It started with a shit

Dear God,

I am tired this morning. I ate so much, that when i did my morning ablutions, it felt as though they had me, instead of me having them. My stomach feels as if it were on its way to feeling better. I really am not sure what to write, so I write.

Dear one, that you write is sufficient. Like going to a counselor, the need to pour out your grief gives you the desire. On other days however, when things are balanced, excluding your digestive tract, you may not feel the need nor desire. However it is often on days such as these that you may inquire more deeply into your own being. So simply write and we shall see where the story goes.

How do I become aware of that which I am am unconscious of? As an addict, I have found myself doing things which I do not believe I intended. Living life on a precipice, not that of the holy mystics, but that of a slave to his own desire and appetites, which have pushed me closer and closer to the edge.

You become honest little one. You dare greatly. You inquire, you pray. You approach yourself with suspicion, of one who you know has lied too long. Why did you suffocate yourself with heady aromas? Why did you blame others for your mistakes? Because you did not want to be responsible for your own life? Because you did not feel responsible for your own life. And as such, your unconscious drives led you again and again into such calamitous situations, where it became harder and harder to blame. The shame became bigger and bigger, the excuses and finger pointing more meaningless, until even with your self-made blindness, even you could see through the cracks of your cognitive dissonance.

Fucking hell. So my unconscious mind, emotions, etc led me to a place where I could no longer deny my own freedom?

Yes. Though freedom may be too strong a word. It led you to a place where you were either going to actually destroy yourself, or begin to take care of yourself. And you cannot take care of a hurt little child who is out of control, without entering into their world somewhat. You must listen, but not necessarily believe. You must understand, but not necessarily agree with the childish thoughts. You must even love, though the child may have done wrong. You must nurture. Enter into that world and show loving kindness. This is love little one. A sprinkling of the unconditional love that every soul seeks and most lives are but a hollow attempt to hide from.

Fuck. I throw in a fuck, because the tone of this one is different to my previous Fandango’s. It seems inconsistent.

You are inconsistent. Sometimes irreverent and a funny little rapscallion, sometimes thoughtful and unnecessarily verbose. Own it. You are a shit little prophet of existential angst, poetic depths and quixotic ramblings. Why shouldn’t you be. Your personality, as with everyone, is broad and deep. Enjoy it. Accept it, rather than try and forge it into some imagined single state. Like Saruman in The Lord of the Rings, you wear a cloak of many colours.

What else inner particle of the space time continuum?

Now that is more like the jazzy little fucker you want to be. Well I will respond in kind:

Follow that little flame in your heart. When it stutter, be careful. Breathe, seek help. Help from yourself, as it is in you that there are answers. Careful when the fire begins to rage. Do not add fuel to the fire, for you, or another is apt to get burnt, and you are too much of a sensitive flower for that my love. Think about all of the people you have let down and how that burned at your soul. It led you, not to becoming clean, but by hiding all the more committedly.

You are a bit of a shit bad person. Too sensitive to enjoy the fruits of your ill-begotten desires. And without the required integrity or self control and moral compass to actually do right. You poor thing you. You blundered into one catastrophe after another, like a stupid hippopotamus, but without the thick skin. And it seems that wallowing in the mud gave you a rash, so you couldn’t even enjoy that. Ahh, you stupid little darling, too sensitive to be a bad person, too hurt to change. Or perhaps, not hurt enough.

What do you mean by that?

Pain my dear boy, is a gift that no one wants. Not all pain, I’m not saying that poverty or working in an Apple or Nike factory is a gift, though pain and misery are part of the salary. No, emotional pain, for one such as you, a privileged Westerner is a gift. Bitter medicine for the heart and mind. For it pulls the attention where it needs must go. It is the call of the soul. ‘Help me you bloody blind bastard’ it says.

But I was in so much pain already. Isn’t addiction, the loss of will, or the splitting of will from desire and agency? The pain was such that I was compelled to seek oblivion harder and harder, with increasingly spectacular results. No matter how much I desired to stop, I also desired to continue. Even when i desired to stop, I still continued.

Yes, it is that. But it is due mainly to the not wanting to feel pain. And it is the wholesale victory of this ‘denial’ or ‘willful /compulsive ignoring’ of what you are experiencing (pain, sadness, shame, regret, powerlessness, etc) that pushes so much of what you are into the unconscious. Acceptance and willingness and openness to the experience of your pain is the key to this Pandora’s box. Somewhere in life you learned that to show or respond to pain meant death. Either because you would be rejected, or ceased to be shown love. As a child love is akin to life. You have internalised this. So you try your little damndest to control and suffocate the pain. It will not be suffocated. It is simply another experience. And in it’s torment it has tormented you. There is no escape from your own heart and the truth of it.

You and basically everyone else, learned somewhere long the line to shut their truths down so that they could receive whatever they could get. With you, as with most addicts, you were a particularly sensitive and rambunctious little lad. Out of control at times. So you received a lot of ‘For fuck’s sake’s’ and ‘What is wrong with you.’

You were disposable to your siblings. The moment someone better was came along you became the stupid little annoyance. And when you expressed your hurt and suffering at this, often quite exuberantly, you were further criticized and punished and left out. So what did you do to feel loved, you bent yourself so out of shape, but in the shape you needed to be to gain acceptance. You tried to smother your pain. Every now and then, it would come bursting out with all the more ferocity. ‘’Ahh, there goes that mad little bastard again. See. For fuck’s sake Vidura, you’re fucking crazy. There is something wrong with you.’

You believed it. And drugs enabled you to smother it all the better. And sex and love from women, felt so good for a little while, that you could forget how unloved and shit you believed you were. You buried it my love. You buried this shit deep. How else were you going to remember, if it wasn’t by completely fucking your life up and everyone you loved. Your truth was buried to deep. Life needed to crack you like an egg, and your pain did exactly that. You’re welcome by the way.

I don’t really like that.

I didn’t expect you too. But you are welcome nevertheless.

Well Fuck you.

Fair enough. But being God, or at least a God of little things, I couldn’t give a shit. I love you and will conspire to make you whole, that you may live in Love and in God. But a part of me does not give a shit about your pain. Another part of me does, and that is why I am here. I am the most loving and the most detached. So fuck you too. Your pain and torment have been the crucible for which to learn some shit that you wanted to learn. That you needed to learn. Anyway, the problem of evil can wait for another day. Go little one.

Well, thanks, I guess.

End.