Imagine deep within your soul you want to give gifts to the world..but then life happens and you get tired.
Imagine having the passion of a Content Creator but not knowing how to put your thoughts into words.
What am I protecting? Is this modesty.. its own form of honesty?
In order to be a popular platform poster you need to “post every day” or at least a few times a week.
Ah
That might not work then.
Where is the passion I’m looking for? Where is the spirituality I once had or the zeal for living life as if this life is a rare commodity?
How do I take life for granted so much? How do I lounge in carefree boredom narcolepsy or not? Am I pregaming my midlife crises, getting ready for it, double fisting it?
Seems like a me thing to schedule such a thing rather than to be surprised by it.
Well why on earth am I surprised that there’s no element of surprise when I feel like I already know what the book of my life is about..like God and I deliberated and threw the book at me?
Sometimes I feel like I have some crystal ball or a blueprint to my life in my subconscious mind. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want the left hand to know what the right hand is doing. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of watching my movie from the outside.
Life and the enjoyment of life seems rather to be that the eyes and the ears and the nose would hear, see and smell what is here or at least whatever senses we have available to us. So strange that even Spiritual Doctors have remarked on sense “All knowledge comes through the senses.” Good job St. Thomas Aquinas for being like the Doubting apostle in your search for faith. I feel that heartily.
So there is that darkness in the soul of understanding (nous) to wit my life gives reference that I keep remembering that I don’t know and I do know. Part of me know my spirit though living in my body and not separate has separate agencies, faculties and ‘abilities’. I find it hard to be a gnostic because I’m an earthen vessel and yet though trying not to be “too heavenly minded to be of any earthly good” I find myself trapped between worlds, like a ghost with a preternatural stain on the ink blot tests of the collective unconscious of this age.
In my heart I watch kingdoms rise and fall revolutions turn and the sun set many a year. The ages of time acquiesce to an Apocalyptic dance that never seems to end. All of this is beautiful and is a verdict to my and the worlds mortality. I hope that I can learn lessons of this knowing that “the spirit gives life and the flesh is of no avail.” so that perhaps life can come to my dry bones again.
I’m nervous as all get out tonight and I don’t really know why but I can say for sure that part of it is exemplified in how long it has taken me to make another blog post.
Cohesive senses of identity are difficult for neurodivergents like myself who have goldfish level attention to the present unless the deepseated passion quota within is met.
As a father and a husband I find myself struggling between the pragmatic mercantilism of St. Francis of Assisis father and the universal trustful love of St. Francis as if there were no way to balance the two.
I’m torn; comparing myself to the subjective standard of success I see in others and my fear of not measuring up to the imaginary ‘standard’.. all the while fearing the giving up of better heavenly real estate, my truest goal because I could only ever justify being a capitalist in the kingdom of heaven because I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work very well for human nature down here on planet earth.
And yet somewhere deep inside my conflict (deep conflict) is that I of assurety believe in balance and yet I desire for the extremes of childlike trust in God and radical trust in His free miraculous work through His creation like I knew in my youth.
What do I need to become not only who I used to be but the next chapter of me?
Am I perhaps meant to be both? Sometimes a turned page is merely the front and back of one turned page.
I’m convinced I’m too young for a midlife crises but perhaps I’m early! If I die before I’m old perhaps I’ll have the luxury to live before I’m dead.
As a guy I knew once said.. “I don’t know what I’m doing and so can you.”
Original clay and mixed digital media art by me: “Blood and Water”.
The usual trifle of a mastermind is their undoing but there is a mastermind of daunting courage, accidental lack of ego and yet an individualism that “seeks not its own.” yet “lacks nothing” and is “perfectly equipped for every good work.”
‘The usual trifle of the Mastermind is the ‘truffle’ of the Mastermind. Wishing to escape the watching eyes of commoners presumed swine that are in their common simplicity the sign and signat of that primeval connective singularity of all beings the mastermind alone presumes to be the all seeing eye..and yet..”the spiritual man judgeth all things and yet is judged by no one.”
This is Yin and Yang, Light and Dark, Batman and Robin.
Shadows have the tendency to reveal the truth.
