July 26th, 2006
I retreat to the back corners of my mind to find the darkest ugliest things. Then I journey forward again with those things in tow. The struggle to drag them into the light is the hardest, bravest action I will ever perform. It is so easy to retreat and stay there in the closet, with the sticky warmth of my fears around me like a protective buffer against the world. -Bobo
You know, "Bobo" (above) has got it right. It is so easy to insulate oneself from the rest of the big bad ugly awful world with a protective heat-shield of fears. I know this by observation of others.
I know this of myself.
I still wonder why I take the time and effort to sort out what amongst my fears is rational and which is obscure, irrational, anti-social, and ultimately stifling. It really is soft and warm and comfortable to wallow in a small corner of this world and only venture out into the vast harshness of reality to do the bare minimum required to remain able to forage for food in my fridge, and provide electricity to my electronic devices. When you use your fears to control your life, the result is not misery, it is something else ... a comfort of a sort. A relief, even. Or maybe it's just the realisation that no matter what hell and horror goes on out there, I have a small but well-defined—and very controllable—universe in here.
Some would call it a death. Maybe, I don't know. But I've lived in caves like that before, and those times were ... are like a drug to me: I yearn for them even after my physical cravings have evaporated. I think about them like a reformed alcoholic thinks of that last drink before he jumped onto the wagon. And for "the living" who are still vital and full of fire and initiative, the people who find their corners and quietly go to sleep elicit downright hostility. "How dare you choose to lie down and die like that, when I plan to go with nothing less than several kicks and a scream?"
Well, whatever you want to call it, I see myself and others drawn to the cocoon because of hurt in our lives. The damage that comes from being sensitive, observant, open and honest in a world of violence, indifference, deceit, and artifice ... well, those are all spikes through the heart of boldness, and poison in the blood of adventure. And though we may summon the strength to rise and overcome these painful ailments in our personalities, climbing as high as a great ruler and a leader of mythic proportion, even ... the only satisfactory resolution is to either stay hidden under your bed (and is there really, truly, anything wrong with that?) or go digging through the murky muck and mire of whatever ails you, pulling the dark slimy things out into the light to get a good look at them.
There are many people—supposedly great people, hugely successful people, even apparently very happy people—who are really just rising in what they think is status in proportion to the damage in their personalities. In fact, it is probably true that the greater the pain the greater the drive to be that successful person ... which further means that the "higher" up on the "success" ladder that one observes the people, the more likely it is that one encounters hidden sorrows, and the deeper and more painful those sorrows are.
Or, you might just find those people under a blanket with a TV remote or mouse in one hand, and a bag of Cheez Doodlz in the other.
They only way out of that dichotomous, yet strangely parallel life is to start dredging and shoveling until you fine the buried beasts that drive you one way or another. And, believe me, they don't want to come out of the muck; they have to be coaxed, forced, grabbed and subdued.
But be careful: To what end do those who want to fix themselves strive? Why is a choice of lives better than the one that experience has shoe-horned you into? Maybe you can see reasons. Maybe you can see the point of working hard to free the dark ugly lurking snapping beasts in the dirt ... but nothing comes for free, and if you see no point to it, then there most certainly won't be. In fact, you won't have much success at it, either.
You have to look at what is waiting for you at the end of that successful process (if, in fact, it ever is successful): Is it worth it? Do you really want what is there at the end of the road? And—most important of all—are you aware that nothing is as wonderful as you think it is?
If so, then maybe it is worth it to climb out of your pit with bags full of demons in tow. If so, then you are ready to start pulling the slime-beasts of self-protection out into the open where the direct sunshine can make them wither and die. And, if so, then you are ready to be open, honest, and caring again, and know that all those exorcised beasts now have an open door to come galloping back into your life ... and have to be wrestled with again and again, or perhaps buried back into the familiar spaces in your closet for safe-keeping.
If your mind has bruises (and whose doesn't?) and you want to clear it in anticipation of something greater in life, you'd better be prepared to fight tooth-and-nail with the beasts that caused those bruises, and you'd better be ready for that sinking dread when you once again feel the claws of the monster on your shoulder.
You'd better be sure it's worth it.
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