Taking a mental hiatus from Tarik for a few days. Not really dealing with writer's block, but in fact the exact opposite. In short, my thoughts on the story are becoming obsessive.
So instead, I turn to that old familiar thought pattern: existentialism.
I call it the inside out life because I truly believe that the standard reality is backwards. There is so much more inside than out. Some of my fondest memories are of people and places that have not happened.
Outside of myself is sentience. I am me, and only me. I can only feel, truly know, and experience the things that I alone come across. It's a very small place to live, encapsulated in my own sentience. I struggle to know and understand the things around me. I can't know how other people think until they share it, there are places on this earth I've never even been made aware of. I meander through my days in a haze of misunderstanding and ignorance, feeling only half awake, half aware.
Inside of myself is omnipresence in which as a sentient creature I refer to myself as "I", but in reality it should be "all". Inside me is a myriad of people with passions and pleasures, ambition and ambivalence. I know them all intimately (not that kind of intimate you perv!) and each time it seems the number of them is growing. They traverse a wide landscape, various climates and sceneries that I know just as intimately. It's not as if I've been there, but that these people and these places ARE me. I am a child running through myself as a rolling meadow underneath myself as the clear sky.
Sometimes i feel like I should be confessing these things to a head doctor while lying on a couch. Perhaps truly believing that there just might be another reality encapsulated within myself is a common form of delusion associated with schizophrenia 😀 . I often feel as if I'm teetering on the edge of completely losing my natural sentience, or my mind, same difference.
Much of my day is spent only partially aware of my surroundings. I will work, function, hold conversations with people but somehow completely unaware they took place. Instead I'm focusing on a branch laden with a family of grey songbirds settling down for the night. I am the tree, and each of the birds, even the stars that begin to peek in from the darkening sky.
My focus, or lack thereof, isn't intentional, if not downright scary. I don't just say "okay, I'm bored, let's go to the land of make believe" but rather I find myself sucked into it whenever I let a little loose of my sentient awareness. This half in, half out awareness leaves me in a constant daze, distracted. Sometimes I wish I could live just one day clearly, just to see what it is like. I have brief moments that hit me at random times where everything feels ultra real. I look around and say "this is my house, and there's the dog I've lived with for 9 years" and it feels like I'm seeing it for the first time. It's an awestriking sensation, but just as soon as it comes, it's gone again, leaving everything fuzzy on the edges, like trying to see through scratched sunglasses at dusk.
I sometimes wonder if my sentience is really the dream and the omnipresence the reality, or even if I'm meant to be a gestalt of both but have become severed. Either way, there is left a feeling of incompletion, or as if something is amiss. Perhaps my death is just the process of turning myself right side out. Maybe it is simply the death of my knowledge of my existence, and after death I return to the omnipresence inside.
/rambling
So instead, I turn to that old familiar thought pattern: existentialism.
I call it the inside out life because I truly believe that the standard reality is backwards. There is so much more inside than out. Some of my fondest memories are of people and places that have not happened.
Outside of myself is sentience. I am me, and only me. I can only feel, truly know, and experience the things that I alone come across. It's a very small place to live, encapsulated in my own sentience. I struggle to know and understand the things around me. I can't know how other people think until they share it, there are places on this earth I've never even been made aware of. I meander through my days in a haze of misunderstanding and ignorance, feeling only half awake, half aware.
Inside of myself is omnipresence in which as a sentient creature I refer to myself as "I", but in reality it should be "all". Inside me is a myriad of people with passions and pleasures, ambition and ambivalence. I know them all intimately (not that kind of intimate you perv!) and each time it seems the number of them is growing. They traverse a wide landscape, various climates and sceneries that I know just as intimately. It's not as if I've been there, but that these people and these places ARE me. I am a child running through myself as a rolling meadow underneath myself as the clear sky.
Sometimes i feel like I should be confessing these things to a head doctor while lying on a couch. Perhaps truly believing that there just might be another reality encapsulated within myself is a common form of delusion associated with schizophrenia 😀 . I often feel as if I'm teetering on the edge of completely losing my natural sentience, or my mind, same difference.
Much of my day is spent only partially aware of my surroundings. I will work, function, hold conversations with people but somehow completely unaware they took place. Instead I'm focusing on a branch laden with a family of grey songbirds settling down for the night. I am the tree, and each of the birds, even the stars that begin to peek in from the darkening sky.
My focus, or lack thereof, isn't intentional, if not downright scary. I don't just say "okay, I'm bored, let's go to the land of make believe" but rather I find myself sucked into it whenever I let a little loose of my sentient awareness. This half in, half out awareness leaves me in a constant daze, distracted. Sometimes I wish I could live just one day clearly, just to see what it is like. I have brief moments that hit me at random times where everything feels ultra real. I look around and say "this is my house, and there's the dog I've lived with for 9 years" and it feels like I'm seeing it for the first time. It's an awestriking sensation, but just as soon as it comes, it's gone again, leaving everything fuzzy on the edges, like trying to see through scratched sunglasses at dusk.
I sometimes wonder if my sentience is really the dream and the omnipresence the reality, or even if I'm meant to be a gestalt of both but have become severed. Either way, there is left a feeling of incompletion, or as if something is amiss. Perhaps my death is just the process of turning myself right side out. Maybe it is simply the death of my knowledge of my existence, and after death I return to the omnipresence inside.
/rambling
