Chapter 03. Incoherence.

What do I have to say that makes sense? Through all of these last few days, I haven’t had a steady or core feeling. Maybe that one thing is important, or maybe that other one, actually, maybe all of them are, but how do I make sense of it all? How do I even bring them together in this entity that is me? What is meaning?

Who am I? As a person, what really defines being myself? I’ve tried so much to find out these past few months, pushing aside this “fake” self. Or is this persona still part of me and I’ve just become more of certain people through growth?

 I was at this wedding, a few years ago with my then partner, and it was one of these religious ones, so a lot of what you could do was limited down to eating and talking. Now, I was extremely tired. I think both me and my brother and our fellow partners were, you know, being used to staying up until 2 or 3 in the morning and waking up well into the afternoon. Being summer and all, holiday or sorts, routine was gone through the window.

Well, this time we had to wake up at 5 or 6 and drive for a few hours, so no more sleep for us. So I had to talk. I’ve had 4 cups of coffee at this point and they weren’t helping at all. I think my brother had at this point retired in his car to have a quick nap and I was certainly considering doing the same. There’s only so much you can walk around in the courtyard before you really want to sit down and sleep.

 So we go back, time to get a new cup of cappuccino I guess, and I end up finding this guy, who seems perfect for a deeply religious and philosophical debate. Nothing better to wake myself up than good conversation. Poor lad.

Now I’ve already dropped him the bomb that “we are gods” earlier on and had my girlfriend remind me that that’s not the sort of thing you say when you meet people, especially deeply religious ones. Fair point. I didn’t think it through. Weirdly enough, he comes back after a while, maybe to figure out just what was wrong with me, or, maybe he was actually curious, who knows, I was way too tired to be empathetic.

 All set, we’re all at the table, my girlfriend there to stop me from not making sense and to shut me up at times. Which she did, thank god. She was already well versed in my nonsense to know when I was getting sidetracked and wasn’t making sense more than usual. Holy shit I must have been a pain to deal with. So she nudges me to start with the small things that make sense and present my conclusion at the end, like a true academic, not like my usual opposite way.

And there was the perfect start that she kept whispering to begin with. And this thing had a profound effect on me and I think us both. From a 10 minute video on youtube of a guy making the statement: “Understanding replaces forgiveness in the mind of the master”. It marked a crucial effect on me, so much so that a few weeks later I had already listened to two of his books, looking for more of that wisdom.

 He explains things in a very simple way: all of our actions are actions of love, and our hurtful actions, distorted acts of love. That out of our liking and desire to care for or about something we may hurt other people. But in its essence, the intention would simply be a childlike love for something that sparks desire that is then acted upon with learned behavior that sometimes isn’t the best.

He goes on to give examples very similar to the ones Jesus would in the bible, where upon someone doing you a wrongdoing, seek to understand what internal conflict that person faces in order to hurt others and try to solve that, as your duty as a human being. And the easiest way he ends up explaining it is that grandparents will most often understand their grandchildren’s behavior, their mistakes caused by a lack of knowledge or education, or accidents. If you understand their intention, if you understand their reasoning, how can you forgive it? If you never felt angry or resentful of someone, how can you let go of those feelings in order to create forgiveness?

 His explanation, at the time, blew my mind, and rightfully so. He explained god’s love and unconditional love in such a simple way, it was something I couldn’t argue against. And although flawed, we have the capacity to understand and love in the same manner, to be god-like in this aspect. To be more like Jesus was and love even our enemies. To me this was a resounding argument to the point I was trying to make eventually, a few arguments down the line, and so far, this guy was taking it pretty well. So I carried on. He asked so many questions I didn’t know the answer for, but that day, I felt this sort of magic power that pushed me to theorize more and reach my own new conclusion myself. In the end, that’s what a good debate is about, right? Learning more, exchanging ideas that make you grow. Now it was no longer about convincing this guy, but keeping the talk going so I can learn even more. What a lovely turn of events.

