I haven't felt like writing anything in a very long time. Writing is an outlet, an exposition of one moment or a series of moments that you're contriving for someone else, or maybe your own self at a later date- in which case you will fall into the first classification previously mentioned, anyway.
I suppose when you are in the process of mental brewing and preparation then it's difficult to release anything out of the channels in the mind. Things are still flowing in, building up and growing larger... like a fat little squirrel stockpiling nuts before the cold winter so it has enough to survive...... The squirrel can't very well start giving nuts to the other squirrels, now can it? It needs what it has for itself.
That's what I've been doing, collecting nuts.
I've said before, that no one ever really knows anyone, and it's true. We don't really even know ourselves as well as we think. The subconscious mind prevents information access, creating a lag in understanding for what we think we perceive and the actual depth of what our minds are really capable of comprehending in any one given second, but-- we are constantly surrounded by stimuli. So much that we are nearly desensitized to the continual onslaught of attention grabbing visual and auditory distractions. Stillness feels unnatural during the rare moments we allow ourselves to experience it.
Typical awareness becomes a sluggish meter of the presumed ignorant. I've never thought most people were as unintelligent as they seemed, rather more so that they were simply unaware and mentally undisciplined.
People never explore their mental limits, never pushing the boundaries of the mind to anything greater than an overgrown slug, and most do have the intellectual awareness of your average garden slug. It's easier and lazier to succumb to the perpetual distractions that surround you so you can be mindless cattle, herded daily by Farmer Media. In the midst of the average human's muddled clarity, they're forming an existence filled with substitutes for substantial meaning. We embrace chaos and disregard peace.
We never allow ourselves stillness, can't stand the silence if it means we're alone with only ourselves. Maybe it's too reminiscent of the upcoming grave...
Maybe the answers to truly feeling happy and fulfilled in life are in that stillness, rather than in objects, and other humans-- all the fillers occupying what could be tranquil and keeping you in the fog, rooted to those things....rooted to them.
If you examine all the components of your life and you personally define each and every aspect of it that has TRUE meaning, what are you left with? I don't mean your excitement that a new episode of (insert your favorite distraction here) is about to come up, or the fact that you like to bake chocolate chip cookies on the weekends, and I also don't mean what you get from other humans. Other humans are very important in the course of one's life, but each individual is a unique-- and isolated-- entity. Humans are fillers. What remains? What have you created within your existence, around the ceaseless chaos, that has actual real meaning?
