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

Duped1

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?

Pusher2

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

Pusher1

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

Jail1

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

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.