Of darkness and (what was that other thing?)
Question:
What bright, shining dazzle, once glimpsed, captures the soul so completely that – like moths to candles, we revisit those thoughts and feelings that never fail to singe and burn? When I cut my hand – it hurts, and I want it to stop, and I know I would not do such a thing on purpose. Yet, faced with the yawning chasm of time that is between my waking and my final, blissful collapse – again and again my mind walks the well-worn path, down those cold, darkened corridors, purposely seeking out the inevitable pain that lies there. Like a child with a loose tooth, prodding just to the brink of that which is still bearable. Even when the tooth finally pulls free, the tongue instinctively continues to find that place, some ghoulish fascination draws it to worry the wound until it will bleed no more. But the mouth knows the miracle of healing in hours, or mere days – that the mind has never learned. Carving into the psyche leaves long, bloody scars that for some, it would seem, healing may never come. Is there some dark magic, then, some deeply understood truth that compells us to return for more? Perhaps some bit of the darkness that must be rubbed smoothly away, before the potentially healthy mind beneath can begin to renew and regrow? Or, is that the dangerous lure, the bright, flickering flame waiting to consume the entire mind and burn away the wings of the soul… Shall we then run away, thus enlightened, and lock tight the doors to our own darkness? Wise men might say, push it down here, and it will only rise again somewhere else. Supress your rage, your fear, your painful emotions? Learn to love Pepto Bismol, or perhaps you would prefer a permanent medicated stupor? As long as I’m rambling aimlessly, I might as well tackle the meds issue – it being one of my darker fears that I may some day wind up with a busy schedule of taking them. Why should I worry, I wonder, when I take my meds regularly already. Coffee to start the day, by the gallon. Then, alcohol to end the day, also by the gallon. Can’t have nightmares if you’re passed out, doncha know – seems it’s a question of, spare the mind, or spare the body? Or, how would you like to be ill today? But, at least this way, I get to choose when, or if. If you make your living by virtue of technical skill, if your career is dependent on the sharpness of your mind – you don’t have the luxury of considering many risks, recreational or medical chemicals, or really *anything* which might be likely to sap your wits any more than prolonged lack of sleep already does… I wonder if any of this counts as therapy? I finally had a nice, long talk with my wife, so now I get a lot of sideways looks. Now my booze is all hidden or poured out (not that I care too much, looks like we’ll switch to sparing the body for a while) – and I won’t be playing with the pistol again any time soon. Oh, and I should get some. Therapy, I mean. Guess now would be a good time for me to give up my scathing contempt of "shrinks." Of course, since they seem to keep to strictly bankers’ hours in my area, it looks like I may having to explain some long lunches. Where’s a good IRC doctor when ya need one? Hmm, there’s a tangent to ramble off on… Shrinks. I remember when I last visited one – couldn’t have been, oh, 8 or 9 I guess. I got all kinds of special attention after about an hour with the puzzles. It’s apparently very important to identify people who are highly skilled at putting little plastic red & white blocks together into vaguely recognizable shapes and patterns. You just never know when being able to do that REALLY FAST might save your life, I guess. In the end, my Mom got what she payed for: a prescription of ritalin for me, so I could be more manageable. Who would have thought that what I really needed was just a good caffiene addiction?
Response:
hi pm, > What bright, shining dazzle, once glimpsed, captures the soul so >completely that – like moths to candles, we revisit those thoughts and >feelings that never fail to singe and burn?
that force of nature so powerful in the body. it is sad so easily tricked as the moth is to anylight. at evolution there were no electric lights. at night, just moonlight was all u got. course moth doesn’t have man’s clever brain. > When I cut my hand – it hurts,
yes indeed. >and I want it to stop
maybe maybe not. >, and I know I would not do such a thing on purpose.
i think the unfolding of the manifest appears purposeful. just so many amazing cooincidences. there is intelligence in the universe. why shouldn’t it apply to all. >Yet, faced with the yawning chasm of time
yawing.. never thought of time as yawning. maybe u mean half asleep. half awake. >that is between my waking and my final, blissful collapse – again and again >my mind walks the well-worn path, down those cold, darkened corridors, >purposely seeking out the inevitable pain that lies there.