Just as Sherlock Holmes might make a game of wits with a man of wits similar and the chess game that interweaves as we see consciousness show mysteries, that is the mystery of evil and the mystery of good.
How does one of similar temperament and comportment as another choose evil or good?
How many of us truly ever meet our archnemesis?
The arechtypical mastermind is not entirely evil and vile.
The Benevolent Ego of the good Mastermind absorbs into the all.
Whilst being an individual self he is at the service of all.
While being egoless he has become all.
While the evil mastermind secures his fortress the good mastermind makes a glass house.
Through accountability is wrot tranquility for accountability is “to be known” by another name.
The evil mastermind secures his own house. When the good leader rules he secures homes for all.
Two houses all and all and great the potential dirges for if either were to fall and yet one shares generosity with urgency the other clenches stones and gold alike.
Like a dark prince of shimmering, ethereal and uncreated light so is the rarity of this egoless gift to humanity.
He/she calls back the valor of the medieval knights of lore. He is victorious and powerful and has found the white stone with his name on it. His name will never be blotted out.
May we all strive for such egoless truth of existence.
It probably wasn’t long ago for many of us that we were “making plans and holding hands.” as the late and great Daniel Johnston once said in one of my favorite songs of his, “I save Cigarette Butts”.
Or as it says in that great literary and spiritual Masterpiece the Bible;
“But as the day of Noah were, so shall also the coming of the son of man be.
For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noe entered into the ark,
And knew not until the flood came, and took them all away; so shall also the coming of the Son of Man be.” Matt 24:37- 39 KJV
(Yes I’m Catholic but I have my respects for a lil KJV!)
For all practical appearances it would seem that the Son of Man has indeed come and with considerable shaking of things that seem unshakable. This is not to say all natural disasters are directly from God or something as much as that all natural disasters prove we ‘need’ nature’s God. That need is the ‘final judgement’.
Judgement is a trite title to linchpin culture with just as much as it backfires on those who judge it an effective resort for affairs of cultural exchange.
Personally I would know because I am better at judging most people ‘better’ than most people I know.. at least that’s ‘my judgement’ on the matter.
And so I sit here like a hermit on a hill. I always was one even in my most social of times but that should never be confused with malice or hatred of humanity.
Sure, to the man who is confounded and confused by society it also could be possible to become negatively personally affected. It is not because such an one sees nothing in society as much as sees too much promise wasted in society.
The idealist hermit sits on the hill top judging not because he hates but because he knows the art pieces potential and to the degree he judges in purity rather then in strife he gathers a glimmer of truth if only he would judge with a correct, loving and disaffected judgement.
Looking into the fire makes darkness for the eyes. It doesn’t matter if a fire burns bright. It is easier to see when escaping a fire. Its much easier to see a fire once one is away from it.
Hermits get a bad wrap for evading social responsibility and that is not entirely without rationale. Many hermit temperament people ‘do’ hate society and even for those who don’t the temptation lies at hand.
This is not a value judgement for such individuals. Introversion runs too thick to cheapen it with run of the mill stereotypes. Everyone has their cross to bear. Introverts can be good people but not all introverts are hermits. The hermit might seem related to introversion in many respects and that is a perfectly natural conclusion..
Yet a true hermit is not one because of introversion.
A true hermit is one because of people..for people.
Like a man with a mote in ones eye a man with judgments whether good and bad may just be a man with an artists eye.
The judgments hurt the man with an artists eye because an artists eye can also comprehend beauty in the ugliness just as he sees beauty and ugliness in himself. Thus when you judge the speck in spite of the mote you judge yourself in the process. Somehow miraculously even in spite of the sin grace interrupts. Thank God for interruptions!
The hermit is a benevolent soul if he decides to live his call. He is a leader by serving, though perhaps by a false sense of absence in immature consciousness, whether in himself or according to the perceptions of others.
A man who is trained by a more solitary life must not throw in the towel or merely relax or enjoy the affairs of his solitude.
If anyone would wish to be a hermit I guarantee the universe will crowd them with thoughts. Their silence will be interrupted whether internally or externally.
{The only ‘true’ reason that the hermit may be is because he sees something good in you and in me.}
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Musings of a Picture Frame Conversationalist. 