I’m guilty of it, too. Pretty much anything I judged people for, I’ve done things that are worse. And there are no absolute points to measure guilt, but I probably made it to the top 10 in my city.
With all those people roaring, I came to believe that mine was a hopeless case. In a world where we watched people being blinded by the lights, we were blinded by the ashes of the cigarettes of people who smoked their potential away. So, I did what every patient diagnosed with a lack of guidance would do. Without even being aware, I tried to get rid of as many traits of mine as possible, as quick as possible, sometimes ferociously. I treated them as garbage cans full of different obsolete materials. It was a funny picture, though. Here, take a look. This is me smiling nervously, fully believing that I was full of it but still not letting go of that dusty, dirty thing in my pocket.
It wasn’t until a couple of wasted years that I came to realize that, yes, there is rubbish. Except it was in the common territory, covering my goddamn space. I freaked out. I freaked out so much that I just started running, felt like I stepped on a prickle or something until I noticed those glowing horses. Wanting one for myself only felt natural, but just when I was about to start towards them, this cutesy diverted my attention.
She was smiling at me. So, I walked up to her, unsure of myself, with that dusty thing still in my pocket, hidden a little bit better this time. The conversation was pleasant and insightful. Then just insightful. And then she pointed out to that dirt in my pocket and peace out. I didn’t know what to do with it, but it was obvious that hiding wouldn’t do anymore.
The horses were moving faster now. If I wanted to witness different, beautiful scenes, I had to run after them as fast as I could. And I wanted to. So I ran. And I was out of breath not long after. The running was intense, as I recall. Taking it slow was the only option. And I did. And I got to reflect on all this. And things started to hit different then.
See all I know is takin’ notes
On takin’ this life for granted, granted, if he provoke
My best days, I stress days
(Lord, forgive me for all my sins, for I not know — )
My best days, I stress days
Say “fuck the world,” my sex slave
Money, pussy, and greed — what’s my next crave?
Whatever it is, know it’s my next grave
Tired of runnin’, tired of runnin’, tired of tumblin’
Tired of runnin’, tired of tumblin’
“The escape from tyranny is often followed not by Paradise, but by a sojourn in the desert, aimless, confused and deprived.”
-Jordan B. Peterson
I’ve been thinking about this quote pretty much this whole year.
Since I am not in Paradise, confusion is my default. And I fear deprivation will follow if confusion lasts long enough.
I’ve witnessed it happen to dozens of people and can see that hundreds of them just chose either victimhood or being the oppressor in some way, most without even putting much thought into it. And I know why. I’ve been there. I am there. (Maybe one never really gets past it.) It’s almost never fun or easy. In fact, it’s nothing but easy. Demanding. That should be the word.
I allow myself to get lost in different thoughts at times because I do not have Paradise to be lost. Not in that sense, at least. Not that I know of.
What will become of me?
Confusion… We’re not friends, but I wonder if it’s going to be the state in which I spent most of my time. How long is this going to last? Will the familiarity of it never go away? Will it let go of me once I’ve “done” studying the Holy Books? Once I’ve seen every continent? Once I’ve completed a full marathon? Will it at least let go of me right when I’m about to die on my deathbed? Will I have a chance to share the truth with a loved one?
But let’s take a step back.
If we need “to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life─daily and hourly,” as Viktor Frankl suggested, then I guess that’s it. This whole thing happens to be one of those making-use-of-an-opportunity-for-contemplation things.
A strange relief. At a time when you have more questions than you ever had. A peculiar feeling of connection. At a point in life where I’m in search of more silence instead of noises to suppress my inner voice.
Because see, whatever I am, aimless is not one of them. I can’t remember a point in my life where I was aimless and my earliest memories involve me aiming at something.
This is it, I guess. This’ll do for now.
Something inside of me’s tryna crawl up to the surface
Something is suddenly smothering, stopping me
Stubbornly getting its way (Way), way (Way)
Drowning out the wave (Drowning out)
I’ve got a reason to believe that I’ll turn out just fine