Some(no)thing

 

Writing negative was my way of pushing toward the positive. I realize that people got sick of hearing it, my life. I say it's been a rough couple years, or 12, but it is all what I wanted. Only after I decided I didn't want that tortured genius ideal was I able to escape, somewhat. It took a couple years in the desert by myself, and extensive exploration into my being an idiot, but I managed to get out of it. I managed to force a beautiful life, only to find it to be mundane. I can't argue anymore. This is my muffled disappointment. Maybe that's just life? Maybe there is no beautiful place, really, just subjective delusion. That's what they keep telling me: enlightenment doesn't feel any different, it's basically just understanding what it all really is. In my naivety, in dokusan, I asked Tenshin Roshi why everything was so focused around suffering, pointing out that it seems

to only perpetuate the misery: life is suffering. The response I got did not refute the suffering, but redefined it, or legitimize the mental science argument. I don't imagine I have anything figured out. I suppose I got caught up in the subjective delusion. One thing I love about Buddhism, that seems to overshadow my hatred for any and all religions on a fine print level, is the discipline involved. I stopped shaving my head. Tenshin also mentioned that you hit a kind of wall after studying for about 18 months. I haven't even started "studying" yet. I just work, and ask stupid questions.

People get stuck, and it's ok for people to get stuck. My writing about it was my way of putting it out there and letting it go. Only, in my particular case, things just kept getting worse. When I thought they were getting better again, I quickly discovered the painful truth that things just are how they are. What I need to figure out is how to accept that without falling into the subjective delusion, which really just makes you question the relevance of life...again. I was done a while ago. I wait. I kept doing what I love because I felt like it was making some kind of difference; I already have serious problems with delusion. Maybe I gave up on people because everyone is stuck. Maybe the profound thought here is that the precious few get unstuck, "unfucked." After I suffered accidentally killing someone in 2008, and was very open about not wanting to live my life like that anymore, I was told to "unfuck myself." The better part of a decade later my life is considerably less fucked, but life itself seems to not have gotten the memo. I'm fine. Nothing happens. "Let's accomplish something beautiful" seems the motto of some old bum, wandering aimlessly down the no-streets.

I still fail to understand why so many people settle for mundane when they could be a work of art. I still fail to understand what "art" is. No one seems to be able to give me an answer that will settle the debate, so it remains subjective delusion.

She punishes me because I won't tell her what's wrong. If I could define it, I could fix it. Should I go back to trying to define it and make myself unreadable again? like this crap? There is a punchline here. Do you see the punchline?

Life keeps going; the world keeps spinning; infinite death and birth; we are insignificant specks that sometimes have the opportunity to reflect light on the other specks; but most only want to be great in relation to what they are conditioned to believe great is, which is mundane, hamster-wheel bullshit. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...

This is just my frustration. This is just an uncontrollable drive in me to do what no one else seems to be interested in: extraordinary. There must be something wrong with me. There must be...

My little mountain town smells like winter. I'm cold. I refuse to wear a jacket because I don't want to be cold.

The zen lesson is to let go of everything and do this. Don't worry about how big of a failure you are, or how disappointing you are, or whether you fit in anywhere, ever, just do this. It's cold; wear a jacket. Life sucks; do the dishes. Nothing happens; do nothing. People don't read; stop writing. They don't want extraordinary; stop trying.

I just wanted to do something beautiful.

Everything is beautiful.

The future will be what it will be. I am excited for everything that will come. I just wish it would fucking start, but if it did I would miss out on the journey getting there, and in the journey is the story. Right? I'm not shooting like I used to, or writing like I used to, but ...

... nothing is like what it was... so... I'm figuring this out now... thus.

Everything is as beautiful as it is.