In the end, a few hours later, while I’ve completely forgotten I was tired to begin with, we’re beckoned to leave, and after a few servings of desert, we do depart. I ended up learning a few months later that he ultimately couldn’t agree to my ideas, but at that point, I was happier of how much I learned myself in order to care too much about it.

 So, what changed since then? I had a meaning, an explanation ready and many routes to further pursue and try to grow myself. I had a bunch of people I was listening to that challenged my beliefs over and over again, making me think more about what I was allowing into my life and what I was pursuing. All made sense, right?

 I'm thinking about it, and all that comes to mind is losing friends. Talking to a few people at the church I was going to, going through some of these points that I’ve figured out from the bible at the time, and I remember being in a car with a few of them, and getting shouted at. I was told there was just one way to god, and that was the Christian way, and any other way was going to end me up in hell. I’ve already heard that argument before, but why did it hurt so much more this time? Maybe it was the people it was coming from, people with which I’ve shared a lot of my struggles and were there a lot on my path of growth, and the fact that they were now rejecting me and my understanding was extremely painful.

And then, I remember going through the last story I mentioned on my first chapter, going through the last days of the breakup, and trying to figure out ways to salvage what was left. I knew god wasn’t an old man in the sky anymore, but a true self residing inside of me, a potential of sorts, if you want to call it that. A me that can behave in loving ways and understands and forgives. I had proof, many Buddhist monks and gurus have reached that stage, through years of meditation and training, they’re somehow connected with that, and I wanted it too.

But I couldn’t do it in the same way anymore. I couldn’t pray at night the same way anymore. At least that was my logic back then. And meditation was making me calm, but wasn’t securing any hope for the future like religion has done to me up until that point. I was left worrying more about the future than before, even with all these new realizations. And she was telling me to just pray again, to go back to that archaic way of thinking again and that would solve everything again. That would give me hope again, and make things work.

 And I think what changed, was that I refused. Looking back now, I desperately wanted it, to have this secure future set out to me by this god in the sky that takes care of all, so I can just play in the dirt and know food is on the table. But that was an easy way out, that was a cowardly solution, not accepting the fact that I had full control over my life, that my thoughts and actions and words were what mattered most, and wishful thinking was just a way of laying out thinks I wanted. I had to do something. I had to grow and try to understand how to do it myself, and not unconsciously rely on god to do it.

However, I think it was too much, to think of it this way, at least for me at the time. I collapsed, lost all that faith in god, forgot the power I believed resided in me, and forgot that I can love unconditionally. I just.. forgot all those things. Or maybe I didn’t want to remember, too painful to realize I was bringing myself on myself and my life. Now I was the one being cowardly. Instead of relying on prayers, I denied it all completely, and for a good time, it was like none of it ever happened. Or maybe, it was because all of it was fake. Right? How can something true vanish so quickly? If that was the true me, then it would have prevailed. That’s what truth does, right?

 And I honestly believed that. I honestly thought that was fake, and I had to find a new meaning, a new way, a new god, a new me. And maybe it was fake, listening to all these people, taking part of their belief, or advice, and using that to help make myself and my life better. But that doesn’t sound like being fake, that just sounds like self-help. But I think I wanted it. I really, truly, wanted it to be fake. So they don’t take the credit for figuring it out, so I can have the chance to rediscover something on my own, something true to me and me only. Even though the conclusion was going to end up being the same, it was something I was going to do on my own. As my own god. At least that’s what I thought. And maybe it was the right approach, for this period of time, but I was miserable.

 So I brought darkness upon myself, an age of no truth, no knowledge and no rest. No meditation, no praying, no search for help, no contact with anyone who might help or who helped me in the past. A total isolation of sorts. From anything and anyone. I’ve left myself stew in my own emotions and experiences for almost a year, wishing that some emerging truth would come to the surface and suddenly change my life. It had to, right? It happened to other people, so it should happen to me. But it didn’t happen. And the more I kept waiting, the worse it got, until I realized I needed help.

