Sin

The original meaning of sin, as it was introduced biblically, was an archery word meaning, "to miss the mark."

This is much more accurate as a description of life than what the word sin has become nowadays: that is, something you have done that is wrong and must be punished, or something that makes you fundamentally a bad person, or something that is going to send you to hell.

I here officially mock the idea that God will punish you for doing bad stuff by sending you to hell. There is no concept that is more closely linked with the word "sheeple" than this. Your actions have results. Perhaps, if there is reincarnation (a concept that was a part of most religions, including christianity, until people decided it was to hard to controle people without eternal damnation) then the results come back to you in other lives as well. As good an explanation for crappy or good stuff happening that you didn't seem to precipitate as any other concept.

In any case, it is quite apparent to me that we make our own heaven and hell, and we make our own lives. If this is not apparent to you, fine, live as you perceive.

It is also apparent to me that God is good, and cares about his creation. And would never, every stoop to punishment. God is intricately linked with love, this I know. All else follows, and dogmas are easily seen though as defilement's of God's love or expressions of it. No need for jesus or buddha: what would Love do?

I am a fan of kissing: keeping it simple.

God is good, God is Love.

Truth is good.

Simplicity is good.

Violent religious zealots are fuckwads.

Unthinking, unfeeling masses are sending us to hell without even realizing it, because they have given over their brain cavity to the violent fuckwads.

Nature is pretty.

The unthinking, unfeeling masses can march us to heaven, by waking up and starting to think for themselves and especially feel the beating of there own heart.

You can't fuck it up. The worst you can do is miss the mark. The worst you can do is stop trying.

So keep taking those steps. One at a time. Pathetic and fail-ish though you may feel. There are only two options: stop, or keep walking. And it does get better, as you keep moving forward. It really does.

Mmmmm. Juice.

Today, we talk about the juicy stuff.

literally juicy.

No, not that litteral. No juicing apparatus.

Sex.

We talk about sex.

I've not talked about sex for a while.

Mostly, I just do it.

Sex.

No, not with other people. Prostitution is illegal most of the time, and frankly, I'm too embarrassed to try something like that, especially when I have other, much simpler and less dangerous options, like onanism. (Not the biblical one.)

and porn.

Women.

Women short and tall, rubenesque and skinny, blond an brunet and raven and red, scantily clad or fancily decorated. good girls bad girls sweet girls mean girls.

pretty girls.

I want to have sex with them.

Well congratulations Isaac, you've entered the 9/10ths of the entire male population club.

I don't want to have sex with them.

Wait, what do you mean by that? Why the hell wouldn't you want to have sex with them if you're not gay? You're swerving into some much less populated demographics.

I mean, what I want from them, isn't what sex is.

Well, sex can mean a lot of things. We've got all kinds of sex, my boy. All kinds. Maybe you just haven't found the right flavor yet.

Perhaps. But I intuitively feel that what I'm searching for, what gets spiked whenever I see something feminine and attractive, doesn't really fit into that word, sex. I think that because I have access to the internet, and frankly, if it was just a certain kind of sex, I probably would have found it, by now. You see, the thing is, I don't know what it is, that I'm looking for. All I know is that, regular as old faithful, I start getting this violent swirling of energy inside me, like a whirlpool, like a hurricane. It wants... something. Wants to do something. And seeing beautiful woman, makes it want to do that something, even more.

Porn now, porn is simple. When I was younger, it was new. And that was good enough. I like novel experiences. I like masturbation. It's fun. As a teenager, it was pretty close to essential, to keep me from going crazy. And it was fascinating. However, what I've noticed nowadays, is that if it wasn't for porn, I wouldn't masturbate nearly as much. Which is interesting, because the sexual energy inside me is still strong, and I'd be spending a lot of time uncomfortably energized, just because I didn't care enough to fix the problem through a simple bout of strangling the dolphin.

