I am me

I'm me.  I see this as a defended statement currently.  The vast possibilities of living are overwhelming and too much.  I respect that these are defended states of thinking that will need time to integrate into the reality that I may choose from many options, and be happy with my selection at the end of the day or not be happy.  It's okay.  I cannot know now what will be the end of my life's story.  I'm writing these lines, now.

In the future I might or may not read again.  I may see things the same or differently. 

I tapped on groudlessness.   I found myself hugging myself.  It was a comforting embrace that had for its essence worldlessness.  It was an acknowledgement of the tiredness of the exhaustion of wanting to know and being afraid to know. 

I have ordered several more books as a result of Yalom's comment in "Staring at the Sun" regarding the significance of this work on him:

Becker, Ernest. The denial of death. Simon and Schuster, 2007.

List of books on hold now:
Will therapy and truth and reality. Otto Rank
Fear and trembling ; and, The sickness unto death / S²ren Kierkegaard ; translated and with notes by Walter Lowrie ; with a new introduction by Gordon Marino.

I've also started reading this book at the Shambala Mountain retreat in Red Feather.  Visited there on Saturday afternoon.  Spent time in meditation.  It was very peaceful.  The first volume of this book:

The path of individual liberation / Chögyam Trungpa / Chögyam Trungpa ; compiled and edited by Judith L. Lief.

was sitting in one of the alcoves.  From my research there are total of three volumes.  Here is the my truth at the moment:  Is Dualism really real?  Oneness and existential thought are matters of great curiosity to my mind.  It may well be a defensive mechanism.  How can I think my own thoughts?  I have been asking this question for a long time.  What seems to emerge in my fascination to know is a deep longing for words.  Words that might describe the inner workings of mind, really to plumb the depths of essence---my human essence.

This seems to be absolutely unknowable.  Yet some guides inspire me to continue my pursuit.  I don't know if Trungpa will help or not?  Kierkegaard?  Sartre?  I keep coming back to delusion, illusion, etc.  Were these men "perfectly" deluded?  Who am I?  Should I find the answer then what?  I read today in Becker's "The Denial of Death" regarding the ability of the human to stand on his own--something almost impossible at best only a mere illusion. 

This seems to be one part of the journey to maturity.  On the other hand, the stepping out onto nothing is one that is fraught with anxiety.  I'm anxious.  Why?  I am honest.  Why?  I deceive myself at every turn.  Why?  Too-muchness?  Beingness is so overwhelming.  Consciousness is "too-much" or is it?

I am altogether dependent and independent.  I cannot stand alone nor stand together.  A crushing weight!  A god that shits.  That's me.  Innocence.  There is none for me.  Gone. Bare-stript.  I do know what is missing.  I known now because of what is missing.  I don't run naked in body or mind.  It's not safe.  Is it safe though?  What is the worst?  It is only knowledge of what already does not exist.  Nothing changes.  Everything changes.  Alternatives are bleak until stript of all defenses. 

Now I'm praying the prayer of insanity!  To ask to be stript of all defenses!  How incredibly bizarre!  I cannot do other.  I will strip and be stript.  The alternative is unbearable.  Not to exist is no existence.  To tuck into another, to chunk my anxiety with society's and be a non-being among other non-beings, where would such idleness ever end?

Courage?  Lunacy more likely.