Self Reflection… is there anymore an odious concept to which one can prescribe to doing, but in reality are more deceptive to ourselves about and even more so to others. Oh we will espouse our courageous journeys undertaken through its means, and then with scholarly countenance speak of how many our own virtues we discovered, like ancient treasures along the hallowed path of introspection we took.
What we almost never mention, it is what we really found, inside us.
No Self Reflection, is complete without a walk along the dark roads of us.
The place where we find our vices, failings, our petty grudges and lingering resentments, our spitefulness and self loathing, all lurking within us as they are in everyone else.
Then there is the avenues of our sufferings, wounds and scars, lamentations and regrets, this winding on and on, seeming to never end.
It is not for me to say that one cannot find themselves in the shimmering truth of what their own Mirror may show, It is just so very few, even at times myself, will truly own all of what is there before them.
To feel is the tie that binds us to the world. Mankind does not have exclusivity on Emotions, for the whole of the world that lives has feelings of one type or another. Yet it is only man that levies a value on it, and only man whom may labor to craft it and make it meaningless all at once.
We play with them like toys, twist them, for suffering and gain. We can also wield them like weapons, wear them like armor; cutting another to the soul in depth, or shielding us and others as a impenetrable force.
The truth is, Emotions are mans greatest asset.. and most devastating means.
Yet with each of us, there is fact that if embraced, we can live and be at peace with ourselves, and perhaps the world we share.
Our emotions belong to us.
Each and everyone of us.. all are the sole guardian and absolute master of how we feel.
Fear, Guilt, Happiness, Regret, Lust, Mercy, Vengeance, Humility, Shame, Pride, Joy, Hope…. Love………… the list is endless
Every emotion .. we may ever know.. ever feel.. was always ours to decide.
What power it gives us, we create… and when another wields them upon us, it is because we have surrendered their stewardship to them.
We decide what we feel, and what we will be made to feel.
And whatever it is you want to feel.. whenever you would feel it.. whomever you wish to feel it with.. can happen as we want when we truly realize who decides the feelings themselves
They are decided by whom to which they Belong.
It goes without saying, or at this moment it will, that I have had what some could think as a Bad go of things from time to time. I would be remiss if I did not add a disclaimer on the volumes to which I have regaled on just that very thing.
I am not taking this moment to issue some sort of invalidating retraction of the very same, but to add the appropriate counterweight.
A thought… its specific gravity, mass, velocity, vector, inertia, and force, its burden, hardship, wound, devastation, malevolence, bitterness, or its suffering upon us…..
Is Shit we do to ourselves..
Now .. what made it(Thought) could be Someone else, Something else, and even ourselves(which is like a doubling down on the Shit Part.) I, we, you, they, the person who will not stop talking to the Barista and is holding up your latte(Yeah.. That Shit, that’s on them) Was real, and worth the moment it happens, to think it over.
And after it has happened, it may very well have left a wound right across your soul.
but after that.. It will heal, the moment you let it.
Its More than something to think about, its how you think about it, and that’s all on, and completely in.. you.
Just a thought, I thought not so bad to share about me to you.
I consider myself a wielder of truth, not because I am its servant, its protector, or its slave. I say this because it is something that through me has become weaponized.
Do not mistake for a moment, that in this somber revelation, I am see it as a moment to regale as if some great boon has befallen me. Far from it.
For me its the assassins blade, the huntsmen’s bow, the executioners axe. I can no more avoid it as shore bound rocks can the breaking tide.
You think, that I may be in a fit of self aggrandizing drama to speak in such a bellicose, but absolutist way.
You would be In Err.
I see the truth regardless, if am I looking, denying, begging that be hidden, fearful that upon its reveal of its outright destruction of me.
The truth is I always see it, for what it is, and so often that weapon leaves its wounds all over, most often only me.
In what I allowed to become an endless process of self reflection, perpetual incantations of self actualization, and countless introductions to introspection. I found that I had via chronological GPS and emotional signal triangulation found had myself in the most fixed and certain of point of who I was and exactly where I was In this place I called my Life.
And I had no damned Idea where the hell that was after all.
Surprisingly, this was neither vexing, or as it turns out much of a surprise.. it was much more of a classic “Well…Shit” Sam Moment that as it turns out was rule here and not the exception.
I feel that it is of personal importance that I draw no lines of relativity here, it seems I have an overbearing sense of propriety selfishness in this moment. That this metamorphic journey to absolute “well, that was stupid” be mine to covet.
Then a thought occurred to me.. And then, even as I write this I am smiling.
It is so much better a thing to be alright with who you are, not knowing where you are, so long as you are at peace with how you got to the place where its ok to be nowhere, cause wherever you want to go to from that point, you know yourself well enough, that your ready to go.
Its ok to get lost in the message, and who its meant for, so long as both the sender and the recipient is you.
I will speak of an earnest truth, a truth of a fear, that when my days are done, none will be there to gather me.
It is such a strange thing, to be so aware of the end of my days, and know that crucial moment, at any time so near, and not trouble myself.
Instead I find my thoughts go to a worry that seems both pointless, and inconsequential, what will be done whith what remains of me.
Who will come and collect Me, will I be remembered..
Of those things that were me when I breathed what will become of them, will they know why I kept them.
Will it all scatter, and will I just fade, Unknown unto dust?
This is a part of me, my deepest fears, that took the form of my writing in 2009. At that time, as is the case now, I struggled with the knowledge that at any time my life could end,(The area of the stroke in the pons is a very dangerous one, and the arachnoid cyst doesn’t help that) and what I will leave behind to this world.
Ten Thousand Sleepless Nights at its core is about coming to terms with that fear, as much as can be with words committed to print. I do not hope it is my legacy, I just want people to know why I feared for my legacy in the first place.
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