That's odd, that is. The only conclusion I could come to about this, is that my horniness isn't distinctly, well, sexual. In order to get rid of that energy, via sexual release, I have to actually change the quality of that energy, from something pre-sexual, into sexual, via looking at pictures of people having sex. I suppose I should deeply thank porn, because without it I would be significantly more hot and bothered than I am now. Porn, and the subsequent masturbation, gives me contentment and release, even if just temporarily. Sometimes guilt too, but that bit, I've found, is optional.

Well, is there something else I could be putting this... well, energy, to use in? I think actually yes is the answer. I think I could. But there's something stopping me. something that would be very nice to deal with:

Failure.

made popular in Isaac-vile by

Rejection.

There are all sorts of cool things I could be doing, but I don't want to do them, even as I desperately want to do them, because I am terrified of failing, yet again. Afraid of being rejected. Somewhere along the line, I got told, or shown, that when I didn't succeed at something, when I "sinned", it meant that I was a bad person. I "took it personally."

you know, there are some people, I'm thinking of certain olympic athletes, but they're in every field, who excel in their field, not because they are just naturally the best, though they are predisposed for what they do, but because someone taught them good as a kid, and they learned that everything is a lesson, and there is no such thing as failure, as long as you learn from your mistakes. And bless there little hearts, they believed it, and they became super awesome because when they fell off the horse, they'd get back on.

Me, not so much. I fall off the horse, I generally stay off the horse. Maybe take up cricket. Something less predisposed to falling.

what the fuck, ay? Obviously I "know better."

fuck you, me. It doesn't matter if I "know better." because I feel worse.

Your little precious intellectual sound bites?

worthless, by themselves. Worse than worthless, when you use them to tell yourself how you are a bad person.

What matters is not what you think, but what you feel and what you do. And that has to do with what you really believe. Which is not what you think.

"well Isaac" you say, "why don't you get off your whining ass and do something to change your belief and feelings about this, rather than just complain about it."

Slap to the face. first for being dickish. Second because this is what I am doing, right now: it just so happens that writing is a pretty good way to get clear on things and process through them, if done with intent. And this blog is nothing if not a showcase of process. And occasional off-color jokes.

Well, I think I'm done for the night. Or the morning, as our weird system of am and pm would have it. I'll probably come back to this, unless I decide to rant in a different, more private journal instead.

I'll leave you with something wonderful:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xe1a1wHxTyo

My life is a hypobole.*

*pronounced "high-po-buh-lee"

Dream #32

I had a dream last night where an old friend was jamming there finger into my gut chacra until I started crying about how I didn't care about anything and so I didn't have any motivation to make anything happen and if that was my life than I mine as well be dead.

It felt good to get that out on the table.

It also felt good to cry.

This is not to say I discovered some miraculous truth: more like I discovered a big underlying belief that had been eating away at me. Once these things see the light of day, and get felt, they're on there way to being processed.

I use the digestive system analogy extensively, these days. It really is like emotions are food that you eat, digest, and shit out. except a lot of people have serous digestive problems, and are hugely constipated. Because you don't have a choice about eating them, but you do have somewhat of a choice about digesting them and pooping them out. Not a simple yes/no button, but the ability to either digest and poo, or hold it in. Also, there are things that can be done about indigestion. The problem is people refuse to admit they have digestion problems (or constipation problems.)

That is: they refuse to admit, even to themselves, that they are holding in emotions, ignoring them, pushing them away, doing everything except letting them be felt and thus passed through.

That seems to be the key: the feelings won't stop until you receive the information they are trying to give you, and to do that, you have to listen, and to listen, you have to feel.

fuck. me. (not in the good way)

I kind of hate myself.

OK, hate isn't quite the right word. It implies a violent emotion, one which desires to destroy or hurt the object of hatred. It's more a frustration and despair.

Why:

I have ideas about who and what I should be, and should be doing, and I'm not those people and I'm not doing those things. Or anything remotely close.

I'll give some illustrative examples:

I'm not a wildly successful entrepreneur for green technologies.

I'm not a world changing activist who inspires millions to take up arms against our destructive system and plant gardens.

I'm not a spiritual bad ass who gives up everything to find a perfect master and totally trusts in God.

