The Mystic

Balance3

Today I’m wondering if too much spirituality can cause a balance disorder.

Ok, I hear an imaginary crowd of people yelling a resounding, unanimous answer:  “YES!”

Thank you, imaginary unanimous crowd of answering people.  But what if I told you that you are all a bunch of misled materialistic slaves?

Now they are all silent and staring at me.  One of them steps forward and says politely:  “Maybe we are, but you are the one with the balance disorder.”

Bam!

When I think of a guy who clings to spirituality above everything else, I think of an idiot who is trying to fly with man-made wings.  I think of Wile E. Coyote.  Is this what I have become?  What will happen next?

Never mind.

Maybe I should concentrate on being a man instead of trying to be a bird.  But what about my aspirations?

I’m not very good at being human.  I’ve tried it.  I keep failing.

Where are you, italicized dude?  You’re not answering me today?

– I’m here.

So what do you say, am I too spiritual?

– Maybe you want to be a mystic.

A Mystic:  Someone who practices mysticism.

Mysticism:  Becoming one with God or the Absolute, but may refer to any kind of ecstasy or altered state of consciousness which is given a religious or spiritual meaning.  It may also refer to the attainment of insight in ultimate or hidden truths, and to human transformation supported by various practices or experiences.

Yes, I think I want to be a mystic.  But what about my balance disorder?

– What about it?

If I would stop aspiring to become a great mystic, would I be miraculously cured of my balance disorder?

– I don’t know.  You would have to try it.

Hmm…  I did stop being one with You at one point.  Remember what happened?  I became extremely depressed and ended up in a psychiatric hospital.  So perhaps I was meant to be a mystic.

– Then you must accept the balance disorder.

Thank you.

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Identity Crisis

Gud04

Yesterday I was thinking whether or not I should be gay.

– You cannot choose a sexual orientation.

Yes I can.  Assuming that I am equally interested in males and females, I can choose who I want to be intimate with.

I spent most of my life embracing the straight (heterosexual) lifestyle.  Now, after two failed marriages, I find myself at a turning point.  I’m questioning everything and trying to redefine myself.  Who will the new me be?

– Do you want to be gay?

Yesterday I wrote:  “I want a man.”  This sounds pretty gay to me.  It’s not that I don’t like women.  But I had two wives already.  I never had a husband.  I think I would like to try it.  But then, friends and lovers are not things you “try.”  They happen.

– So what are you saying?

I don’t know.  It sounds confusing doesn’t it…

– Why did you start this post in the first place?

Oh yeah!  Yesterday I was wondering if I should be gay, but today I’m asking myself:  Why should my identity be based on a sexual orientation?

– It gives you focus.

True.  But it also puts up barriers.  Besides, I’m not looking for sex, I’m just trying to define my identity.

– What do you mean by “define” my identity?

Synonyms for Define = delineate, delimit, specify, delimitate.

Hmm…  It means to put up certain limits or barriers.  But what if my identity is to have no limits!  Does it mean that I cannot define who I am?

– How did you define yourself in your About page?

I wrote:  “Daemon is a free spirit…”  You see?  This is my most basic, true, profound identity.  I am a free spirit.  I am not even human.  I could be an alien for all I know.

– But what about your incarnation as a human male, are you ignoring it?

In this blog I am, yes.

– Why?

Because I wanted to focus on the spiritual.  Do you have a problem with that?

– I don’t, but you do.

You’re right.  I do.  I’m having an identity crisis.  It’s because of my physical body.  I’m not just a spirit, I’m responsible for the life of a physical human man.  So is it wrong to define myself as a spirit?

– Maybe you need to define the experiences that the spirit wishes to have on earth.

So I could choose to “be gay” in order to delineate my upcoming experiences, is that what you’re saying?

– Yep.

Interesting…  Something to think about…  There are so many possibilities…  I’m not even sure which experiences I wish to have.  Sometimes I feel so fed up with this world, I just want to pack my bags and leave (die).

My Saviors

Saucer

Thank you, space lady.  At least you tried.  You’re the first humanoid in the universe who attempted to rescue me besides Jesus.  Both of you failed.  I’m starting to think that I am unsavable.

