Where is the Line?
Even the small ray of light, making its way through the room and marking the wall is divine. While going on with daily activities, aiming towards a goal which, we believe, will be the gate opening on "something better". What this "something better" is, we are not sure, but we seem to have convinced ourselves enough that "this" (read the present state or sense-input) is not it. For some, the "something better" is some better material condition, for some it is glory or immortality, and for others it is "spiritual bliss". But for all of the above one thing is almost certain: "this" is not the "real thing".
But how is "this" not the "real thing"? How can this be less "real" than "something else" which is not perceived and not known? A mere idea in the mind? Something we heard from someone else? Is that the "real thing"?
Why should you believe Reality, as it is presented to you, is not "real" enough to be the end itself? What real thing can there be outside of Reality? Who draws the line between the spiritual and the material, between the useful and useless, the right or wrong, the real and unreal? Who can ignore this line? What happens if you ignore this line?
New Moon Walks
Night walk, pitch-black tree shapes, subtle scent of flowers and cypress, hordes of snails and slugs, van Gogh's clouds burning like dark blue flames. The moon is hiding.
This is quite a night for me. I am struck with countless memories of me attempting to draw attention to myself. Even as i was a kid i invented diseases of small pain and dislike for chocolate (which obviously no other kid would claim). I enjoyed underground music which no other in my town would know of, i dressed differently, i left my home in France at 18 to live in the UK, i learned languages (as many as possible), i made electronic music and at age 19 i already had published 2 records. The music wasn't very good, i had no real talent, but i wanted to be one of those artists people would know of. I wanted to be the source of this love i felt when i heard music and danced on it. I drew, i wanted to be the author of drawings such as those which inspired awe. I read, and i wanted to write books like those which brought me in wonderful imaginary places. I tried to write but failed. I learned more languages, moved to more countries.
One day i thought i knew what life was about, how it worked and i wanted to become a teacher, i wanted to be a guru and guide others, i wanted to be someone like the Buddha or Jesus, someone people would still remember after millennia.
I had plans and ideas, i did not want to be ordinary, people had to know how special i am, they had to love me in a special way. I studied, hard and a lot, i learned more languages, even those languages only few learn, like Sanskrit. I made translations, i want to publish them, i want people to know i can do that, which they can't.
These were and are my drives. These are the reasons why i feel unhappy, unsatisfied, incomplete. This night i know that i have never loved myself and looked instead for that love in other's attention. This night i know i am so little and insignificant. This night i am scared to continue and i am scared to let go, i am scared to be ordinary. I am scared to be nothing, i am scared to mean nothing. What then is left for my heart to beat on? Somewhere the idea unfolds that perhaps Life has something to tell and a surprise to share.
Self-Motivated
How many of my actions are motivated by the desire for fame and glory? Have i made myself the slave of the the world? Am i a beggar in need of attention? I feel like saying the true glory (invisible to the world) shall rise when none of my actions will be self-motivated. Yet another part of my mind says that nothing truly is self-motivated, there is just what there is, even that which appears as the self-motivated action. But again, can the farmer who grows his food pretend his belly is already full?
Dishonesty
I am dishonest when it comes down to this blog. No matter what i write here, it seems only to be a distortion of the real experience of Benjamin as i know it. I tend to cling on the idea that i somehow know something which is great, powerful and which somehow holds the secret of life and death.
In fact i miss the honesty of a simply written blog, where faults, imperfections, doubts and errors are allowed. After all why not? Is there any part of this which is not the true expression of the Universe? Is my confusion, frustration, anger, delusion and foolishness not Reality? What part exactly of this life is not the true and free expression of the Universe? What can stop it, which is not the Universe itself?
So yes, i am imperfect, i feel anger, i feel crap and depressed quite often in fact. I do not know what to do with my life, i have no clue what my function is in this world, i do not know what i like and what i aim at. It gives me the creeps, i am scared to let the strife go, for if i did, i would become dumb and lazy, unaware of my own living decay. But i know that if i keep on with high expectations of myself, i will wear myself out and become bitter, and miss opportunities for love and simplicity. I am scared to be ordinary, but i would hate being special, especially if people would find that out. I would like to have omniscience and master life, yet i want to live as chaos and trust life blindly. I am inadequate, ignorant and arrogant. I feel anger for this and yet i accept it as what it is, it cannot be otherwise, it is the unfolding of Life. I hate spiritual people, so do i hate material people, i dislike dual and non-dual thought alike. In fact i wish only for silence, but when it comes i feel uncomfortable. I do not want to spend my life on spiritual practice, yet i cannot conceive of living as i did before i knew Life was not about "me".
There is nothing to do about this condition, it is what it is. But what is left to me then? There is little, yet there is too much. I want answers, yet i would hate to know them.
So honestly, i am not perfect. Yet perhaps this is perfectly what it is. Good old post, full of problems. Real, simple. It feels good.
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