i hate titles

so i kinda wish i'd bare my soul on blogger and find a friend. but then, i hope no one i already know ever reads my sporadic ramblings, as they're basically much like the journals i kept from age 14 till just last year: no focus, might be anything, written from boredom, emotional turbulence, lonliness, or as a way to try to understand something when other means failed. thirty four years of journals contained many things: detailed sketches (words or drawings) of people who struck me in some way; unfairness; my dramatic, sometimes tragic love life; plans for all kinds of things; schedules, poems, dharma verses, fears, arguments after (or before) the fact, things to remember, stream of csns stuff as a tool to peek into the psyche; predictions, instructions, inventions, poems; and literally thousands of dreams. i recorded readings people gave me; funny stuff they said, passages from books, recipies. anything, everything. many drawings too, doodles, good portraits, abstracts to show my inner state or try to express what i felt in someone but had no words for. i drew people i hadn't yet seen, later learning how close my guesses were. if something scared me i'd try to draw its shape to distract myself and disperse the fear.

over time i saw patterns. certain symbols in dreams were clues and shoulnt be ignored. i slowly saw that in many situations i was stronger, kinder, and more practical than those around me -- but at the time i felt inferior. i saw how guilt could plague me, how people could manipulate me with it. i saw that sometimes i quit things too soon, not seeing progress and thinking i wasted time.

last year, when my stuff was stolen (the journals were in the bags, dumped i'm sure wherever the thieves opened them), and sinisa's book along with the rest, i quit writing. lately, i'll do like now: so much feeling is inside i stay out, thinking, writing, maybe with friends maybe alone. i feel close to no one, and people i know now (since returning) are mostly promising and engaging but ultimately...untrustworthy. so i pull back. stop sharing, hoping, even visiting at all in some cases. but...my innate and urgent desire to communicate -- over which i have no real control -- remains. add in times like now -- my money's screwed up, someone i rely on is obviously in deep trouble and i can't help (tho i'm trying to help anyway, dammit) and i dread the crash and burn that looks inevitable.

crap. i charged my ipad at starbucks and got to talking with the guy next to me. he claimed to be a social worker. as time passed, i started feeling that the guy was insane. smart, intuitive, relaxed...but insane. it was subtle so it took me awhile get it. neptune square sun-mercury. bane of my life.

i refuse to count how many times, in how many situations, i've overlooked the clear fact that someone's nuts. i just can't tell. why not? for one, as an unconventional thinker, i'm willing to give others a chance despite odd views and notions. two, rajas was right: i see clearly -- except when i want something. many headcases evoke desire in me -- for love or work or friendship or whatever. they seemed to have what i need. they're handsome, well spoken, talented musically or verbally, have uncommon personal magnetism. these have too much weight with me.

and they're interesting. people are often not especially interesting to me because they just repeat what they've heard, they accept "how it is," they don't know their real wants, they're greedy or cruel, etc. it puts me off.

if they're cruel, anger is added to boredom. so i mostly do my thing. meeting someone who's unusual is a pull right there. they might be ultimately even less awake and aware than more conventional folk but i can't see it, or not soon. ten minutes or ten months or ten years. once i do see clearly that a person isn't responding to the present but just to their inner drama, its over. i can't live in their illusions, i'm alone. again. and insanity brings problems.

emotions mix with the refusal to deal with life. life will force the issue. personally hate seeing or being pulled into this, which is why i rarely duck issues.

bottom line: writing eases my lonliness and helps me not fall into wasting as much precious time in the dreamlands of others. i've got dreamlands and deadends of my own to see thru. i screwed up about money, right? else i'd not be with little or none despite years of hard work, despite being good with using what i have, being able to wait and to save, despite needing far less than is typical.

and i have ... no home, no income, no savings, and just one of the three tools i need for my art. i cant buy clothes or see movies or even get my hair done. yet i constantly improve my skills. all this just reached its limit with me a few years back when the shit hit the fan. it's why i now turn down most everything. senseless to spend my remaining life for nothing. might as well just do what calls me -- art, music if i can pull that back into my life, and if conditions ever ripen again for me, returning to dharma now free to go for it would be excellent.

if nothing pans out, no goals are reached, i never have another friend who knows me well, i never resume my formal practice and never finish my promise (ngondro), and no one ever wants anything i have to give...if, and all this easily could be what happens .... i'll feel many things, but even so, i will, whenever i remember, try to just be clear and content /in that moment./ all endeavors are with a hope for happiness. if the tools are denied me, so what? its a state of mind, happiness. the tools don't contain it and don't dipense it. i know this, kinda, but constantly forget.

ok. this: all i just wrote is true. also true: i burn with envy quite a lot! and didn't even know really, till this year. my nature is competitive, active, creative, goal oriented, etc. i'm happy doing, even happier with praise for what i do. seeing others doing things i can't simply burns inside me and i have to leave. shyness pins me down further. i duck and run and burn.

i left tashi choling because of this. i knew at the time, and wrote about it then. i also knew someday i'd have to deal with it, but i have no idea how. maybe i live in its wreakage and don't even know it. increasingly, i want to curl up and never go outside again. but that's silly, impossible, and wouldn't help.


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