Purpose Decoded

Discipline isn’t a virtue. It’s a neurosis.

It’s a way to exist peaceably in fear.It’s superstition rationalized, normalized, sanctioned.

We miss things, details, miracles, being hypnotized by routine. We’re blind to magic, we discard the moment and embrace our lists and ladders. We’re convinced that we don’t know ourselves, like there is something to know. We’re certain that we are sabotaging our lives when there is only the story of sabotage that we observe.

We struggle with our perceived failure to have accepted ourselves, our alleged incapacity for loving ourselves. But the self that we would love is a hologram, an illusion and its purpose is to amuse. It was not meant to last. It was not meant to be known or understood.

When we abide in wonder, we are witness to the whole point of this. When we can laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, we are actualized.

Location, Location, Location

The idea of going ‘inward’ to find truth, or the concept of an ‘inner’ self or a ‘higher self frustrates me.

I can no more grasp the locus of my  inner self than I can my heart, brain, or lungs. I’m told that  my vital organs are also within me, but I can’ t see or feel them–as long as they’re functioning properly. I see the rise and fall of my chest, but I’m not convinced there are lungs inside of me. I’ve never seen them, but if I were cut open, I can reasonably expect that these organs I’ve heard about would be there–quite pinkly proven.  If I have difficulty imagining my own physicality, then trying to wrap my mind around an intangible part of myself is just impossible.

How high up is my higher self? Step-stool high? Binoculars high? Hubble telescope high?

How do I know I’ve probed far enough toward my inner self? Is it like jabbing a finger inside my ear until I hit a tender spot?

I’m certain that what is meant by ‘higher’ self describes an evolved self rather than a geographically elevated self, but the concept still makes me want to look up. I’m hung up on the actual locus of these ‘selves’ and want so much to find them and integrate them into my experience, but my quest is unresolved and fruitless, and it makes me wonder about ‘where’ any part of my ‘self’ really is.

Maybe there is no locus at all. Maybe, attempting to pinpoint any supposed aspect of myself is like the ocean trying to find the wet spot. There is no inner self or higher self. There is only the self, examined or unexamined, conscious or unconscious.

It’s right here.