I’ve locked myself in the bedroom and counted three times to infinite. There was a little table on which I disposed to lay my cutlery, neat and tidily as they should always be. The window was a wide open balcony. I thought of putting some ambient music, thinking it would help orchestrate the type of mood I was looking for. Yesterday I went walking with a perfect stranger, not that I hadn’t come to meet her before. We spoke about many things, amongst which this very peculiar psychic connections that seems to weeve between individuals across distance. The day before, an ex girlfriend of mine had wrote to me, asking if I wanted to go out for a walk. She mentioned having felt that something was not alright with me and that it’d translate itself through some physiological anomaly. I had indeed been feeling out of myself the previous weekend. It’s not like we’d been frequently communicating. Over the past months, our rare exchanges would only consist of sporadic messages here and there.

How does this go about? I leaves me imagining that there could be parallel spaces within this very space where independent aspects of our identity still regularly meet up. Interestingly enough, if this would be the case, it would have little to no effect on our own personal ways of orienting our lives. It wouldn’t bring us any closer then just being able to lift these momentary breaches through the ordinary realms of interactions. 

 

 

So here you go, been in the swamps for a bit and if I hadn’t learnt to swim maybe I would’ve drowned. What do you want? It’s a confronting period, thought the course of life would have been a smooth ride until you don’t even notice you’ve been banging your head against walls for three quarters of your waking life. By the way, go check that movie if you haven’t. Now the most ironic thing is realising the chief obstacle was the content of your own awareness, we know the deal, ‘you make up your own limits’, all the positive psychology rant you haven’t missed to find in your youtube ads. Well, it would be a lie to say we haven’t all clicked once on one of these ads. The trouble here is they’re trying to sell you something you basically already know, but it’s so hidden under the water that you’re always going to need someone else to fish it out for you. A friend, a parent, a idol. If you had that person in your life, lucky shot. If you didn’t, you’re going to have to learn it the harder way: by yourself… by life itself inflicting it’s remedy through continuous recalls, or a one time slap in the face, I guess. Then of course you drip down, I mean into the swamps. It isn’t all fun, it stinks, it’s all gooey, it sticks to your fingers. It gets as bad as it needs until you get the lesson. 

Some just like drooling in the swamps, they find a certain self glorification I’d say. Maybe I’ve been one of these people, I don’t know. 

 

Annyways, we all get out of the swamps some day. Now it may seem less attractive to not be clouded with self pitty and mysery, and mystery too. There’s some sense of satisfaction in keeping oneself in the cloud of oneself. I mean by that that it is a huge risk to not have anything else to catch your ass once being exposed to your only possible mirror is the deal. It’s terrifying. Once I settled that down, the truth I’d been hiding from myself was an impending face of horror that was crowned with my shit. Shit! That was the cause of suffering. That was also what had led me to create so many diversions that had been so subtly weaved that I couldn’t recognise what was insidious diversion from what was simply innocent desire. Very often in this subtle game of recognising the real from the illusive, you’re own intelligence is playing against you.

 

I call out to the mind. Where does it hide? If anywhere at all, can mind even be reached, let alone be modified? I’ve been told my mind has two parts to it. The first being somewhat of an interface, the thing that records, stores and plays the content that it’s made of: Images. Perceptions, thoughts, desires. Of course, these images come with sound, with volume, dimentions, everything you want. It says “Whatever you want, I’m on it”. It’s even quite lazy because in the end it’s the same part of that brain that is in charge of recording and imprinting content that is also in charge or reproducing content. In that, the same neural networks are in charge of generation memory and projections. What can I learn from that? Isn’t my immediate experience itself a memory or a projection, does it really matter? All memories and projections I nourish are also immediate experiences, elsewhere.