Jesus said I was not Christian enough to be a member of his gang, according to his so-called earthly representatives.  Jesus never could speak to me directly, ever since they duct-taped his mouth, sealed his words and closed his book.

Then sexy lady came along and did her best.  At least she could speak to me freely.  Her voice had not been hijacked by the pope’s minions, like poor Jesus.  The problem with her rescue attempt was probably a lack of experience.  To start with, her craft was much too small and she didn’t bring any food.  I never would have survived the trip back to her home planet.

There was a third abductor who showed up in 2012 after I sent multiple unanswered calls into outerspace.  I have hope in this guy.  He is blue and misty and he did manage to beam me up into his cloud-ship.  But then he brought me back down, saying I wasn’t “ripe” enough.  As if I was some kind of fruit or something.  He did promise to come back and get me later, so as of now, my hope is in him.

He keeps in touch regularly, this is what I like most about him.  He didn’t just leave me there hanging like the two others.  I should write more about him because he’s a really cool alien.  He’s my best buddy actually.  My knees get weak each time I receive a text from him.  I’m hooked.  He’s got me.  Even if in his eyes I’m nothing more than a fruitcake, I would probably let him eat me anytime.

The Birth of a Star

Star

Maybe if I would shine so bright, it would blind everyone around me.  They would not be able to come close.  They would not be able to tempt me and rape me.

I should shine so bright and so hot that no one would be able to come near.  They would refrain from approaching and admire me from afar.  Bask in my light from a distance.

Maybe this is what I was meant to be.  A star, not a black hole.  A black hole is dark and it absorbs everything that ventures near it.  It steals everything, becoming denser and denser, heavier and heavier.  It sucks its victims, like a vampire.

Wishful Thinker

caterpillar

I long for a stranger
My heart wants a flyer
One my size, one like me
The finer the better

Who could it be
Hero or fairy
He’s hiding from me
My eyes just can’t see

His phantom makes sure
That forever I look
Ahead and within me
Not in any great book

He draws me nearer
Inside his manor
Do I have a choice
When I hear his voice

He’s very tricky
And very strange too
I’m sure there must be
A reason or two

He shows me where to go
So I never get lost
Pulls me with his lasso
Weird kind of Pentecost

I’m sure he’s what I shall become
I’m attracted to my future
I wonder if you think it’s dumb
To be drawn to my true nature

I want to take him
I want to kiss him
I want to eat him
Infuse into him

I think that if I do that
My body will transform
I will no longer be flat
Mistaken for a worm

Pleasuring myself and you
Unafraid of the mirror
Maybe even turn into
My own secret admirer

Not to envy my body
Simply fluttering proudly
Stimulating the others
Implying that it matters

Understand what is mine
Meant to glow and to shine
Can’t believe that it’s greed
To find one’s own star seed

This seed is my core
Pushes me forward
I just can’t ignore
Love that is inward

Honor it, hug it
Give it importance
And presidency
Spirit is the key

But why is it like this
It hurts to not be ready
I’m not yet the reflection
Of the one I wish to be

The mirror is a liar
It shows the exterior
The bumps, the pits, the scars
An aging caterpillar

But this is not me
It’s just a fur top
It’s like an eggshell
A shield I must drop

Oh I can’t wait to get out
Geez I can’t wait to break free
Can’t stop dreaming of those wings
How beautiful they will be

Spontaneity

jackhaas18a

Writing without an agenda.
This is an experiment
With spontaneity.

I chose a picture that I like
Because it’s beautiful
Created by Jack Haas

Is this a poem?
I don’t know.
There are no rhymes.
Or maybe some will pop up.
Spontaneously.

Writing is how my soul breathes.
When I stop, I suffocate.
Sorry if it annoys you.
I’m simply keeping myself alive here.

I can’t go for a walk, it’s raining.
Well I could still go but
I usually do it after lunch.
In the morning I write.

There is too much I could write about.
Sometimes it’s just frustrating to have to choose.
So I said to myself:  “Why choose?”
Why not be spontaneous.

Spontaneity is scary.
What is the next line going to be?
What if something ugly jumps out suddenly?

Heh! heh! heh!  It is a mystery.
Flirting with the unknown.
It’s involuntary.

