Enneathought for today

I receive a daily inspirational based on being a type 5 in the Enneagram. Today it' struck a deeper cord.

"Holy Omniscience gives us perfect clarity. When we are present and abiding in our True Nature, our minds become clear, and we know the immense, brilliant intelligence of Essence."

Plugged In

I've been noticing a majority of the people around me are plugged in almost all the time. Being aware and present in the waking world has become a lonely place even when in public.  There really is no one to talk to, they are all having a conversation on facebook or some other time consuming meme sharing place. No one is even coming up for air.

I'm glad I'm no longer engaged in this way, I've devoted myself to pursuing more intellectual pursuits when engaged with the internet. Finding forums about topics that interest me, contributing to sites I lost touch with such as Deviant Art. Avoiding places where people go to chit chat, try to hook up, and complain about not having some perfect movie made life.

These days I'm talking to paper with my pen, listening to authors as my inner voice speaks their words.  It's an inspiring place, but it's made of ink, paper and my mind.  There aren't living things here except when I dream. That's when I interact with others.

In the end it's always their decision whether to take the red pill or the blue pill. 

Don't confuse me with those girls from the movies.

Rarely do I get exposed to commercials, but tonight on hulu I saw the same jewelry ad repeatedly. It kind of disgusted me, all these images trying to convince people that women want flowers, chocolates, jewelry. Anyone who gifts such things to me isn't really expressing any ounce of caring or interest in me, if they did they would gift something that is important to me specifically. A flower means you think I'm able to be bought, that I'll be impressed by the shallow conditioned gesture and do whatever you are hoping for. I've excepted chocolate and cheesy valentines from a confused boy not knowing how to make his obviously unhappy (now ex)girlfriend feel better, and while the attempt was sweet in a pitiful way, it was a failure. I think even the women who have let themselves be convinced that these are the things they want can feel the emptiness that remains. 

To quote Marz "Diamonds on your neck can't replace an empty chest."

The words flow with the booze.

I have seen many movies representing writers so distant and sullen, with a stiff drink in hand and an unkempt appearance. I'm not much of a writer, yet I have been feeling that way. Milling over stagnant thoughts looking for inspiration to make the next manifestation flow forth from the depths of some dark mysterious universal source like a radiant chthonic hologram that oozes rather then shines through the minds eye. All the while tuning out the ticking time, objects, staged actions that other people are so wrapped up in they believe its is a pure reality without question.

I have to question, everything, all the time. A myth or metaphor might bring you closer but at some point you have to feel and experience the truth. At first it's scary, perhaps bitter, sadness can pervade ones mood in the early stages of lifting the veil... Then it's a quick slide into madness, perhaps a feeling of frenzy. That's when the self medication comes in. Lubricating the channel from subconscious to the hands, perhaps bypassing the filters of conditioning of appropriateness, of the politically correct. By any means necessary.

As I sip my wine, not really taking into account why the fermented fruits of mother earth should have such an effect on our processing of her mysteries, I still do no think of myself as a writer. I do however realize that when the spirits are flowing, the words begin to develop shape around the intangible, the indescribable, that feeling that lurches and twitches inside. The gasp for air, and the drive that carries you through the worst pains and the roughest days. Our carelessly forgotten collective exhalation.