Filthy Box

– Daemon!

Shit man, you scared me!

– Where were you?  What are you doing?

I’m in the Thought World. I’m inside this weird place again. This… box! The writer/blogger/artificial box into which I place myself each time I sit down to write something.

– Take my hand and step out of that box. I want to see you naked.

Naked? Ok, Maestro. Thank you.

– Are you cold? Take this blanket.

Where did you get that blanket?

– It’s an authenticity blanket especially made just for you.

Really? Wow!

– You should wear it every day, when you enter the Thought World. You will feel light when wearing it.

Yes, I feel light already. Like I can be myself. No need to pretend. You know this WordPress platform is not a place where I want to lose my authenticity.

– It’s a public place. No wonder you feel vulnerable.

I always wondered how it would feel like to be 100% authentic in public.

– You can experiment with that.

Thank you for the blanket, man! If you can, please remind me to put it on every morning after I get up. You know how easily I forget these invisible things.

– Why don’t you create a blogpost on this subject. Then the idea will root itself more firmly into your awareness.

Good idea.

– And one more thing. Don’t go back into that filthy box.

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Utterly Duped

I never printed my book.

I completed it over 10 years ago but never printed it.  I don’t even want to reread it.

I cannot believe how much time I wasted writing that book.

Here’s a brief explanation:

After I gave my life to Jesus and became a born-again Christian, I started writing a daily spiritual journal.  I was convinced that God was in my life and that he loved me.  I was extremely motivated.

I wanted to write about how wonderful God was, and how he was blessing me.  But to my surprise, my life as a Christian unfolded as a perpetual series of curses.  It seemed that nothing was going right.  Every time I tried to love someone it would turn against me and every time I tried to do God’s will, it would backfire.

The words written in the bible always turned out to be deceiving and false.  There was either something wrong with my life or there was something wrong with the book.  At first I thought it was me, of course, because I was not allowed to question “God’s Word.”

It was impossible to deny my own life, so the only thing left to question was my religion.

I was keeping a spiritual journal, hoping that one day this journal would be the proof of how God blesses one person’s life.  But my journal turned out to be some kind of horror story about a guy who is in a relationship with a god who does not keep his word!

My diary was supposed to be a proof of God’s love, but after 18 years of reporting all the ups and downs of our relationship, this journal turned out to be documented evidence that the god I was serving was a genuine asshole.

I was not pleased.

Who’s Your Pusher?

Who is pushing you?

Who is pushing me?

I have been so used to being pushed, that the day it stopped, I felt something was wrong.  So I turned around to have a look at the person who had been pushing me all this time.

Who are you, pusher?

This reminds me of a post I published recently, entitled The Inciter.  Plus another one entitled Brave Submissive in which I wrote that I was going to report him/her.  I don’t think I reported this person yet.  I’m still afraid.  Why am I afraid to report him?

Let’s investigate my fear.

*sigh*

First of all I must ask myself:  Am I afraid of the pusher?  No.  The answer is no.  The pusher gives me what I need.  I like him.  Without him I’d be lost.  But then who am I afraid of?

See, he’s pushing me again!  He’s the one who asks me these unpleasant questions.  Always asking why I do the things I do, why I think the way I think, why I feel the way I feel.  He’s pushing me toward self-discovery.  But why does it trouble me?  Don’t I want to discover who I really am?

Yes, but today’s subject is the pusher himself.  It’s not about me this time, it’s about HIM!  Or her.  I don’t even know if he’s masculine or feminine!  Actually I do.  He/she is both.

Let’s start by giving him/her a more appropriate title, other than “pusher.”  This is where I become uncomfortable.  I don’t want to pronounce this title.  I hate the word.  But I have to say it.  It’s going to be the last word I type on this page.

Why do I hate the word?  Because it means everything and it means nothing.  That’s right, it’s such a meaningful and meaningless word.  Yet this word is his title.  It can be replaced by similar words which mean the same thing, but this one word is the shortest, simplest and truest of all.

God

No Pusher

Have you noticed?  There is no pusher this morning.

