As many of you know I work with ideologies of manifestation and the power of positive thought and have been actively practicing these ideologies for several years now. I study the mind through the analytical and spiritual analysis of my own experiences, so much so at times that I’ve been told that I think too much. Being over-analytical can lead to chaos and chaos was a natural state of being for me at one time.
Before I became aware of the fact that I was the one who primarily caused my own chaos I believed that sometimes bad, often weird, sometimes thrilling shit just happened to me and if you were to ask any of my friends they would most likely have agreed. Statements like, “where do you meet these guys?” and “Shit like this always happens to you.” and “Not another one?!” were met with laughter at the absurdity in regard to the regularity of my strange and unusual experiences.
If I’m honest I admit that there was a period of time when I enjoyed it. I loved the chaos; I felt like it made me interesting and gave temporary meaning to an existence that I didn’t really understand. But like any addiction the satisfaction is fleeting and leaves a deep dark cavernous hole that constantly needs to be filled and increases in girth with every passing drama. Even when you feel in your heart and soul that the madness percolating inside is not the feeling you want to hold on to, you hold on to it anyway because it’s comfortable, it’s what you know and at one time it did give you satisfaction and relief.
What happens when you are aware? You wake up. What happens when you wake up? You realize that it was just a dream. What happens when you realize that it was just a dream? You finally begin to live. Years of turmoil diminish into months, months turn into weeks, weeks turn into days. Every year that has passed has been a year where my manifested chaos has decreased and my comfort in angst has become less comfortable. I no longer feel that thrill in the dramatic bane, fitting to a Spanish novella, but rather feel angst at the angst itself; cringing at the knowing sensation and actively working to release it from my psyche so that I can get back to my preferred state of consciousness, i.e.: peace, happiness, serenity and faith (a big one that I have to practice every single day). I used to question why anyone would want to be “content” in his or her life, how boring that would be to just be content. I now flourish in that contentment and crave it when I’ve lost it and celebrate it when I’ve found it again.
I still have no idea what the meaning of life is or what my exact purpose is or whether any of it is even worth it; but one thing is for sure, I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. I still brew my chaos, more regularly than I would like to acknowledge, but I have solace in the fact that it is no longer comfortable, it is no longer what I know and it no longer gives me any satisfaction or relief; quite the opposite.
I most certainly cannot give you any meaning of life and absolutely can’t even tell you that it’s all worth it, but what I can say is that as long as I am on this planet in this body, I am going to have as much fun in my contentment as is humanly possible. I am going to walk around the globe with a smile on my face, a tune in my ear and a strut in my step because what the hell is the point otherwise? Contentment is not boring, contentment is freedom and freedom is FREEDOM