consistently, though it might seem otherwise. i’ve been given more time than some, less than others. the time i’ve been given is probably about average. i have mostly filled the hours with daydreaming and pretending that the world will become a place of magic simply because i’m special. i’ve spent the other remaining hours working and struggling to make up for all of the time i’ve lost while daydreaming. whatever remains is spent with booze and books to make my brain feel realigned with the universe i’m living in.
i’ve no passion for sports, gambling, gadgets, gaming, drugs, pornography, cults, groups, causes, fetishes, hunting, hobbies, muscle cars, etc. i’ve no passion for the kinds of things that fill the hours of the days of most men. the things that i enjoy are things i don’t enjoy enough to become so immersed in them that i could quote back to you who this or that poet was, and what poetry they wrote, who this artist was or that philosopher might have been. i like classical music and jazz okay, but i can hardly distinguish my beethoven from my mozart.
i suppose you might think it kind of odd that i have no real interests or hobbies to speak of. i enjoy reading books, but i hardly ever finish any of them. i write because it seems like the least difficult way of keeping myself in the delusion of being useful and productive. i wouldn’t call my kind of writing all that useful or productive, though. i just do it to show that there is some kind of record for the expenditure of thoughts.
i used to spend a lot of time worrying myself with the question of where did it all go wrong, and where would i ask to be sent back to relive my life if i could do such a thing. the answer never really came, though. the stream of being and becoming seems to have been at work before my first memories even present themselves. who i was in my childhood was most certainly the product of so many factors, some of them are ones i could have changed and some are not. to say that i am the same person or not seems to also be rather undefined–depending on the moment of my life i might say i haven’t changed at all, or i have greatly changed.
if i am cast into some kind of karmic wheel and made to live again upon this earth, i can’t say as if i really have a preference for where and how i live and who i become. ultimately, i don’t think any one particular life is a life better lived than another, in the grand scheme of things, your sorrow and suffering will be made right and you will look back upon it eons from now as having been a minor blip in the overall course of your existence. the great struggles of today are inevitably tomorrow’s charming nostalgia or they simply go forgotten and are lost for good.
i can no longer say that living in one time period of history would have been better than another–they all have their merits and serious problems. this time period of human history is no different. we still live in a world where there is slavery and people suffering and dying needlessly because too many of us are too greedy to give a little and be a little more compassionate. if civilization continues to advance–whatever that means–then the 21st century will be seen as every bit barbaric and backwards as the 1800s do to us today.
i am giving up on looking for the appearance of the antichrist and the would-be government that becomes the one world government perpetuating a cashless society where our bank accounts are connected to chips in our foreheads or hands. if such a day arises when such things manifest themselves, i will head for the mountains and do my best to survive until they come to make me into a martyr. if those days never come for me and my family and my descendants, then so much the better. i can not alter these things from happening as they will, when they will.
i am not longer obsessed with looking for a calling or a vocation. such a thing was put into my head by my culture as being of some merit or value, and i can truthfully say that the structure of how i am supposed to be has been artificially superimposed upon the reality of who i am. i am who i am and i will be who i will be–all in the lowercase i, as only God gets to be the great I AM.