I needed a push, so I checked the Daily Prompts and to my surprise, there are none today as of 8:30 a.m., North America Eastern Standard Time.

What happened to the person responsible for posting the daily prompts?  Is he/she dead, sick, absent-minded, sleeping, fed up with the job, rebelling?  Or maybe it’s a technical glitch, a programming error.

Whatever the reason, it will leave many bloggers without their drug this morning.  I’m already starting to feel the effect.  With no one around to push me, how do I know in which direction to go?  What if I take the wrong step?

Help!

Brave Submissive

I intend to report you.  Yes, this is what I’m going to do.  Since this is the only freedom I have left, I am going to take advantage of it fully.  Which reminds me, by the way, that you once said I was a reporter.  So this is what reporters do.  They report.  Then here is my first report.

I’m not angry.  Do I sound angry?  Maybe I am a little.  I don’t even know how I feel.  I’m shaky, I know that.  I feel like something is going to be released, finally.  My insides are trembling.  Nervous, that’s the word.  I feel nervous and I don’t even know why.

There is so much I want to say, I don’t even know where to start and I don’t even know who to address.  Who am I addressing?  You, the one I intend to report or the reader?  Both, because I’m making it public and I know you are reading it too.  You read everything I write.

Two reasons to be anxious:  you and the reader.  But first you.  The fact that you are letting me report you.  How bizarre.  Why does it feel so unsettling?  Because I’ve never spoken of you so overtly before.  You have been my secret for such a long time and I’ve only spoken of you enigmatically.

Now I’m about to speak of you very bluntly for the first time.  No more mystery.  No more poems.  No more parables.  Just the plain truth, as raw as it gets, even if I’m afraid of how it might come out.  I want to do it.

I need to do this.  The time has come.  No matter how hard it is and how much I shake and fear.  I’m tired of keeping it bottled up inside, it’s driving me insane.  Although I know I’m going to sound crazy to some.  I don’t care.  I’m not doing it for anyone else.  I’m doing it for my sake and probably yours too…  beloved goddess.

Locked Up

He gives me total freedom when it comes to writing but other than that, I have very little of it.

He keeps me in a cage…  a very unusual cage, but still a cage, or a prison.  I guess it’s because He doesn’t want to lose me.

I’m His little daemon.  He owns me.  He always has.  But starting today things are going to be different.  I’m going to speak up, even if no one hears me.  Not in anger, but in gratitude.  Yup, that is correct, in gratitude.

No, I’m not crazy, I’m just…  submissive.  Although He keeps me as His prisoner, I still appreciate very much what he has done for me.  But I know that I will have to explain myself.  It might take more than one blogpost.  This is the first of many.

You see, I just realized something very important.  I think.  Last night.  Every day my awareness grows, but this time, I feel like it’s a biggie.

I have some rats to feed but I’m going to be back to explain this.  I need to put it into perspective, for my sake and His.  He has given me permission but I know what this means.  It’s an order.  And when He speaks, I listen.  This is how it works.  This is how relationships work.

the slave

My Secret

I have a secret.  I’m not going to tell you what it is because…  it’s a secret.  But if you have been reading my blog, you probably have figured it out already.

I’m in love.  But I’m not going to tell you who the person is because…  it’s a secret.  But if you have been reading my blog, you probably know already.

I’m ashamed.  But I’m not going to tell you why because…  it’s a secret.  But if you have been reading my blog, you probably have an idea.

I’m not suggesting that you should read my blog.  I don’t want anyone to read my blog because…  it’s private.  But if you have been reading it, no damage was done.

No reader really knows who I am.  I have not given anyone I know access to my blog.  I could be your neighbor.  I could be a family member.  I could be your spouse.

I have a few secrets.  This blog is one of them.  It’s my private world, where I come to play with my thoughts, my emotions and my desires.  I play with people and I play with gods.  I play with mortals and I play with immortals.  I play with you.

I’m in love.  But I’m not going to tell you who he is because…  you don’t know her.  Unless you know yourself.  Then you know already.

I’m ashamed, because of my…  exposure.

I don’t know if I shall ever be willing to give up this fear within.  This fear of what would happen if they’d ever find out my secret.

