Been awake eight hours, already. Slept (unsoundly) for only about four. But honestly, I feel fine. I'm not tired at 4:30 a.m.; I'm edgy and angry, coming off frustrating nightmares. It feels natural to sit with the crux of dawn, to flow and dance while I'm still untouched, empty.
The best thing masquerades as the worst thing: feeling like absolute, horrified shit about the surrounding idiocy, the disgusting system, the gross unfairness of everything, of being well and painfully aware of our depth - our inescapable depth - in this dark age. I'm rather young in all of this, so I'm fooled time and again into feeling trapped, hopeless, like a failure. All that hurt, contracted nonsense.
Of course it's nonsense. But it's also here and now and profoundly obnoxious, and I'd be ridiculous to refuse the consequential emotions. Like I said in a tearful 5:00 a.m. fit: if the state of things doesn't offend you in your absolute core, your essence, you are still wearing some kind of blinders, still lying to yourself. Don't pretend to not hurt when you're hurting, either. It doesn't make you noble or Zen or anything like that. It makes you ridiculous. Don't go "Om Namah Shivayah" when you want to cry and spit. Please. Cry and spit and really feel horrid, then "Om Namah Shivayah", if you want.
Most of my recent fury stems from things we're all way too familiar with at this point: financial collapse and rampant unemployment and breaking your back and heart for nothing while some inhuman whack job gets off. But I realize that unemployment does not define me; neither will finding work. The hate can't really be about money...or maybe it is? I don't know. But for sure it's hate at how something as stupid as money - paper, metal, and numbers in a computer - holds people down.
And I guess that's a cute little illusion in itself. Being able to leave this backwater deathtrap of a town and be "independent" will not define me; it does not make me free, same as being where I am does not make me trapped. All of this is a mental trap that society helped me build and that I've done a good, German job of ridiculously solidifying. I am not any of this.
Still, it's hard, to be so starved for all the beauty and mystery and fun and expansion that this world offers while sitting tied to a make-believe stake with all that life just out of reach. That's an illusion too, right? Right. Yes. In the end, only I limit me. This is yoga, readers. Very twisty. You spend days exhausting yourself wrestling a demon only to find out you made it up...just like the last time you wrestled a dream demon. Yoga is these big, stupid "no fucking duh" moments, over and over and over.
Try to remember that everything matters and nothing matters. Remember, then know it, in your blood and deeper. Then remember: don't try to know.
P.S. Don't forget what independence really is, and enjoy what's left of the weekend. Enjoy the summer. I can't stop listening to "Bloodbuzz Ohio" and I'm going to find some unconventional nonsense to get into tonight. Namaste.