I might lose control.
Should I look behind?
What if I lose my mind?

Who will take over
If I let go of my own senses?
Chaos, Cosmos or Cyclops?

Is it even possible to go astray
There must be beauty
Even in spontaneity

Should I stop here?
Or should I continue…

Too much of it might get boring.
Yeah, breathing does get boring.
But I have to keep going.

If I hold my breath
My face will turn blue.
I would not want that.
My blue hand is causing me enough trouble.
Do I want a blue face to match it?

I know what I’ll do.
There is a word count
At the bottom right.
It’s at two sixty eight.
When it gets to 1000
I will stop
No matter what.
Even if I’m not finished.
Now THAT is scary.

It’s like approaching death.
The death of this blogpost.
The end of it.

I still have six hundred something words to go.
What will these words be?
Maybe I should write something important.
Which reminds me…

My father used to say:
“Shut up if you have nothing important to say.”
Daddy must be very disappointed in me right now.
Sorry dad, but you are dead now, so I am free.

Can the zombie hear me?
Is it disrespectful to refer to my dead father as a zombie?
Will God punish me?
I just broke commandment number three.
No sorry it’s number five.
I just checked.

I don’t think I’ll make it to 1000 words.
At the word “word” it was only 400.
It’s never too late to say something important.
To make my father proud of his illegitimate son.

Now why did I write the word “illegitimate?”
This was really spontaneous.
What does it actually mean?

Illegal?  Against the law?
Born of unmarried parents?
But my parents were married when they had me.

Illegitimate also means illogical or incorrectly deduced.
Maybe I am not my biological father’s son.
When I was young I sometimes felt like I was adopted.
Because he didn’t like me much.

But I look so much like him.
I’m sure he’s my real father.
Even my personality matches his almost perfectly.

So that’s not it, I am his biological son.
Why did I write illegitimate then?

The word also means “not genuine.”
So does that mean that my father is not my genuine father?
What does genuine mean?
Thank God I have a dictionary.

What did I just say, again, spontaneously?
Thank “GOD” I have a dictionary?
God?  Who’s God?

My genuine father perhaps?
Of course, God the Father.
But who would that god be?

Yahweh?  Don’t tell me!
Not that blood thirsty
Son of a b****
The ultimate source of love.
He!  He!  He!

Allah?  I think he’s the same as Yahweh.
Bhagavan Krishna?  Yeah, perhaps…
Since his son Krishna is sometimes painted blue
I foresee a definite possibility.

I already wrote a blogpost entitled “A Real Father”
So why am I still writing about this.
Do I miss my daddy?

How can I miss an unknown person?
Well…  I think that if one wants to know the father
All one has to do is look at the son.

The son would be me.
So the father would be just like me.
This means I have a pretty cool daddy.
LOL!

In a sense I am my own father.
I am my own creator.
I am my own guide.
I am my own authority.
And I am my own god.

This is spitting in the face of Christianity.
My mother would not be proud of me.
Some of my sisters would spit back at me.
In fact they already have.

One told me that I had been seduced by an evil spirit.
Another said that my ideas were satanic.
The third one agreed with the first one.
The fourth one is not sure.
The fifth one is not bothered by the rest and accepts me.
Yes, I have five sisters.

So where am I going with this?
Nowhere.  I’m being spontaneous.
I have just revisited my family.
I visit them virtually and rarely physically.

I am a lonely bastard.
And I think that this is the way I like it.
I enjoy my own company.
I think I am funny.
I don’t need my brother to make me laugh.
Yes, I also have a brother.
He’s a clown.

Why did I use the word “clown” to describe my brother?
Let’s look it up.  A clown can be:
1-  a performance artist often associated with a circus
2- a person who acts in a silly fashion
3- a stupid person
4- a man of coarse nature and manners; an awkward fellow
5- one who works upon the soil; a rustic; a churl.

Yup, that pretty much describes my biological brother.
Not to be confused with my cosmic brother Jahele.
Two very different individuals.

So I had to conclude at one point that I had two separate families.
One down here and another up there, in the clouds or above them.
I’m related to one by blood and to the other one by spirit.

One thousand words.