Driven To Distraction

I've got a car again, back on the road again.

Driven to Distraction, unable to relax.

I had an experience once that told me that all of this, the t.v. the films all forms of media, possibly even this reality were merely a distraction and to someone who was very fond of things like sci-fi shows that I watched over the years it came as a big surprise and not a pleasant one at that.

I have loved the characters and the situations and the places and everything about them, really gotten into the episodic nature of television, from week to week, a happy ending at the end of each show.

Maybe a cliffhanger and you have to wait until the next time to know what went on, how they got out of it, how they survived and over the years I slowly weaned myself off this addiction, off this media.

I don't really know if my point of view is valid, whether what I believe makes any sense in the grand scheme of things, whether there is a grand scheme at all, a god, male or female, a deity, a divine love.

You see as I've gone on further and further down the rabbit hole, I've become more honest and more real, had to admit the ways in which many of the things I thought were wrong, were judgements, on others rather than seeing my own faults, projections onto others rather than seeing myself clearly.

Now I stand or am crouching at the bottom of a very long tunnel, daring to look up in the hope of seeing a glint of sunlight, finding the most out there information to have some value, seeing and sensing some truth to the craziest theories about what this place is, what our earth is, what we are.

Where we came from and I've got to keep going, to make my mistakes worthwhile otherwise what is the point?  I can't take others with me on this journey to whatever and at the same time this is real enough, this life, this world, the day to day monotony of a job, paying bills, paying debts, being alive.

Getting older, realising the ways in which I've held beliefs that have lead me to this day, to the state of wellbeing or not that I am living with, for instance for me there was a very real sense that what we see is only part of the truth, that we age because we believe we do, and if we didn't, if we could free our minds, that many of the things we take for granted wouldn't be the case anymore.  As if we are all telling each other and ourselves the same story that humans have told for generations because it's all we knew, as if we could only free ourselves from the dogma and daily rituals that we could come alive in a far more real sense, that we could finally start seeing more, being more, becoming something more than we are right now, finally breaking the magicians code, breaking out.

As though what we've been told is a prison for our very being, a system that means only those who dare to dream whilst awake can truly see the world for what it is and go beyond that.

Hmm it's hard to speak from the bottom of your heart, to translate what you feel is true so very deep within you, from how you feel upon waking from a dream that seems more real than waking life.

Rambling now, who knows if any of this makes sense to anyone else, even me, it's all sparked by a long drawn out adventure, that seems to have been going on forever, by a need to understand as though forced into a corner, having made mistakes I can't undo, having spotted ways in which my experiences tie in with things I've heard others speak of, for instance I know that there is more to life than living and dying, more to see, feel, touch, taste and smell, more than our senses can explore.

Experiences that few have that everyone ought to, ways in which many are bereft, cracks appearing.

Maybe a few have felt like me over the ages, perhaps many are broken like me, sense something that actually doesn't exist, such that they believe in a magic they can feel but not see, create wonderfully intricate explanations for things that have very prosaic reasons for being, why we must always love a mystery but not the standard, sensible reasons for things happening, why we insist on not believing the truth sometimes when a more enchanting possibility makes itself known, our imaginations creating whole worlds of alternatives far more unrealistic but that seem so much more right to our hearts, when the brain says it can't be so, when reason and realism strike and we are convinced by what we are told instead of going out there and looking for ourselves.

Rambling still, what was the point again?  I let myself go off at tangents, let my fingers do the talking, as I did at the start of the year, I asked myself questions, and I felt the answers coming and then popping into my head, for instance I asked what this place is?

To be told that it is a giant recycling center for energy, we come we live we die are reborn again.

Only to hear something similar very recently in a not very nice way, as though we are trapped.

As though this place is a prison, a grid surrounding it to keep us from returning to source.

The gods of old merely extraterrestrials, extra and intra dimensional entities, u.f.o.s

Unidentified Feared Oppressors, and this seemed to make sense, coming to us.

Making themselves out to be something more than they are to gain our trust.

To make us do their bidding, believe their version of our pasts and futures.

At one point during my most maddeningly ecstatic period I had the notion that we are powerful, that each of us if we only knew, believed in ourselves and the true divine nature of existence could be so much more.  I was of the belief that those of us going through what seems externally to be insanity were actually amongst the maddening outbursts, making a lot of sense, as though there were also pearls of wisdom amongst the massive amounts of nonsense, diamonds in the roughness of our speech, as though my belief that I had my foot in the door to the divine, keeping it slightly ajar might not be so incredibly far fetched, as though after all these years maybe there are some who are doing what they think they are, really connecting to something out there, beyond our limited understanding.

Like I said I would, I wanted to and asked to die before when I had so much pain, and then I wanted to live, to pay off my debts, and I said I would do whatever was asked of me, I said I would do whatever was required of me, and again recently I wished to be gone, but faced myself more truthfully than ever before, and wished to be dead, only to realise I must be here to pay my way, not to burden others with my mistakes and I know I don't deserve too much in the way of personal gain.

So it makes sense to me that I won't ever make my own happiness a priority, to be a monk like figure, to keep maintaining the truths I feel are right, in the background, behind the scenes while outwardly carrying on, going back to the old routines, work, bills, trying to get my health back, trying to understand the ways I've caused my own self destruction, holding out to see what happens.

There are lots of predictions happening, I've made my own, about the next few years.

They don't seem to come true and when they do in little ways, it's less than.

What occurs seems to never be quite as severe as though we're aided.

As though we are being watched over and things kept in check.

Let the scaremongers have their say but we'll go on.

We'll accept and work with what we've got.

We have to reach out to the divine.

Otherwise there's no free will.

No saviour coming but us.

Let our light and love,

shine across the

world

x