I'm not a normal bad ass who one pointedly devotes himself to some mastery and uses it to better the world.

These are things that I am not. And I think they are better, more important jobs than mine.

The result of that is that I feel crappy about myself.

The solution is... I don't know, but it's been suggested that I try finding a way to truly appreciate and love myself, as I am. It sounds really nice and comforting, just to think of. Easier said that done though, as old habits are hard to kill.

Also with that understanding, comes the homework of being ok doing what I'm doing, rather than trying to do what I think I'm supposed to be doing. I'm here working on a dinky little pipe cleaner stick figure, while I'm looking over at Michelangelo, thinking I should be practicing making marble statues and shitting on myself for not doing so.

I have to start from where I am, and do what I'm capable of doing. maybe that looks really, really unglamorous. Maybe for some classes I need to be in the special needs class, and it's hard for me, when in other classes I'm in the Advanced Placement version.

That's right, I don't universally think I'm a horrible person. There are some things I recognize are good about me. Mainly because friends have told me so (I still have a lot of trouble recognizing these things for myself.) That often just makes me more upset about my shortcomings, because I blame them for keeping me from being able to share my gifts and actually do some good for the world. I feel like a grade A cretin, for being given so much and doing so little with it. But fuck you muther (*&^er, (this is the self hate coming through), I can't do what I can't do, and if I am special ed with something, that's what I am. There will always be someone better and worse than you at anything. If you hate yourself and tell yourself your crap at it, you'll feel like shit. Maybe you'll use that to motivate yourself to get better at it. But that never worked for me, or anyone I know, so if it worked for you, let me know, because I'd be interested in that story. It would be a new one.

The other option is to look to what you have done, what you do have, give thanks, and take the next step, from where you are. And take a look at what all the parts of you make up, and live from there. Maybe I'm not good at organizing and motivating myself. I've tried to get better at it, but I just kind of suck beans. Well, I'll do my best to improve that, but maybe I should find somewhere or someone who is good at that, and do what I am good at.

Accepting reality is a relief, because you can stop arguing with it.

This is all easy to say. very very easy to say. It is a huge fucking deamon to slay though. It's a lot of emotional slogging, a lot of work and learning.

But hey, at least that's one of the things I'm good at.

;)

I go once more into the breach, into the consciousness coal mines, for another day, month, or year of backbreaking, dirty, mean labor. I'll let you know when I find some gems.

A pretty girl pointing slightly to the left of the moon

I was looking at a pretty girl as scenery rolled by my car window, when she turned and started waving excitedly. I paused, dumbstruck for a bit, then smiled and waved back. She turned abit, and apperently saw me (I guess she was waving at someone right behind me?) and waved and jumped up and down a bit even more excited. It was silly and simply and nothing. But it made me happy in a way I haven't been in a while.

It is the simple things that make life lovely.

Isaac's Zen quote of the day:

"When pointing at the moon for someone, don't forget to take parallax into account."

July 4th, 2010

I am sad in a deep and tired way. This grieving process, it's not predictable. Sometimes things are just generally shitty, sometimes I'm tired, sometimes I'm angry, sometimes I'm sad, sometimes I castigate myself for what I didn't do. Sometimes I'm nostalgic, sometimes I furiously try to change my whole life around and do everything I've always wanted.

Sometimes many at the same time.

Mainly though, I'm tired. Tired in my bones. Tired because I don't care about life. It doesn't seem important, in this dark light.

I want to be a good person. I want to change the world for the better. I want to really deeply help people. I want to be successful in my own life, have a profession that sustains me and will sustain my family. Something I'm good at, something I master, something that I feel is genuinely useful to mankind, and something I enjoy doing, that feels meaningful, as well as fun.

And I think I'm really bad at that.

I've always been so hard on myself. I really genuinly hate myself, and that confuses me, because I'm not supposed to hate myself. Why do I hate myself?

As far as I can trace, it's because I have an idea about what I'm supposed to look like, and I don't look anything like that.

Am I not supposed to look like that? If not like that, then like what? what am I supposed to look like?