The Self is ever elusive. As we dive into our minds we find a number of possibilities so great that we are overcome and lose all sense of direction. We dive off, and sift through what feels to be an endless bowl of pasta.
Chaos sets in and we are overcome by our random minds, our inner most thoughts. We soon see everyone everywhere. It begins with our dearest loves, but soon becomes everything. The deeper we go, the greater the sense datum and more complicated the patterns. This is the study of the self. Sliding down every cognitive rollercoaster further and further until we can no longer keep up. Then a little further the next time and the next and the next and soon we are swept away by the momentum of our decline. Insanity, depression, paranoia, bliss, bitterness, obsession, genius, insecurity….
And after our deepest burning selves have scalded the very tissue of our brains, ascension from our inner oblivion begins and we have our moment of clarity. Slowly we turn to steam and float up the miles descended. We “come to our senses.†And we bring with us that last stretch. That one revelation! For that one brief moment life is not the ordinary, or the review, or the anticipation, but that one single brand new idea. For that one immeasurable moment life is the best feeling you have ever had.
And I write to those who read this as ordinary life bloats my soul once again. Writing bloats our souls.