I Puked Alphabet Soup For You and It Tastes Like Air and Hydrogen

    Once, I wrote this-

       "Anyone who thinks I'm a good person should know that I spend a great deal of time identifying annoying or otherwise unpleasant people and working obsessively, to the point of neurosis, to be his or her exact opposite. I have genuinely stopped saying certain words or having certain attitudes because someone I think is cringeworthy exhibits those behaviors (entirely because I'm terrified of being humiliated myself). Much of my mind is occupied with the task of making sure I'm not *that* person who does *that* thing. I am not excellent. I am just very pretentious and I have a perfection complex. The past sentence was actually me trying to appear gleamingly self-aware and enviably non-human, to myself and the no-one who will read these words."

      But a have a feeling I'm not part of some teeny minority with an irrational zeal for transcending my inevitable humanity. I've a feeling that lots of people are mortified by being observed while eating or sneezing or farting or being in pain or speaking unintelligently. We know we'll never be gods, but everyone's trying, right? Do most people want to be non-corporeal, indefinitely wise, and incapable of stupidity and selfishness? Is this where the idea of god comes from? Probably. How miserable a people we must be to be so concerned with ourselves. I think misery is a direct result of heightened self-awareness. "Hell" is a place we've crafted to convince ourselves that we can "clean" ourselves by punishing our humanity. But sometimes, other things come along to distract us from our lot.

  For example, here is what I typed this morning after sleeping and having colorful dreams:

      "Cosmos (the show) is great, and all these books are great, and Star Trek is great, and QUUest was great, and Summer Seminary was great, and the Summer Academy was great, and music is great, and my yurt is REALLY great, and people are great, and camping is great, and my mandolin is great, and my cello is great, and my dog is great, and the past three months have been great, and life is pretty freaking great."

But then, I returned to myself...

"And I go back to school on Tuesday.

And senior year begins.

And more life happens.

And at some point I die."

I find that major milestones mostly serve to remind me that time only moves forward.

My life is likely less than a quarter over, but loving being alive so much makes its temporal tangibility that much more heartbreaking.

 

There's really no conclusion to today's ramblings, partially because in organizing them and finding a moral, I would lose a beautiful nested parallel- life itself appears to me to be a collection of lightly, sporadically, delicately connected peaks, plateaus, and lows. Further, it's a rythmic turning inward and outward, reflecting on output and input to construct and refine a more complete understanding of itself. It's a nested infinity, an idea which has become increasingly holy and incredible to me of late. In comparing those words I wrote over the past few months, I'm wondering whether perhaps feeling unsatisfied with  or ashamed of our humanity stems from a small, nagging awareness of this intangible discernment-breath...

 

I lost it.

Enlightened thoughts are frustratingly fleeting, as we all know.

I seriously have no idea what I'm saying anymore.

To be continued?

Here is a simple truth from an awesome guy:

Go forth and be wonderful.