So let’s see: the self that one formulates in the silent quietude of one’s own mind, this self gets shattered in the utter misunderstanding that results in minor daily miscommunications. Even in the constant misgivings and insecurity that can abound in every action and word that I make, yet still my diminished, battered conception of self has more diminution to undergo. Because as long as there exists within my mind my notion of self, then there exists the theory of my detachment from the world.

I thought today of how our insecurities define us as individuals. How we deal with our knowledge of the disparity that exists between how we desire to ultimately present ourselves and how we are casually perceived. How whatever we may have prepared in advance never measures up to the piercing boundlessness of a moment.

Some of us attack ourselves before we have to defend. Some of us attack each other before they can attack us. Some of us are always defending ourselves from ourselves, from each other. Some of us are constantly hiding. Me, I am always shrouded within my defensible space, ready to close my heart to any flame too close. I am always trying to find my way to a position higher than those around me. I am always closed, always open, always never anything but an impressionable, non-retaining space. Within my mind, yes, there lurks and constantly looms the whisperings of difference, the droppings of demigod egos, the bastions against fear, inspired by fear, perpetuated by the fear of all others.

What do I believe about me, ultimately? I believe that I am a piece of god, a spark of an inner flame that fizzles back into outer nothing. What do I believe about you? I believe you contain the potential to guide me into the rainforest of the most potent hallucinogenic visions. What do I believe about humanity? That we are here for a reason, a reason beyond our petty reassurances, beyond our bloodiest threats, beyond our constantly conniving rationalizations.

There really is no logic to our movements. It is the mathematics of the happenstance, the formulas of the stricken, the logic of the blown. We move because we must. We love because we have love. We are because we is.

Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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