I slept all day today. ALL day. From like 10:30AM to 11:35PM.
During this sleep I had some of the most intense partially lucid dreams/nightmares I've ever had. Which has been a steadily increasing trend as of late. Each batch is more fierce than the last. During the peak of my lucidity in the dreams the most prevalent thoughts are a combination of, "This cannot be happening." and, "There is no way this is being generated purely by my brain/mind." A form of doubt comes into play. My keen sense of observation and constant watch on myself even extends to the unconscious realm and while there, I cannot, for the life of me, make a decision as to "where" dreams come from. I can only recall snippets now. They are over-saturated, brightly-colored, hyper-kinetic flashes of frenzied activity. Very reminiscent of my DMT trip and prior experience with psychedelics. From the height of my enhanced awareness, I remember being plainly impressed with the amount of detail and clarity in the sights I was seeing. A thought crossed over with me. One that has done so many times before. -- Either dreams come from "somewhere" "out there" or I am in possession of one of the most impressive brains to have ever existed. Possibly THE most. Thanks to my psychedelic training I'm able to recognize subtle differences between "reality" and non-reality. A big portion of what clued me in today was the sense/feeling of the dream being more "real" than reality. Something that greatly hearkens back to DMT. It felt almost like a superreality, a more pure form of the existence we all experience daily. 1080p HD compared to old silent films. Anime to children's drawings.
I've always had an incredible ability to recall with frighteningly accurate clarity the detail of my dreams and it is with the utmost confidence of a scientist steeped in years of intel and research that I can proffer: my dreams were not like this growing up. Something has changed. Perhaps is changing. Maybe doing DMT opened some sort of floodgate, maybe our proximity to 11.11.11 11:11 and 2012 is affecting ALL of reality. Maybe approaching my own personal deadline of 27 is a factor. Perhaps it is all or none of these things. Truth is, I do not know. There is also the factor of you. I have not met you yet, but we're due to meet soon. Time for you only moves forward, but for me I can already feel the ripples of a "coming" event. Too many variables to form a valid hypothesis at this time.
What I do know is that I feel like a teenager again. Unsure. Questioning the validity of the world around me. I have not abandoned the teachings of my training and as such have not lost the feeling of serenity I've fought so hard to earn, and yet still I can watch myself thinking these thoughts and feeling these feelings and my assessment is: huh, this again.
When I was an actual chronological teenager I'd received a slow trickle of media that allowed me to eventually break my own fourth wall. Well before the reality-bending of The Matrix, Dark City and Vanilla Sky there was The Maxx. An animated series on MTV's Liquid Television that, frankly, probably should not have been watched by my young developing mind. The series followed the adventures (and misadventures) of the titular character The Maxx.
A man that sat on the fence between reality and dreams. A very poignant expression of life imitating art in what I have become in my summer years. In reality Maxx is a bum, living in a cardboard box and semi-dependent on a social worker named Julie. In The Outback (the series' name for the Dream Realm) The Maxx is a wild superhero that often protects the alternate version of Julie known as The Jungle Queen. The symmetry between this and my two most recent relationships is not lost on me. The overall thought/feeling I took away from the show at that age, and that has continued into adulthood but since withered, is: the inability to differentiate between what's real and what isn't. Does one assign loyalty to the "real world" or The Outback? Teen years are difficult for all of us and I was no exception. The Maxx came to me at the exact moment I was beginning to call everything into question. Looking back, it's easy to see that it catalyzed the slow process that eventually resulted in "me".
The "two" worlds have since blurred for me and I'm fast losing my ability to separate them. Everything seems hopelessly intertwined and the feeling one is usually granted upon waking, that of being anchored back in reality, has been absent as of late.
I understand why humans are so dedicated to their rigid schedules of day and night, rest and work, youth and age. They're focal points. Breadcrumbs. Basically the whole point to this human experience. Just like when I was younger, when I start careening through space and time, my mindset becomes equally adrift. When I have a steady job, the ability to get to a gym and a girlfriend with whom to attach experience, things seem perfectly normal. Psychedelic experiences are limited to the occasional intense dream and of course actual ingestion of substances understood to create such states. However, amid the chaos I am now experiencing, and have experienced at regular intervals throughout my life, the lack of a discernible timeline throws everything into question. Mundane things take on an additional layer of profundity and simple human interactions become laced with synchronicity and meaning. The feeling of trying to be able to pay attention but not being able to has spilled over from dreams into the world. It's like when you go to a party or an amusement park or anything new and disordered. You have a certain amount of the experience that your brain will let you have in the actual moment funneled into sharp spots of presence and then you have the remainder to be experienced as time wears on and you are fed the overwhelming amount of stimulus you ingested earlier in portions acceptable for integrating interpretations.
My life is in boxes and I'm unsure whether or not to unpack. I've been at this apartment for a little under a week now and not too much is unpacked. An organic existence has developed inside my planned one. All useless possession have fallen by the wayside and just the essentials are being utilized. Kitchen, bathroom, clothing. Everything else remains untouched. I'm reminded of my brief stint in jail, or family vacations, or either of my periods of living away from home subsisting on only the bare essentials.
A question develops: Do I need all this shit?
