Smoke returns to my lungs and I’m off to the races once more. Questioning my reality like some suburban yogi in heat, a meat eating yogi – 28 with a good amount of testosterone always coursing through my mainframe. If I lack conversation, I try to make some of it up through this here portal. Want to drink tomorrow, want to forget who I am. At least for a few hours time. Then when I return to normal, the sense of I that I have of “I” will be slightly lessened. Can enough alcohol slowly dissolve your ego and future worries? Did Zeus and Aphrodite create this mead in order that we all go through life, chipping away at our strange sense of entitlement and all the various shapes it contorts into? Or does it just magnify the need of an ego, as your mental faculties already lessen with time, and with the aid of alcohol, the process no doubt speeds up. (Genetics are important too)
I would need a good mind doctor or shamanic guru to pose these lingering questions to. Tried once, posing theological questions to the folks and they’d have none of that. “Not in this house will you raise such potentially revealing questions!” (So said my father, in a more direct way than this – sarcasm)
Really? Not even willing to discuss why you believe what you believe? Too scared to attempt to even put your belief into words? A hidden fear that not enough hearty, meaningful words would arise? You never know. Guess habits eventually turn to stone, stones that are then stacked, and an approaching, speculative light must be immediately dampened.
Theological discourse. America needs more of it. Maybe I’m just not hanging around the right people. It’s of course much easier to remain in your own “concentration” mind camp. Inside the Grid I hide. I’ve become pretty good at hiding, learning to ask less, and disclose only what’s necessary to get by in way of public opinion.
