psychology: Don't Pop the Pimple

We none want to be here. In the midst of all the possible effectual luring, substantiated commitments, and convincing amicable distractions, we still exist as unsettled, dissatisfied manifestations of deeply unresolved confusion. We awake in continued perplexity and sleep in shrouded mystery. No matter how much we pursue avenues of supposedly purposeful, meaningful, productive and prolific highways of verifiable efficiency, we remain discontent. Why? Because in/from/during the crux of the matter, we inherently know that none of it really makes one bit of difference and much less sense.

We try to say that it does, go to great lengths to make ourselves believe that it does, even to the point of creating all sorts of beheading scenarios of compelling, persuasive emotional intellectual arguments to prove it does, when it fact, the inescapable truth stands while the rest falls away. We are not the least bit interested in being here, on this planet, alive, taking up space, breathing.

We realize with full certainty that it's either a harsh cruel joke on the part of the divine creator, for our being born simply to die, or that in order to get through it, we had better invent every possible employing situation as an ever evolving, turbulent, unsuspecting state of affairs to engage our minds, implode our hearts, invest our bodies while through these ineffectual, purposeless actions, our precious ruthless soul stimulates us to go on. Bottom line: she must be entertained while the band plays on.

I realize these words sound much too harsh to be readily appreciated, openly accepted, and properly assimilated. I dare say that they may even hint at pious human futility, almost to the flavor of promoting suicide but nothing could be further from demonstrated actuality. Instead, what I am proposing congregates itself in certifiable conscious living. A fully involved, animated enthused participation without a falsely selfishly generated lust of result to win, succeed, or get something in the end. There is no end and there's nothing to get. With each breath we inhale, we are getting it all right this minute in full energized, delectable, splendor.

In other words, this is as good as it gets. We are here for the earth experience, as a consciously motivated human being while the disinterested, impersonal soul scours the depths of emotional intrigue in the duration of brightly colored settings. These meticulous settings may either be infiltrated with all sorts of glamour or debased with incorrigible unsettling despair; the unmistakable stage remains precariously designed for the actors to play out their delegated parts in the overtly hailed, orchestrated, mysterious story. Illuminating? Yes. Frustrating, without a doubt; the emotional vested scenarios never release the tension of restless impervious anxiety.

We remain anxious, bored, restless and dissatisfied because we continue to expect something and because we ungraciously expect (most often times, demand) that our gluttonous whims and whams to be satisfied, we suffer immeasurably. Sad, but true. We want to be noticed, expect people to care and show it and complain because we didn't get what we thought we wanted at the time we wanted it, in the precise manner it should have arrived.

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