Finally, I contacted a psychiatrist, and in the luckiest lottery of my recent past, I got someone incredibly empathetic and understanding that helped me tremendously over the last year. And it really helped. Guiding me through that ocean of pain and unsolved emotions that I had dormant for so many years. All that anger and resentment towards certain people in my life. All the hate towards ideas that failed me. All the distrust to the government and the system that failed me now that I was jobless and at the risk of ending up homeless any day now. It all slowly went away. She helped. She really helped. And soon, all I was looking for was those Wednesday meetings after work when I could finally talk to someone that really understood me. Really, deeply understood me and was still there. I mean, it’s her job, but damn, she did a wonderful job.

 

When she messaged me cancelling the appointments for the foreseeable future due to this insane pandemic going on, I was devastated. For so long, it was my only lifeline, and my emotional escape from the fact that I’ll eventually run out of money and I can’t find a job. With all the experience and the study I’ve done. Maybe the virus is to blame, maybe Christmas and January is to blame, maybe I’m doing something extremely wrong. But all of it became even more of a weight to carry, and I didn’t have anyone to rely on anymore.

And it got worse, much worse than it was before I ever met her, before I started speaking to her. I got messages from my mother who thought I was going to kill myself because of some dream, and I only ended up hating her more. It took her 6 years to finally realize it, and now she came in hopping, with simple solutions that she thought work, and I couldn’t stand it. It was a real issue and it seemed like it all was solved by praying. I couldn’t stand it, and I got worse.

 

I told a friend. A few weeks ago. Sent a full wall of text about how I feel, not unlike this one, and he was there, and I truly appreciated that. It’s so hard to be there for someone who is suffering, it’s so draining. And he went offline, and I don’t know what exactly happened that night that got me on youtube and listening to another guy talk. Just like I did 2 years before. But now he was talking psychology, not spirituality, explaining so many things I didn’t have answers to. It was 6 in the morning, and I was watching him talk like my life depended on it. He had answers. And he had 20+ years of research to back it up. No more religious speculations through prayer. Hard facts.

It was fascinating.

 It sparked something in me again. That flame that I extinguished came back to life, and I started writing. And writing more. And I took his advice, I cleaned my house, I did little things. I’m still depressed, but when I eventually go to sleep, I at least know I did something. I could have done nothing, but no, I did something. And honestly, that was enough. Enough to keep me going for a while and to keep on waking up every day, knowing that at least I’ll do that one thing.

And today, while falling asleep, I remembered that story at the wedding. That passionate me, excited for new things to learn, to know the potential we had as humans and beings. I remembered that video about love, the books I’ve listened, the “Power of Now” by Eckart, the many times I’ve spent theorizing and praying for answers and searching for higher meaning. It all came back, from that veil of forgetfulness. And the more I write about it, the more I remember. Like waking up from an afternoon nap, discombobulated and slowly remembering you’re human and you have legs and you can walk normally and you don’t really have to use your hands to walk. You know.

 So maybe, it wasn’t fake at all, maybe those realizations were truly a part of me, and all this has been an egomaniac’s trip to be “the only one who’s right”. However, extremely necessary. To dive so deep into myself for so long and still end up to the same conclusions. That people help other people. That I can’t do everything on my own. That it’s ok to share my pain, to be vulnerable and to still be angry and not understand. All of it is normal. Or at least, part of the entire life experience.

And it helped, at least now I know all those things are things I really believe. And what was truly fake is now truly gone. Like a purge, but the things that are gone are the ones I really didn’t expect to be gone. So it did end up helping, but god, I don’t want to do it again. To be that cowardly and run away for so long.

I’ll try more to be me, and even though I still don’t know much about who that is, and what is my purpose in life, I know I should listen to my whims, and respect the things I want to do, and do them. In the end, it’s the little things that spark joy. Until we find that bigger reason, maybe doing this is enough.

At least it beats doing nothing at all.