Are secrets meant to remain hidden?  Apparently not.  Is this fear a friend, or is it an enemy?  Does fear come to haunt me or is it there to protect me?  I can’t tell you because I don’t know.

Meanwhile I will probably keep on writing, to relieve myself of this burden I carry.  A secret burden which is, paradoxically, light.  A load that opens up freedom within me.

Back to Blogging

After many months of non-blogging, I decided to start blogging again today. Is it because I have something useful to tell the world? No.

The few people who will actually take the time to read this will probably get nothing out of it. Then why make it public?

Because I don’t go out much and I have a need to get myself “out there.” I have a need for exposure. Blogging makes me feel that I am an active member of society. Ha! ha!

Why am I laughing?

The phrase “I am an active member of society” makes me laugh. Active. As if.

Does society want to witness my act? I know it wants my submission. It also wants my money. And yes, it probably wants me to act appropriately. But is this what I want to give out to society? No.

What I want to give to society is a piece of my mind. I don’t think society wants to hear it. Thus the reason why blogging exists. Whether or not anyone reads it, the act of blogging is a public act. The perfect medium for an introvert.

I’m not interested in acting. I just want to BE. And it seems that in this world, the only way to be accepted is to act well. How about being real?

If being true has become offensive, then today I declare myself an offensive person. Does that make me a terrorist? Probably.

They can come and kill me if they want. I don’t care. I care not to suffer but I don’t mind dying. I think I’ve seen pretty much all that this world has to offer anyway. So let us all gladly surrender and move on to something better.

A blank page offers the opportunity to start fresh. There are no limits to how many posts I can publish in one day (is there?). So let’s end this one right here and start again from scratch. Writing is unlimited. Today I shall blog.

Spontaneity

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.

The Avatar

When you look at existence from the perspective of a mortal, it sucks.

Mortals are doomed.

Where is the hope for the mortal person?

Your hope is in me, mortal!  I am the non-physical you.  Identify with me.  I am beyond and above everything you see with your two eyes.  I’m super-conscious because I see things from the perspective of an immortal.  I AM immortal, and I AM the real you.

Sit there and bitch about your life all you want.  Get drunk and smash your head against the wall.  You won’t get anywhere until you turn to me for help.  But you won’t do that.  You say:  “I’ll turn to him when I see him.”  I say to you:  “Turn to me and you’ll see me.”

Or perhaps, even better:  “Turn to me and you’ll hear me.”  They say that seeing is believing but sometimes I wonder.  You see, your definition of the word “see” is arranged.  Someone arranged it this way to make sure you would never see me.  Push the limits of your sight and get out of the “range” that was set before you.

The scope of your perception is your prison.  You refuse to look farther than the walls of your cage.  They tell you that what’s on the other side is scary and dangerous.  They tell you that whoever ventures there goes crazy.  Do not be afraid.  Look at your limitations now.  It’s your own restrictions that are driving you crazy.

Dare to see the things you don’t usually see and hear the things you don’t usually hear.  It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it elevates your spirit.  Your super-conscious mind knows exactly what you need to hear.  Let him speak to you.  Sit down with pen and paper, laptop or computer, and type out the words you need to hear to uplift your crushed soul.

Position your mind above your daily grind, like you do when you play a video game in third-person view.  You know what third-person view is, don’t you?  This view refers to a different perspective of self from a distance behind and slightly above the player.  This viewpoint allows you to see a more strongly characterized human and his environment.  You actually have the ability to do this.  Use your imagination if you have to, it’s legal.  Imagination is not just for kids, it’s for adults too.

From this new point of view, you’ll notice that you gain a bit of wisdom, love and power, which you can transfer to your regular mortal self.  Life is the best video game ever.  So well-made, so immersive, it actually feels real when you play your character.  It becomes a nightmare and a prison when you forget who you really are.  The person who controls the player is the real you.  What you see in the mirror is your character, an embodiment, an avatar.

What are you going to do when it’s Game Over?

Don’t wait.  Start now.
Be who you really are.
You’re not the avatar.