what is behind the pain? pain revealing itself as the unopened door. there is still always the body that feels the pain. and many different kinds of pain. pain is purposeful too. > Like a child with a loose tooth, prodding just to the brink of that which >is still bearable. Even when the tooth finally pulls free, the tongue >instinctively continues to find that place, some ghoulish fascination draws >it to worry the wound until it will bleed no more.
it is good for the one to care for itself. the body follows its nature. > But the mouth knows the miracle of healing in hours, or mere days – that >the mind has never learned.
the mind the yogis say is the wild horse needing to be tamed. a powerful tool to be made use of. the mind body being facinating stuff. i think of us like human explorers charting the map or mind body. better than cast adrift at sea. though i have been tossed about like the wind to then later hopefully to be cast back gently to the ground. >Carving into the psyche leaves long, bloody >scars that for some, it would seem, healing may never come. Is there some >dark magic, then, some deeply understood truth that compells us to return >for more?
ebb and flow. the wave form. darkness is of course the other side of light. there is no way of getting away from it. just like there is no life without death. no this without not this. no nothing without something to define it. >Perhaps some bit of the darkness that must be rubbed smoothly >away, before the potentially healthy mind beneath can begin to renew and >regrow?
healing happens over time. well documented. >Or, is that the dangerous lure, the bright, flickering flame >waiting to consume the entire mind and burn away the wings of the soul…
interesting. r u mortal or immortal? where is the quintessential u? > Shall we then run away, thus enlightened, and lock tight the doors to our >own darkness? Wise men might say, push it down here, and it will only rise >again somewhere else. Supress your rage, your fear, your painful emotions? >Learn to love Pepto Bismol, or perhaps you would prefer a permanent >medicated stupor?
well said. >As long as I’m rambling aimlessly, I might as well tackle the meds issue –
now med have existed since the dawn of time. heck the body is one big chemy thing in its workings. >it being one of my darker fears that I may some day wind up with a busy >schedule of taking them. Why should I worry, I wonder, when I take my meds >regularly already.
that’s right. (smile) food also. >Coffee to start the day, by the gallon. Then, alcohol >to end the day, also by the gallon. Can’t have nightmares if you’re passed >out, doncha know – seems it’s a question of, spare the mind, or spare the >body? Or, how would you like to be ill today?
sorry sweetie. >But, at least this way, I get to choose when, or if.
whatever. who what’s choosing? world of appearances. bull shit imho. >If you make your living by virtue of technical skill, if your career is dependent on the >sharpness of your mind – you don’t have the luxury of considering many >risks, recreational or medical chemicals, or really *anything* which might >be likely to sap your wits any more than prolonged lack of sleep already >does…
poleez. r ur beliefs true? do u want to test them? but heck drugs are just one thing. ur introspective. also yoga, meditation. some put them together. who wants to be caged in their own misperceptions. clarity is always good. > I wonder if any of this counts as therapy? I finally had a nice, long >talk with my wife,
good for u. > so now I get a lot of sideways looks.
y so? > Now my booze is all hidden or poured out
watch that guilty conscious sweetheart. not good. do what’s right. builds intuition. so u can listen better to what’s happening. got a son, jer is 9. so lucky to know to do it all his life so far. unlike me. truth is so important. personal integrity. bunch of vipers in the world. mortal man. like war that’s what it is. > (not that I care too much, looks like we’ll switch >to sparing the body for a while) – and I won’t be playing with the pistol >again any time soon.
glad ur wife is friend to u. our relationships. that’s what life is. everything relationships. good journey to u. >Oh, and I should get some. Therapy, I mean. Guess >now would be a good time for me to give up my scathing contempt of >"shrinks."
go to library. read. ur intellectual. great stuff out there. mind/body/psych/spiritual/yoga/philos. – sift through with that sharp mind of urs. put it to good use. have fun sex with the wife. fresh air exercise good diet friends – find do what u love. u know all that. > Of course, since they seem to keep to strictly bankers’ hours in >my area, it looks like I may having to explain some long lunches. Where’s a >good IRC doctor when ya need one?
well it’s not my thing. just passing thru. busy life and all that. (grin) > Hmm, there’s a tangent to ramble off on… Shrinks. I remember when I >last visited one – couldn’t have been, oh, 8 or 9 I guess. I got all kinds >of special attention after about an hour with the puzzles. It’s apparently >very important to identify people who are highly skilled at putting little >plastic red & white blocks together into vaguely recognizable shapes and >patterns. You just never know when being able to do that REALLY FAST might >save your life, I guess. In the end, my Mom got what she payed for: a >prescription of ritalin for me, so I could be more manageable. Who would >have thought that what I really needed was just a good caffiene addiction?
ur a good writer. fun to read ur stuff. -seeking.