The clear, immediate answer is no.
But I know better than that. Given enough time, everything would just accumulate again. So my charge becomes not attempting to rid myself of all of it, or even to grow so wealthy as to acquire more, instead I must strive to purify. Keep what is crucial to the existence I've created for myself.
Still though, even knowing this, the visceral visual of everything neatly packed n' stacked is hard to ignore.
A big part of me wants to leave everything be. Just unpack when and where the need for an item arises. Another part desires to request off a string of days and to get everything completely set-up how I see fit. This struggle would have defined stress in my youth, but in my maturity I view it from the third position and pick and choose when and where to ally my support without ever losing my sense of calm.
The lines between "me" and "out there" are starting to blur. I mean even more than they already had. Everything seems a perverted extension of myself. Upon waking, and still reeling from the severe states suffered while sleeping, I was still not fully "here". Reality still felt like a dream. Since showering and sitting down to type this, things have greatly settled down.
*Tangent: typing to me seems to be the very definition of the mode of existence we experience as humans from birth to death. Slow, purposeful, calculated attempts at capturing something that is inherently incapturable. When we are Moon-Faced Buddha, typing/life seems slow, boring and monotonous. When we are Sun-Faced Buddha, typing/life seems an elegant way to progress forward and simultaneously anchor ourselves. When you've had overwhelming dreams/nightmares, you long for waking life. When you've had a string of drawn-out tedious days in the Conscious Realm you pine for sleep and astral adventure. Such is the ebb and flow of life. Such is the expression of the very duality we are here to experience. Yin and Yang. The fundamental balance of opposing forces understood to create unity through perceived separation. /Tangent*
I was fully dressed from this morning, (I had to cover the portions of my anatomy deemed unacceptable for exposure to society in order to politely send off a young lady that had spent the night) and still very much out of it when I first decided to reach for my phone and rejoin the reality game. Motivated by hunger and confused by recent mental escapades I sauntered around my apartment aimlessly until settling in on a bag of baked goods acquired from work last night. I set in on them and leaving my front door wide open, traipsed down the stairs and out onto the double-wide sidewalk partitioning off commercial/residential space from the road.
Something snapped back into place.
"What are you doing?"
I dunno. Eatin' muffins/doughnuts and lookin' around. What are you doing?
"Where are your shoes?"
Uh, upstairs. We never wear shoes, don't act like this is something new.
"True, but typically we endeavor upon shoelessness mindfully. We are AWARE and actively CHOOSING to NOT wear shoes. You just plodded down here barely awake."
*eating, thinking about acquiring more food, wondering where everybody is, questioning the validity of his waking state*
"Go back up stairs, write a blog, title it 'Barefoot in The City' and focus on this ambiguity between wakefulness and dreaming."
*nods, heads up stairs*
The static routine that tends to bore and drive toward altered consciousness was absent and instead the unease and desire for stability was prevalent. It would appear I have achieved that. Sitting here, for the past few hours, typing this, has certainly done its part in anchoring me back to what we humans collectively refer to as reality.
Since quieting my minds investigation, a different focal point has emerged. Cyclical behavior. Days, weeks, months, seasons, years.
Cycles. I've done this before. In California. At 19. A theory is beginning to emerge. Perhaps I am destined to repeat my actions endlessly until developing an awareness that supersedes them and allows me to elicit real change.
While my overall progress has spiraled ever upward, that is only from the perspective of a certain vantage point in space. Rotated and taken top-down, I've been moving in circles.
My nonlocal nature is asserting itself as I simultaneously feel like I did as a young teenager living at home, a young adult in California, a twentysomething in my first apartment, how I will likely feel at my modest Vish mansion and in the property I will own in Japan.
It's a very weird, very hard to describe feeling mired in juxtaposition. I feel independent yet lonely. I feel free yet unsure of where to go. Calm and yet somehow confused. Deep inside I know everything will work out, but just below the surface I am anxious to get the show on the road. Sometimes I am so stereotypically human it disgusts me.
This susceptibility to the fickle flow of my mind serves to remind me why I support my own personal marijuana habit. Regular use of cannabis allows me to compartmentalize more efficiently. To definitively enter things into either reality or nonreality. As it stands, when left sober for long periods of time I veer toward the extremes most aim for with psychedelic use. Put simply: When unable to get high via cannabis, I am high all the time. Cannabis does not cancel out my high it merely allows me to schedule to experience it at times when it is more convenient for me to do so.
It would appear that I'm going to keep gravitating to the depths of this valley until my oscillation chooses a side to commit to. While punctuated by periods of perception wherein my immediate involvement is not necessary and the lack of such does not create unrest, overall I keep coming back to the same place. I am continually confronted with having to make a choice. And that choice is represented by a question. A question that is asked in more direct terms in our youth. -- What do you want to be when you grown up? -- At this point along the graph it has take a more broad scope of inclusion. -- What do you want to do?
While when I was younger this question served to torture me, I've grown enough to understand that if that is the main conflict in your life, deciding what you want to do, you are pretty well off. Then, it was something to "solve" or "fix", now, it's just something to think about. To grant dedicated thought to.
I am sure that I will figure everything out and be okay.
I am not sure I am awake.
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