The Internet caught me by surprise, in the most visceral way. You see, I have this character flaw I must somehow overcome. In times of emotional crisis I tend to ignore the safety guidelines and punch the OFF button, instead of shutdown. It has taken me awhile to realize how I rationalize what I'm doing. I am rationalizing being afraid. Instead of finding a different way to deal with life, I shut off things that hurt too much. Then sit back and let my fear and imagination run away with me. Then when the agony of curiosity is too much to bear, I switch it all back on and endure the bombardment of everything I missed all at once. It's not a great system, and I should stop it. Somehow hitting that off button is so much easier than seeing it day to day.
Wow that sounds great in writing. Actually, the above paragraph doesn't even cover it. Each sentence actually contains a dizzying amount of buried anger, hurt, shame, fear, loneliness, love, hate, laughter, concern, self righteousness, vanity, courage, lies, sarcasm, wishes, dreams, loathing, desire, dreams all wanting a way to express actual truth. The truth of me.
The truth of me. I ponder whether I will ever find this fully. I have researched incessantly how to find this. I already know I'm my own worst enemy. My own mind will try to keep me from knowing. The rest of the world is there to ensure that I accept I'll never know. It is everywhere. A trickle down process all designed for me to feel utterly helpless and alone and ignorant.
I find the whole concept repugnant. There are books. There is the Internet. People can help. There have to be resources, right? Truthful places. Yes. There are, but none that tell the truth of me. God is supposed to know.
I ask him about that a lot. His silence helps further self doubt agendas.
I think God is silent because maybe I haven't asked the right question. Or quite possibly the idea that he has been here the whole time is true, except I have grown numb to things outside of sight and sound.
I have had dreams. Epic dreams and I know somehow God is the source of them (Some of them at least). He has my truth, safe and sound. The reason I can't figure it out with my waking rational mind is simply because he finds that part of me so tiresome.
Hey, it's all I can come up with. Dreams are where I'll find the answer. Not because of some mystic mumbo-jumbo, but because I let God be real in there. It makes so much sense that I want to cry. Talking to God and knowing myself is as simple as taking a nap, or going to bed on time. The thing is, I think I remember more of my dreams because I watch less TV. The moment I allow myself to stay up all night I don't remember dreaming.
Maybe I'm alone in thinking like this. So many things in this world says God is there when you invite him in. I believe he's there and he stays when the rest of the world is prevented from shutting your abilities to hear and believe.
The true me? She dreams at night. She sees the day and lately it scares her. It has become so real that it blots out sleeping. Why? So I can't get back to knowing right and wrong, real and fake and numb and cold.
