What is easy, and what is right

What is easy, and what is right

The closest words to describe this feeling would be something of a "heady villainous feeling". It's one thing to be tipsy of being melancholy, but an entirely different matter to be lost in the drunkery of more 'cerebral' thought. Not that I would say that I find myself in the midst of this intoxicating liquor.

It's almost as if these feelings, brought upon myself by an impossible force, are pressured to a point in which they cannot be kept in the same state any longer. Feelings change, just as weather or mood changes. In science we call this a boiling or melting point. I suppose in people, similarly, this would be called a breaking point. Fitzgerald eloquently calls this point a crack-up.

Not necessarily do I find myself in that miserable position, I am actually quite content (and consequently feeling quite insolent of myself) right now. But I digress.

Why would I find myself in a state or 'cracking-up' (hypothetically speaking of course)? Perhaps for one, I find it wholly inconvenient to live for a sake greater than myself. And yet, time after time, I consider it a top priority, not as a misplaced strand of feelings, but more of an overcompensation. Overcompensation of what? the derogatory nature of the word may detract from what I am actually trying to say. I find myself in an insulting position to the thing I consider my conscience has pushed me to want to break free of the boundaries I have set across my path. And thus internal conflict arises, on top of the feelings brought down by the emotional misery of imagination and real people. Time and time again, I get myself tangled in the mishap of other people's business, sometimes with legitimate thoughts, and yet at others with a quiet onset of misapprehension. Regardless of the motive, even regardless if I wish to even take on the burden of that motive, it has set me stray from my path. This is what I call the sophistry of care.

The real blight in a person when they seem to realize this inconsistency within their selfish, or thought to be selfless selves comes at this point when they find no logical explanation of why they should in fact care. If the onset of this particular crack-up, this heady villainous feeling I have described earlier could be attributed at all of the emotional turmoil of myself brought upon by others, they why should one choose to pursue this guilty path?

You see, this idea of care, sometimes (hypothetically speaking, yes, me) stems from the idea that other people matter. And this unhealthy exasperation gives way for a person to change, change the to the constant flow and eb of other people's preference. The most dangerous element of this emotion is that when care is intertwined with the utterly selfish notion that the care is to reciprocated, that misery would like to have company. And for this care to mirrored back to oneself completely destroys the fundamental aspect of care that matters, other people. But realize this, many times, this is an impossible obstacle to avoid, and this stems from the flaws in one's personality. It overtakes the mind in a quiet revolution, a coup détat of healthy emotions upturned by viscous self longing and low self esteem. For example, for certain people, one would be brought to give way to certain exposure of personality, and yet to other people, different elements of this personality would arise. Two-faced, three-faced, and eventually poly-faced. In a sea of faces, one lets this overwhelmed and twisted desired and longing for recognition by other people (a deeply fabricated sense of care) take apart the basic elements of personality that keeps the identity intact.

Allow me to dwell on the idea of identity for a second. The more and more I think about identity, I feel as if all forms of personal expression are in fact deviations from one true and 'perfect' being. Religiously speaking, as all were created in the image of God, this would be God. Would that also not conclude than that as deviation from God are sin, that pieces of identity are in fact sinful? And continuing off of this strain of logic, I suppose I can then say that the elements of our personality that are 'bad', or unholy, are all byproducts of sin. If then, this is true, upon ridding ourselves of this sin, than we would find ourselves closer to being like God, and with a personality that is less deviated and more one in nature.

The thing fabric of personality is easily tarnished by sin then, is it not? So back to my hypothetical state of internal conflict and confusion. As stated in earlier blog posts that my pride is deviation from God and causing me to face personality issues and what not.

What was I getting at?

...

I remember now.

What I was going to get at (I do not know how much of what I wrote relates to this) is that the state of being wholly unsatisfied and in constant turmoil with oneself is a sign of fighting for, or against feelings of oneness. The 'for or against' is determined entirely by oneself. If (I hypothetically speaking hope that I am for oneness) that I am fighting for oneness than this inner state of turmoil is healthy reminder of the person I should long to be. In order for myself to find a stable foundation to think upon, this 'oneness' is what I should seek after. The most appreciation of this oneness would be then to care about other people, because a crack-up, longing for change, is much greater than one who is wholly satisfied with oneself. To try and cut off this man that I long to be would be so much easier, but it is through adversity that we rise to the stars.

Let me tell you one thing: the worst things in life are the easiest. This is a truth that lies upon the laws of balance. As easy as it is to do everything easy, be selfish, be prideful, do drugs, just have fun, make stupid friends, love easy people, hate people, everything that is harder is much more rewarding. I know this truth.

this flow ideas is terribly put, and I wish I put it in some better form, right now, I find it hard to think. My mind is twisted and tangled in a web of dark thoughts.