Thinking is the Opiate of the Mind

I suffer from some odd combination of bipolar/ocd, apparently. I attempt to ease myself off whatever drug (chemical, physical, human (female)) and it reappears. As the theater of the mind begins to display the Shadows on my Platonian Cave, fear arises. Wondering why be afraid? I’m finding that it’s my training and education. My mind yearns to be open and free and I fight the religiosity and puritanical nature of my FOO, my culture and my definition of “success.”

The numbing opiate of my mind is watching the slideshow that manifests through the dark ether, mesmerized by the images, thinking they mean something. They do not. They seem to be echoes of previous incarnations, paths that circle back to some being, watching and waiting for me to understand. from the outside looking in, it seems like I’m frozen, accomplishing nothing.

Performance and production are the result of intention. They are like canaries in a coal mine: if I’m not performing (juob, parenting, writing, loving), then I’m unfocused. Watching the images in my cave, fork my mind to the point of Distraction. The job at hand is the result of paying attention to “the mind,” whatever that may mean.



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