Bardo

I am now in the third day of a severe depressive episode. It is not just sadness and it is not just grief and it is not just alienation of my life here. It is I am no longer Bruce. I hear the name and it is not me anymore. How do I explain this? That I am no longer me? Don't call me Bruce anymore. How do I tell my own mother I am not the one she birthed? How do I tell my brothers they are not my kin? How do I walk away from this life without a fight? There is nothing I would die for except to get away from a life which is wrong for me. I miss the ones who knew me once before I started to die again. Now it is too late to reclaim what was never mine at all. I don't know how I ever imagined a life for myself.I guess I was better then. Now I can see the truth and I am no longer a man. I hate the man I am supposed to represent. No one knows what it is like and I won't bother them with my confusion.I am so sick of trying to understand myself in this hell place. I am now a stranger to myself. It will easier once I am gone.At least for me the pain will end. I am tired of asking for help and I am tired of having no hope and watching the world die as I helplessly and ineffectively lose my way. I put this up so no one has to drag out my journals to find out I am a fake never expressing myself as to be polite and not to be a burden to my family and friends. Thanks for all of you who left me alone to die in peace. I have no resentments nor anger for those who missed my efforts to make a difference. It was a sad effort to overcome the generations of warriors designed for nothing but wars. I almost made it if I only would have died sooner. I missed the war so I have to make the kill myself.

If There was Hell

I would imagine it. Wouldn't it have to be so? If mind can not create the cognate it has no inherent existence. This is where I always get lost on my way to emptiness I take a right turn into nihilism disguised as rationalism. No can't deny that happens to everyone. Does it really? Are we all part of an experience stream which pre-supposes we will all die and become something else. This appears to be true if the inherent existence of self exists. Such as it is, the self is also a part of our existence stream created as a dream. The suffering is perhaps the lack of satisfaction about what this stream provides. No one ever knows for sure but the myth goes that we will be better if we have wealth and health. Only if we believe we are better. We can only experience what the minds tells us we are seeing etc. Even though "appearances" may seem to be so the actual experience of the subjective it is nothing of the outward appearance of the dream. It is all in mind, just as Hell as it is also must be contrived and created by self and experienced by same. So when I say I am in Hell it is just a state of mind not a place. A vacation would be nice if I had some where to go. I think that vaguely answers the question "How is it living in Hell?"

The Reason for Sex

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/science-news/8626725/Scientists-discover-the-point-of-sex.html


What is the point? To ward off bacteria. Share and swap beneficial bacteria for a defense against those who wish to eat us before something else happens to us. Inside and out eating us for breakfast lunch and dinner. Outside a floating cloud of hydras rearing themselves on my nose and eyelashes. So I need to couple to make my vehicle better at traversing this microbial forest/swamp called the biosphere. What was once an innocent perspective is now proven as deadly and naive. Education sucks. Enigma? I think not.

One Turn of Saturn

Last Friday I was informed via Facebook my BGFF is no longer F, as in Forever. I have known for a long time her days were numbered as are my own.
I had discussed the inevitable with her and as we had been close for a while I wanted her to know I supported her in whatever she decided to do at the end and not to stay here for my account and as we had a pact that of we would choose to step away we would go together. That is if life became so ugly and painful that to go forward would be abusive to the human vehicle we ride with but as long as we had each other to reflect upon the pathologies which are the adaptations to our reaction to the dreams of the planet we would have a chance to make something beautiful and fun out of it. She left me with another perspective on life which transcends gender and time, up until the assumption was broken that this refuge of a friendship would be there forever. The turn of Saturn is about 11years 3 months and I met her on December 25th, 1999. Now as then I feel on the verge of something like terrifying dreams I had back then. This is not what she would have wanted of me. Always offering something to reassure me I was not doing wrong and giving me a leg up and an anchor in the storm. Even at the end I held out for a miracle which was the young woman who cared for her to the end so I was spared the guilt of my promise to be there when we died. I guess I can't do much about that now. I am glad for her. My friend Layna also reassured me that feeling sorry for oneself is ok because no one else has to though I might inspire some pathos in others, I need to apply those principles of compassion to me also. It will be my turn soon enough. I have to quit wasting my energy on these cycles of doubt and criticism. It hurts. Is that all? OK
I hear you.

I Can See The Other Side

4-02-2011

In the space
In the Bardo
Like a head above the water
I can see the other side

In the Bardo
In the space
This aging face I can not hide
The spark of Life can't denied

Do your best
For the Human
The vessel of your soul
Guide it
Keep it
Well under control

To myself to the Other
Like a stranger unmet
my unseen shadow

There is no map
In inner space
The edge of outer space
Extends our grace

Like a head
above the water
I can see the Other side.

Practice

Today my therapist told me I am making progress. I felt a certain sensation and then all the disempowerment war began again in earnest. She drew a diagram showing a feedback loop my internal dialogue triggering emotions and reacting. I guess the progress is I don't constantly destroy my faith in my wellness. i.e. drinking sex smoking shopping.I can see the best way of quelling the war is the all-engrossing process of playing music for therapy and with the intent that I may yet be seen and heard for what I know before every thing fades on me.
It is a healthier method of coping with the demons of domestication.I have learned and, with no one leading me elsewhere, may yet overcome this part of my personality
and find the unexpressed art still in the wilderness within.