I'm a bit of a mystic. By saying this I don't intend to brag. It is a detriment more than it is a blessing. I'd like to also make sure, before proceeding that we are on the same page as what a mystic is, TO ME. I don't believe an individual can be magical. That's because I'd LIKE to not believe in an individual, and that's because I realize I'm a mystic.
Grammar creates these problems. Why was grammer created? Right now my internet [was] out so I'm reliant on my own brain to answer that question. Basically to count beans. To divide the world. "This is your's, that is mine." "he impregnated her, she had a baby," "being three the baby is now a toddler." There is a book called A Language Older Than Words that points out in a travesty like 9/11, where thousands of people died, the real impact is minimized by the numbering of people; if you begin to consider that a woman who died in the disaster was a mother, a sister, a daughter, a wife, an aunt... You can see where this is going. How often do I see the world as it really is?
Never is my most mindful answer. My vision is so steeped in grammar that I constantly divide things. I do the same with my thinking. Put it in a timeline and think "I was thinking of mysticism, and now I am thinking of grammar." One led to the other. Or is the truth that because I was reading The Doors of Perception, because I was picking up my house and came across the book, because I was feeling a mess, because I had been lazy after working eight hours a day, because I need money to pay bills, so I can have a place to survive the elements and keep my things. So I'm thinking about mysticism because of my need to pay my bills? Really you could trace the progression back to my conception. What, non-sense?
If the world I live in is an illusion compared to the real world, and I know that and see behind the curtain to what is the truth, then aren't I the opposite of a mystic? See here: if I'M doing anything I've already fallen back into the trap. Alan Watts describes the trap of being this way: "The truth" is like police kicking in the door to arrest the criminals, but when the police arrive the criminals flee to the second floor. The police ascend the stairs to continue to apprehend the criminals but find they have now fled up to the third floor... and on and on. The police know the criminals are in the house, but they can never catch them. The illusion is self perpetuating.
So I'm resolved to the fact that the world is a mystery: that I am a mystery. A mystic. A world in which we are all temporary manifestations of a creator (the big bang) and we are swallowed up by the great destroyer (entropy) (in other words Shiva); a world who's sense is not ours filling the world, but the world's perceiving us; a vision in which "we" are all born an almost infinite number of times has more sense than I do as the captain of a ship I call my body or myself of whatever.
The irony is that only as long as I maintain this con-fused state, as long as I am the sense of the world, can I experience true freedom.
I achieve this freedom through working a twelve step program. That is the most you will ever hear me speak of it. Practicing the principles behind the steps have slowly, VERY SLOWLY (I've been practising them for two decade) taught me how to put myself to the side and to put others first.
Today I have a better relationship with my son than ever. Today I choose above everything to put my son first. A little more than four years ago that was not the case. A little more than four years ago I felt I was being called to move to California. So I packed up all my shit, left my son with my ex-wife, and moved out west to take a job.
The rest of this "story" will be about how I followed the mystery back to my son and a new sense of the world.