Response:
For what it’s worth – thank you for posting this. So many thoughts and feelings similar to mine and probably a lot of otherse here was placed in words so elloquently, smoothly, understandably. Thank you for letting me understand more about myself by getting to know your thoughts. Please keep posting. {{{{{{{poismind}}}}}}} I wish you all the best. Warm hugs, TK "poisoned mind" wrote – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> What bright, shining dazzle, once glimpsed, captures the soul so > completely that – like moths to candles, we revisit those thoughts and > feelings that never fail to singe and burn? > When I cut my hand – it hurts, and I want it to stop, and I know I would > not do such a thing on purpose. Yet, faced with the yawning chasm of time > that is between my waking and my final, blissful collapse – again and again > my mind walks the well-worn path, down those cold, darkened corridors, > purposely seeking out the inevitable pain that lies there. > Like a child with a loose tooth, prodding just to the brink of that which > is still bearable. Even when the tooth finally pulls free, the tongue > instinctively continues to find that place, some ghoulish fascination draws > it to worry the wound until it will bleed no more. > But the mouth knows the miracle of healing in hours, or mere days – that > the mind has never learned. Carving into the psyche leaves long, bloody > scars that for some, it would seem, healing may never come. Is there some > dark magic, then, some deeply understood truth that compells us to return > for more? Perhaps some bit of the darkness that must be rubbed smoothly > away, before the potentially healthy mind beneath can begin to renew and > regrow? Or, is that the dangerous lure, the bright, flickering flame > waiting to consume the entire mind and burn away the wings of the soul… > Shall we then run away, thus enlightened, and lock tight the doors to our > own darkness? Wise men might say, push it down here, and it will only rise > again somewhere else. Supress your rage, your fear, your painful emotions? > Learn to love Pepto Bismol, or perhaps you would prefer a permanent > medicated stupor? > As long as I’m rambling aimlessly, I might as well tackle the meds issue – > it being one of my darker fears that I may some day wind up with a busy > schedule of taking them. Why should I worry, I wonder, when I take my meds > regularly already. Coffee to start the day, by the gallon. Then, alcohol > to end the day, also by the gallon. Can’t have nightmares if you’re passed > out, doncha know – seems it’s a question of, spare the mind, or spare the > body? Or, how would you like to be ill today? > But, at least this way, I get to choose when, or if. If you make your > living by virtue of technical skill, if your career is dependent on the > sharpness of your mind – you don’t have the luxury of considering many > risks, recreational or medical chemicals, or really *anything* which might > be likely to sap your wits any more than prolonged lack of sleep already > does… > I wonder if any of this counts as therapy? I finally had a nice, long > talk with my wife, so now I get a lot of sideways looks. Now my booze is > all hidden or poured out (not that I care too much, looks like we’ll switch > to sparing the body for a while) – and I won’t be playing with the pistol > again any time soon. Oh, and I should get some. Therapy, I mean. Guess > now would be a good time for me to give up my scathing contempt of > "shrinks." Of course, since they seem to keep to strictly bankers’ hours in > my area, it looks like I may having to explain some long lunches. Where’s a > good IRC doctor when ya need one? > Hmm, there’s a tangent to ramble off on… Shrinks. I remember when I > last visited one – couldn’t have been, oh, 8 or 9 I guess. I got all kinds > of special attention after about an hour with the puzzles. It’s apparently > very important to identify people who are highly skilled at putting little > plastic red & white blocks together into vaguely recognizable shapes and > patterns. You just never know when being able to do that REALLY FAST might > save your life, I guess. In the end, my Mom got what she payed for: a > prescription of ritalin for me, so I could be more manageable. Who would > have thought that what I really needed was just a good caffiene addiction?
Response:
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