It has been mentioned that I’m not communicating much. You are right – I have been avoiding you . . . and a lot of people.  Probably not for the reasons you think. I do feel I owe you an explanation.

Words get in the way. Everything is so metaphorical to me as it seems the only way I can explain concepts that exist outside of language. I am so completely different from those that think they know me. My ideas spin on orbits around entirely different stars in faraway galaxies. The quantum laws that govern my reality haven’t even formed a concept in most other’s universe. And yet being so alien, I attempt to communicate time and again. Unsuccessful attempts end in misunderstanding and eventually conflicts.

In my world, any conflict destroys me. It is better to exist in solitude than feel the pain of emotional conditions that are not shared. I know you believe or think you understand. The incomprehensible emotions I experience daily are from years of self-exploration—exploration that few humans are willing to endure or even have time for. I’ve had some time (mostly forced) to look inward, scratching though layers of denial. My world is emotion. Foreign and un-chartable by most standards. Much of it outside this reality, and that space separates us totally.

My pain of separation is profound. Loneliness. Physical life has lost its meaning. Significance is found in exploring the Inner Worlds of consciousness; where time and space loose meaning and truth expands exponentially. Where mind is endless and consciousness reside. Thoughts are mortal and the mechanical workings of the physical brain—different and distinct. All of which are probably complete gibberish to you.

Our conversations always return to past mistakes and inabilities for you to empathize with my uniqueness. Regrets of opportunities lost. Resentment in inability to recognize and nurture genius talents and abilities when crucial to my development and future. Misunderstanding of who I am. Blindness and denial when I needed you to see.

There seems to be too many limiting factors in our communications. I have coined the phrase “weather talk” to explain the interactions I have with others. Fleeting and without significance. Judgmental and limited. You will never hear or accept what I believe because I am the sum of all the judgements you have made of me. It is your greatest obstacle to know me too well.

When something is wondrous and beautiful, there is a desire to share that with others. This powerful exchange is intimacy in the most profound sense. I don’t disbelieve anything that you believe. I see things in a much greater context where many of the beliefs that define your existence are misplaced or incomplete. I was there and am still there, just aware in my unawareness. I understand that all knowledge and truth is relative to the understanding of the individual(s). As I grow in understanding, so does my capacity to recognize discrepancies and the illusion that is this mortal life; a dream of a dream. Judgment falls away and patience for the one learning to walk and express themselves.

My misdoing is in trying to force that knowledge and wisdom onto those whom I wish to be close. Love changes context and seems cold and calculated in the separations of knowingness.

I have found others like me experiencing the same condition. There is balance in validating each other’s awareness. Gifts and curse in one package. It is probably these abilities that lead to the malfunction of my brain. In some ways it’s incredible to exist within my mind. Anxiety is the disparity in the reality I experience with that of the world. I feel too much and intuit the future with reoccurring déjà vu. Sometimes it is difficult to know what is, what has been and what will be—and then to choose. Some have discovered and believe in these latent abilities. They were suppressed with medications and constricting beliefs. It was a trying childhood being held captive of others morality. I am awakening and believing again in the knowledge of worlds without end that exist within. Others desire to be guided into these worlds.

Worlds that you can’t even accept or believe are real.

            Sadness and despair of this world; knowing.

This world is for the experience of SOUL—not for the clay tabernacle that the small mind holds onto. Negative things happen to increase capacity of understanding. Awakening cannot occur without travail. Understanding that negative always leads to positive expansion eliminating the concept of sin and embracing responsibility.  Not good, nor evil but experience. Responsibility and karma frame the desire to walk through life in a neutral way but understanding that growth will only occur through capacity. Those trials give conscious people the inability to hold judgements. I am not the actions I committed but the experiences I gained from them.

Living in the perpetual state of readiness or condition yellow both emancipates and incarcerates. Opening emotional awareness and the endlessness of the Relativity of Truth. Constant vigilance has its uses, but it is exhausting and, over time, transforming. I’ve never heard anyone, medical professional, spiritual leader or otherwise describe the awareness I know. What I see are people embracing a definition that explains reality using the vocabulary of classical pathology. It implies that, like a disease, there is a prescribed course of treatment to fix it.

In my experience, realism doesn’t get fixed. It was never the snap trauma, the quick moment of action that breaks a person. Awareness is the wages of a life spent in crisis; an emotionally hostile and incomprehensible world; the slow build that gradually changes the way the sufferer sees the world; like getting boiled by heating the water one degree each hour. By the time one finally succumbs, the realization hits that there was no idea it was getting hotter . . . because they just kept adjusting.

