I’m Not My Body

corpse

Am I my body?  Have you ever asked yourself this?

I’ve never felt that my body was me.  Even as a kid, I remember thinking that my body was just a vehicle.  I was like a little man sitting behind the windows of my eyes, driving my body around.  This was fun.

What is wrong with this world is that it tries to convince me that I am my body.  Where did they get that idea?  What a stupid idea.  I don’t buy it at all.  Not anymore.  I bought this idea for a while, but then decided to reject it.  It didn’t serve me well.  It’s just bullshit.

You can believe whatever you want, but if you choose to believe that you are your body, then this is what your reality will become.  Fun at first, but eventually your life will become a nightmare.  Because there is no hope for the body.

I don’t hate my body, but I’m not in love with it either.  It’s like my car.  It’s useful to move around.  I can use it to manipulate the stuff around me.  It also serves to express myself to others.  But my body is not me, it’s a tool.  A living tool which has an expiry date.

Those who identify with the body live as mortals.  Those who do not identify with the body have a better chance at survival.

Surviving death.  The purpose of life is to survive death.  To become immortal.

Immortality starts with not identifying with the body.

Look at yourself in the mirror and say:  “This is not me.  It’s my vehicle.  And it’s getting older.  It’s slowly dying.  And that’s fine.  I’ll continue feeding and taking care of it but I’m not giving my life to it.  Keeping this body alive as long as possible is not necessarily the recipe for happiness.  My sense of self is located somewhere else.  This vehicle belongs to the earth, and it will stay with it.  I do not belong to the earth and I don’t intend to remain attached to it forever.”

Hanging

sg15-10761

I’m not doing anything useful for society right now.  In other words, I am useless.  And aware that I am useless, isolated and depressed.  But there is something good about this that no one can see.

While I am stuck inside this cocoon, I am getting visions of grandeur.  I’m getting ideas of magnificence that have nothing to do with my old life and my dying self.  I don’t know where the hell those impressions are coming from.  They seem to be of a new me who inhabits a new world, somewhere outside of time.

I know, in a way, that I am just like the guy next door who suffers from bipolar disorder.  I’m also like the one I saw on TV who suffers from schizophrenia.  I could swear I hear voices sometimes.  Voices who say things like:  “I am the future you.  Identify with me.”

Exhilarating, isn’t it!  But no one understands.  From the perspective of earthlings, I am sick.  According to them, I should be “out there” enjoying life.  But I have lost all desire to do the things I used to do, the things that used to make me happy.  I no longer get any pleasure out of those activities.

When someone asks me what is the one thing that would make me happy, the first thought that pops into my mind is:  “I wish I was dead.”  But I have learned not to reply this.  So I just smile and then my interlocutor smiles back and says:  “Just do whatever it is that makes you happy…”

So I have thought of killing myself in order to accelerate the process.  But the next part of the sentence is:  “… as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

Shit.  I have a huge family.  I have a wife.  I have kids.  I know several men who have killed themselves.  Their families still suffer from it today.  So I had to cross this one off of my To Do list.  Still, I realize that I have nonetheless hung myself.  Figuratively speaking.  Like that caterpillar in the picture above.

Society does its best to discourage us from committing suicide, but the mind finds a way.  As if it had been programmed to do so.  The result is what you see in the second phase:  a caterpillar who has hung itself upside down and sealed itself off from the rest of the world.  It WANTS to die.

Doctors, whether physicians or psychiatrists, should know that any human, at one point or another in their life, if mentally sane, will desire to end his life, and that this is not a disease.

So, all I can say is this:  “Thanks for your help, doc.  But you can keep your prescriptions and your pills.  No matter what it says in your books, I know that there is nothing wrong with me.  I am not mentally ill.  I am meta-morphing.”

Death

I’m not dead yet.

I might be cocooned, but I am not dead.  I’m not asleep either.  I feel very aware.  Waiting…  Wondering what I should do.  There is not much I CAN do… except introspect.  And write.  Starting this blog was a good idea, I think.

I will write my introspections.

So here are the observations of a person who finds himself almost completely alone.  Another word for alone is unsocial.  So I shall write about this.  But my purpose is not to complain.  I intend to express to the rest of the world where hope lies for a person like me.  There IS no hope for me on earth.  My hope is elsewhere.

Lonely Man

This is not a place for readers who are looking for stories of earthly hope.  I have no such stories to offer.  I am concerned with truth.  And the true destiny of physical man is death.

Let’s face it.  Let’s face the truth and talk about it.  Death is real.  It’s in my face and it’s in my body.  It WILL come.  In fact, what I used to be is already dead.  My old identity has expired.

I will never be a caterpillar again!  The only hope for an earth-crawler is metamorphosis.  Transformation through what some call death.  But what a paradox!  Because this “death” is our means of survival.  So why is it called death?  Simply because in the eyes of the unbeliever, this kind of transmutation requires a total detachment from physical reality.  And to the materialist, physicality is all there is.

First blog post

I woke up this morning and decided to start a blog.  Because I finally have a clear picture of what is happening to me.  You see, I suffer from depression but there is something positive about it.  I was never able to express it.  This week, I understood.  I’m going through a major metamorphosis.

Danaus plexippus plexippus Wanderer butterfly/Monarch butterfly (Nymphalidae)

Look at me.  Hanging upside down between two worlds.  Trapped inside a cocoon which I have built for myself.  Don’t I look smart?

I look stupid, to both those who crawl on the ground and those who fly in the heavens.  But there is a still small voice inside that tells me that what I’m doing is okay.