Trying to write something, and what am I doing here anyway?
I wouldn’t say I have writers block.. I couldn’t say that really: I write soooo much shit. Trouble is I don’t post. Why? Well, it seems like.. to write something worth while, I feel I need to push on it hard enough to get it some place interesting. By the time I get there, it’s a long post, and with my writing as bad as it is, there’s a need for heavy editing. If a long post is poorly written, why in hell would you go to the trouble to read it?
This and there are certain subjects that are a little difficult, like lets say… race, politics, religion… subjects that… I suppose could get you in trouble, depending on how you write on them. Well not trouble exactly but.. I mean I want to be respectful of wherever a reader might be coming from, and sometimes I wonder if my positions might inherently not be, somehow, depending on where you’re coming from. Well, I suppose that’s what comments are for, so feel free to bitch slap me, should it be necessary.
A component of this problem is.. I have some strange ideas about things. Some of these strange ideas, at least on the surface, might look a little crazy. In some cases I’m not sure if they’re crazy myself. In my toy chest of ideas, there’s a set of ideas that.. well they are old.. from another time in my life. Ideas I haven’t picked up since.. well whenever. The result is, whatever certainty I had of them, back in the day, today they hold certain question marks, at least for me. Yet, at the same time, these ideas are not without a certain weight in how I live my life.
It’s sorta like.. what we do with our lives today, that builds the foundation for who we are tomorrow. So I suppose there’s a need for some foundation inspections, ha?
One set of ideas I call “the God concept.” These are ideas that could be shelved under “mysticism.” At one point in my life, I was searching for something akin to “a scientific proof of the existence of God.” The “experience” surrounding this, shall we call it an intellectual journey?, was one that defined the future direction of my life. Where I’m standing today, comes out of that.
The ground I’m standing on is not a certain ground. There are deep questions surrounding where I’m standing. Are these questions the force of damage sustained at earlier points in my life, or is there something real in them?
There is this force of socialization in our lives: There is this way that the world tries to define us. Seems like a bad idea to let it. So many of my questions seem to stem from this sort of thing. Perhaps this is a monster I should slay?
I remember as a small child, having almost like imaginary friends. Somewhere in here the idea of imaginary bands, or armies, or whatever. And I remember one idea was something like “monster slayers.” What is the relationship between the consciousness of children, and adult consciousness? What I mean is, being so little, wanting to kill the monsters of humanity, are those monsters not the anxieties of adult life? Anxieties that drive collective evolution? Anxieties that steer the life of our times?
It’s funny to look at it this way: like a childhood fear of the dark, or a monster in the closet, or under your bed, is a monster that grows up as you grow up.
I remember my parents seeming rather odd to me. I think much of this must come from being adopted. I still don’t really understand my parents.
Since my mom died, I have a lot more experience of my dad. In someways my mom’s passing actually makes things easier: My mom had a certain need to control, and in that need to control was a certain amount of anxiety. Anxiety often keeps us from seeing things as they are, and adversely effects our abilities to adapt. It seems like this must be a cause of my early life’s trauma, after all so much of a child’s psychology is the product of there parents.
But the monster slayers: it seems like this childhood idea has evolved into an adult idea. The idea that I should do battle with our collective anxieties, try to pass through the shadow worlds, and come out the other side, with all our lost gold.
Perhaps my trouble, when it comes to blogging, has to do with speaking from inside the shadow’s dark wood?