Corporeality isn’t a disease—it’s a worldview. Abuse, trauma, injustice, bigotry: these things force a person to live in the spaces where trauma happens, to spend most of their time there until that world seeps through your skin and runs in your blood. Industrialized western societies live with feelings that we are safe, that our lives are singular, meaningful, that we are loved, that we matter. We know intellectually that this may not be the case, but we don’t feel it–unconsciousness.

Awareness is what happens when all that is stripped away. It is the curtain pulled back, the deep realization that life is fungible, that death is capricious and sudden. That anyone’s life can be snuffed out or worse, ruined, in the space of a few seconds. It is the shaking realization that love cannot protect you, and even worse, that you cannot protect those you love. It is the final surrendering of the myth that, if you are decent enough, ethical enough, skilled enough, you’ll be spared.

Cults (and most religions) were invented to give death meaning. Even if you look past the promise of immortality, they offer a tremor in the world, a ripple of significance in your passing. You do the right thing knowing that, somewhere down the line, you have a meaningful death. Corporeality is what happens when you realize that you won’t, that your survival will be determined by something as random as the moment you bent over to tie your shoelace.

Diseases are discrete things. How do you treat a change in perspective? In a realization that there is a world of demons just alongside our own. Once seen, the creatures cannot be unseen. When you’re quiet enough, you can hear them breathing.

Nobody talks about this. Nobody talks about the impossibility of finding meaning in an 8-hour workday when you have spent countless hours on an emotional battlefield where every action alters history and influences the future. Nobody talks about the surreal experience of trying to remember how you got excited about a book, or clothing, or even a car or house.

Time helps you to shift back, but never shifts back all the way. Development of the “cop’s eye,” where you see the potential threat around every corner, where you ask the waiter for the chair with its back to the wall. Where the trust essential to build relationships is compromised, because in the world you live in, everybody is trying to harm someone.

Fear becomes bone deep, and the only thing that puts it to sleep is the thought of maybe patching a few of the holes in the Swiss cheese net under the high wire. Frightened from the moment of waking until the moment of unconsciousness (or the attempt of sleep—fearing of what might happen if I close my eyes). Meaning becomes a chance to stave that off for someone else, then maybe that’s something to live for.

Difficulty in finding meaning in a regular job, or in wealth-building, or relationships, or any of the things that modern societies tell us charts the course of a life. Tediousness of this existence ends as one flails their way into suicide, or crime, or insanity, desperately trying to carve meaning out of a world where all the goal posts have suddenly moved, where the giant question that no one can answer is, “why bother?”

The root of the mortality comes from meeting those who suffer and exists in a like universe.  

How to treat the fear, address the world view, acknowledging that these aren’t things that can be cured, maybe aren’t even things to change; maybe tipping a hat to the trauma, looking instead at what the life after may look like. To find a way to construct significance, to help others forge a path in a world that hasn’t changed along with them.

Is this pessimism or awareness? Is optimism even real? Disregarding addictive distractions and embracing the cold reality naked and unarmed. It seems dark and disturbing. That’s what disguises the truth. Metaphorical stories mistaken for real events, distractions in plain sight. Truth distorted by interpretations of beliefs; judgements created to inhibit inward growth.

Life becomes a conundrum—every beginning an end, every end a beginning. No one ever explaining chicken or the egg, just become content with unknowing. Never knowing their location in the maze or even realizing they are lost.

I know! I have seen. I have experienced.

No faith involved.

No path to follow.

I have traveled beyond heaven.

Life has lost it strangling grasp. I understand my purpose, calling, mission. Then the real trial begins. Everything crumbles and I begin again.

Mortality and holding divine knowledge perpetually is unattainable in the lower worlds of opposition. Becoming a god was not meant for mortals. Moments of divine clarity instill deep-rooted strength to endure the darkness. Releasing limitations invites light to spread outward—ever growing and increasing in scope and purpose.

Ordinary life becomes sick, demented, diseased. Inability to conform and follow. A rat maze of meaningless attainments only to realize that all the trophies of sacrifice have no meaning. A tar pit, a sticky trap that no one wants to admit they fell into. One life after another, each room decorated differently and distinctly but all trapped within the mansion of pride and ego. Open the main door and wonder at the vastness of the universe, stepping through, never desiring to enter the structure of mortality again.

You were the best that I needed to create the man I am becoming. That is why I love you! And also, why it’s so hard to talk to you.