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Dislocated Spirits

By Billy | December 17, 2009

You are a fantastic worm, born in the middle of Jupiter. As you crawl out from one level of the core to the next, from metal layer to rock layer to ice layer to violent atmosphere… At each level you metamorphose into a new being more capable of passing through the medium at that level. Each state of being you become new, all but forgetting what it was like to experience the state before. You start as a tiny dot, then you’re a worm, and soon enough you are a great flying being navigating the eye of the biggest storm.
As a flyer, you look back on your life and hardly recognized the thought processes that existed for you as an ice-dwelling worm.
As a human adult, you hardly understand the thoughts going through a 4 year old’s mind. As a human hardened by the experiences in your many years, you forget the naïve thought process that existed in you in, say, college.

We are crawling, walking, leaping, getting thrown, beaten, dragged, and kicked into different layers of existence. Sometimes we evolve into beings ready to set cruise control in. We make adaptations that keep us at our comfortable flying speed, and to reach escape velocity to go visit Saturn would require steps back. It’s not uncommon or unreasonable for us to willingly climb back down when the level above seems too intense. The atmosphere is more dangerous, bigger, scarier. Space is even worse.

Yet, we long for space. That is where we are born to go. It’s in your nature. Eventually you will explore all of the surroundings you have. You will feel cramped by the confines of your body. You will wonder what lies beyond your line of sight.

I’d venture to guess that you experience longing on a frequent basis.
You long to be with something or someone with which/whom you currently are not near.
You long to be away from something you are near.
You long for things to be the way you see them being in the future.
You long for things to be the way they used to be.
You long for things to remain the same.

More than likely, a combination of these go into your longing.

These longings are, because of our human nature, really baffling. Suppose at this point in your life, your longings are most noticeable in the physical domain. You long for your achy bones to feel like they did when you were young, or you long for another warm body in your bed for once. You wish better quality (flavor or substance) food in your belly, you wish your house were air conditioned finally.

Suppose a wish-granting fairy were to appear in your living room as you uttered to yourself these wishes for physical fixes. A lifelong supply of these fixes are granted to you by this fairy. Wonderful. Longings taken care of, life is good, happily ever after.

Happily for a while after. As soon as you’re comfortable, if you’re anything like other humans, you’ll begin to find something to be unsettled by. Now that you’re not struggling to stay alive, you have the time to sit and ponder. Now you’ve got to be alone just you and yourself. Now you’re in trouble.

If we’re not longing for physical comforts, we are longing for emotional ones. Our tastes get more refined and our vision for what we want is made more clear. Happiness in its truest sense is at that end of the asymptote that we will never reach. I think sometimes we throw stuff in our own ways to keep us far away, because it’s sometimes frustrating to be faced with this eternal the-harder-you-push-the-more-you-have-to-work.

I have things I want to scream at you. I have things I long to say and long to show. When experiencing metamorphosis, you have to just sit there. Growing. Guhhhh. You’re not climbing to greater heights, nor are you safe, nor are you comfortable. You are static, you are vulnerable, you are small. You can’t plan because you can’t possibly know what to plan around. You know neither the conditions above nor your future capabilities. You sit in that chrysalis and you wait. You thank yourself for carrying on so well thus far, and you prep yourself for the struggles of learning to use new wings.
I long to be out of this cocoon. I long to explore the atmosphere. I long to show others how it’s not too bad up here. I don’t even know yet.

I am going to stop here and rest despite my longings.

What if this particular cocoon won’t let me out until I eliminate my longings? What if the last cocoon is the longings itself? They keep us moving, they keep us protected, they keep us growing, but they ultimately hold us down.

What’s at the end of your asymptote? Who is your infinity?

Topics: Philosophy, This is my life | Comments Off on Dislocated Spirits

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