An Essay A Day For A Year
By Roe
Day 22, January 22, 2012
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Most of the time my brain drives Me crazy. What a funny idea that is I think, my own brain making Me crazy. I’m getting so crazy thinking about how crazy I am thinking about how crazy I am. Aah! The only way to get this thought out is to think about this thought, but just the thought of it is making Me crazy. Double aah!. I am Me, and Me is annoyed by just the mere thought of Me, how can I just be Me when I can’t stop thinking all the time about Me. Aah! I call this the möbius-bation of self. It is like the self indulgence of masturbation, but no Y-E-A-H ! of successful masturbation. The thought of Me just flips over and swings back around on the möbius strip of my brain and there I am again back where I started. Aaaaah!
So who is Me anyway? Is Me my brain? Is Me the möbius strip? Is möbius-bation all there is for Me? I actually feel more like a crazy pretzel strip, infinitely more confusing and frustrating than a mere möbius strip. Out I go with my thoughts just wanting to know Me and understand Me, but before long all I get is a headache. I end up feeling crazy because I tried so hard zinging around on the roller coaster of thought, over and under like a pretzel, and here I am again feeling just plain bated out. I didn’t achieve orgasm, I didn’t find any answers to soothe Me, and now I’m more confused. Most of the time my brain drives me crazy.
No matter how hard I try to soothe Me with my thoughts or actions, inevitably I feel pain come up. How very sad that is for me and everyone in the world. Pain. I just want to be happy. I just want to be in harmony. I just want joy and peace. I just want to love and be loved. How very sad that happy-ness and harmony-ness and joy-ness and peace-ness could be so hard and so painful. How very sad that love-ness could be so elusive and so terribly painful. Just wanting and striving for all the desire-nesses I covet gives me a headache and makes me crazy. I often think that depression and suicide and abuse and killing are a whole lot easier than trying to soothe Me with my thoughts or chasing those nice-nesses. I often look around me, from across the street, to the news, to my own life, and see that it is in fact a lot easier to strike out unhappily then it is to soothe Me. I feel so much pain so often just trying to be Me, that I just can’t take Me or stand Me sometimes. That is when I run and harm. That is when I hide and deprive. That is when I kill and war. How very sad I am sometimes thinking of Me.
That is when I feel Me wanting to reach out for Him, and his books. He supposedly reaches out to me with answers outside of Me where He will guide Me and love Me and show Me the way. He was a Jew in the old archaic first book and He guided me, but all I found in the old archaic book was pain and thoughts that caused me more pain. He was in the new archaic book and He the son of He brought me Love, as if I didn’t have Love before. He was a Jew but afterwards he turned into his own He and now a whole new He to soothe Me. All I have to do it says is believe in He outside of Me, and all my ill-nesses will all make sense. When I think about all the stuff in the two old archaic books I get a real headache and it makes me crazy. I end up feeling so much pain, and then I’m supposed to believe in Him to soothe my pain, and around I go again on my master-möbius-pretzel-pain-coaster. I could reach for the book of the Arab prophet, and believe in Him too, for He and his thoughts will soothe Me and guide Me. But His world that manifested before our eyes from His words really gives me a headache and makes me crazy. His words bring up so much pain for me and make me so crazy thinking about the whole Him thing, that I just want to stop thinking and believing all together.
Whenever I feel so crazy and tired of myself and my thoughts I feel so much pain. When I try to soothe my pain in any He out there, I end up thinking and feeling about my Mom and my Dad. My Mom and Dad were my original books, they were my original He’s and She’s for me. My Mom and Dad were my original prophets and soothe-sayers. My Mom and Dad were my original happy-ness, but in actuality lack there-of, or I wouldn’t be in pain. My Mom and Dad were my original harmony-ness and joy-ness, but in actuality lack there-of, or I wouldn’t be in pain. My Mom and Dad were my original peace-ness and love-ness, but tragically lack there-of, because I am in so much pain. My Mom and Dad were my original pains, but they were supposed to be the lack there-of. Most of the time thinking about the pains my parents caused me and how my Mom and Dad failed to soothe me makes me crazy.
That is when I feel Me wanting to reach out for Him that ran away from his Mom and Dad and culture and went and sat under a bodhi tree to find a way not to feel so much pain. That is when I want some middle ground like him that helps me to believe somehow that this is all an illusion, and that my pain or search for love-nesses is letting it all go. So I go and sit with Him there under the bodhi tree and allow myself to travel inwards to the truth of who I imagine Me to be within, and beyond all the pain of this world. That is when I begin to really get a headache at the furious ruminations of my brain that begin to make me crazy, literally crying out in pain.
That is when I realize how precious my pain is to me, and how my pain IS Me. I realize how thinking and feeling crazy about my möbius brain IS Me. My Me isn’t out there. I can’t find Me in believing in Him, because He is Him, not Me. I can only be Me and find Me by being Me. And being Me is being in pain. I did not choose to be in pain, I chose happy-ness and love. But my parents were unable to provide for my happy-ness and love or I wouldn’t be in pain. I know my parents and my world would like me to buy all the fancy books about Him, whether archaic, or on crosses, and whether wandering in deserts, or under trees. I think about that a lot but that idea makes me crazy like a pretzel. I know my parents and world want me to accept my human nature about my pain, or latest study about my pain. I think about that idea a lot and it makes my brain crazy. My brain reminds me that I am in pain, and that I must think about Mom and Dad that are responsible.
The only soothing-ness I can find in the incessant ruminations in my brain is that I am in terrible pain, most of it I can’t remember for my own benefit of survival. I feel soothed to know that it wasn’t my fault. I feel happy to remind myself that before my awful birth, and before I could even think, I was Me. I begin to feel harmony when my pain of Me at the hands of my parents and my world leaks out in my healing tears. I feel joy when I can feel Me inside of Me, without believing in Him, and denying Him. I feel peace regarding the memory of my poor traumatized parents after I have been able to grieve all the mistakes they made with Me.
I feel Love for my incessant ruminating brain and Love for Me when I realize that I am more than the pain of my thoughts, but not whole without them. I am more than my beliefs, and never less my pain. I was Me before all the pain happened to me, and I long to know Me again once I heal the pain that happened to Me. I was Me long before I was saved, and I will still be Me during and long after I save myself. I am Prince Me staying home to face the pain of my Mom and Dad and family, and I am Prophet Me running away to sit under a tree and meditate away all illusions of pain just so I can bear Me and the terrible memories I hide from Me.
Most of the time my brain makes me crazy. What a funny thought that is I think, my own brain making me crazy. My brain is the part of Me that believes, and the part of Me that then questions my beliefs. I believe I’ll question all my beliefs so I can believe. I think I’ll think all the thoughts until I can think. I am my pain and my pain is Me. I love my crazy brain. I love Me.
See you tomorrow.
yourpersonalmuse@gmx.com
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