The thing about reality is, what time is, it repeats over and over and over again until the end of eternity, which doesn't exist, if you think of time like that. Reality, Earthly reality, is kind of like a song God got stuck in his head, that he can't get out. Like, God, I hate that song, but yeah, that's really catchy! Same idea.
I enjoyed the idea of reality repeating, over and over again, until the song ended. The song kept repeating, this song that God had made up, to bide his time, while he sat in his eternal glory, thinking about how much he had, but did not have at the same time. I was the tool God was using, to get that song that was stuck in his head out of his head. If only, I could do this correctly. If only, I could help God, this time, once and for all, get this song out of his head! That was the purpose of existence. I needed to fully integrate the conscious with the subconscious, bring it all to the surface, in order to get the song that was stuck in his head out of his head. So, there was going to be a checkpoint. When would it be?
My dad handed me some pills. Red pills. I took them. I rejoiced, for I had unconsciously taken the red pills! However, they were ibuprofen. Hmm. Pain pills. I was not supposed to take anything for the pain, but I had taken pain pills. This was a toss up. There would be another check point.
I argued, and argued with my parents. They were mad at me for being weird. I was mad at them for being weird about it. I understood their concerns, but they did not need to take me to the hospital for something so minor and crazy as enlightenment. Just let me sit at home. And then, they handed me some Ativan. I took it, subconsciously. I wanted it, subconsciously, for the pain I was in. I was in pain. However, I didn't realize it would be an issue for my misconstrued ideas. I fell asleep. Then, I woke up, and wondered. Did I do the right thing? Oh no, I took pain pills again! I was horrified with myself! That meant I went to hell! I understand the reasoning, and there was no good reasoning, just my horrific fear of hell. I justified it in my mind. Well, there were two Ativan pills, which meant there were two chances. I get another chance to reject the blue pill, or take the red pill, or not take pain pill.
Man, so many pills! This was a house full of hell when it comes to being clean and sober from useless pills of nothingness!
At dinner, I realized I had only taken one Adderall that day and that was why I felt like shit. I asked my mother, could I have an Adderall? She told me it was too late, and I thought of making a fuss, but then I remembered, right at the right moment, Adderall was a blue pill. I needed to reject the blue pill. So I didn't make a fuss. And I passed the pill test, in my mind.
Enlightenment is a paradox. If you admit you are spiritually enlightened, you are being egotistical, according to them. They think you are a little know it all. Because they are jealous. If you admit you are Jesus, you are not good enough to be Jesus. In fact, that makes you inferior.
Spiritual growth is a compromise. A give and take situation. You are both right. Balancing the ego with humility. Part of it is you have to admit you don't have it good, but you don't have it bad. But you have to be able to admit when you are in pain, admit that things aren't working, and be able to give up.
What were they talking about? This was the question I kept asking myself, while listening to my parents. What were they talking about? They asked me, “What are you doing right now?” And I wanted to know, “With what?” With my face? With my mind? With my body? With my ideas? With what? And when I asked, “With what?” they got mad! “You know what we mean!” No, I didn't!
Another thing they kept insisting I do is, talk to them about what I was thinking. And I wanted to know, which thoughts? The conscious ones? The subconscious ones? The semiconscious ones? Or the others? Which thoughts did they want to know? I was going to understand what they were saying, but they were so full of bullshit I didn't even understand what they were saying. I got confused. I asked for clarification. And each time I did, I was told, “You know what we mean!” No, I didn't!
Then, I asked my dad, “How he was going to make the stove hot for us to eat on it?” He looked at me puzzled. And then laughed. And wondered, “where did you learn that English, Rachel?” And I looked at him baffled, and wondered what temp that was. Then, I looked at him again, and said, “Where did you learn those ideas of doom, Feether Meeke?” And he looked at me and said, “Where did you learn the ideas of French fries, Rachel?” And it went on and on like that! Until we admitted there was a stale mate.
Then, my dad made beef for dinner. We ate. Then, he asked me a question. “When do you go back to school?” I looked at him and said, “I do not understand your ideas of school. Do you mean, when will I continue to learn how to become a successful person? Or do you mean, when will I become one with the idea of going back to college at a university?” He looked at me, and scoffed! “What are these ideas in your head? You are so full of thoughts you cannot think straight! Please, take her to the hospital!” And he looked at my mother.
My mother looked at me, and said, “We need movies. This is not good. Let's tape record this.” But she couldn't get out her camera because she forgot how.
And then, Feether Meeke said, “We need help for her mind problem! Ativan!” I looked at him and scoffed. “No, ativan, house that worships presciption pills! I need love! Not pills! Love!”
Feether Meeke looked at me, and said, “Ooohhh... Do you need a kiss?”
I remembered his molesting ways, and said, “Ewww.... that's gross!”
My mom was clearing the table, and she remembered to give me my medication. I looked at it, swallowed the pills, and then screamed. No! Not these death drugs! Not these horrible, horrible, horrible death drugs!
Then my dad got pissed! He swallowed his last bite of beef, and screamed out loud. “Hey! That is not acceptable table manners, Rachel!”
Then, my dad yelled again. “We need to talk! You need less drugs in your system, less drugs like Adderall and caffeine! These drugs are making you anxious!”
And I looked at him, and said, “No! What's making you anxious is the SSRI's! Look at you! You're a screaming wreck!”
And then he screamed! “No! You are not a good daughter! You don't make fun of my SSRI's!” Except he didn't really say this, this was in my head.
It was fun, because when I looked at my parents, I knew exactly what their issues were. They were trying to cover up their inadequacies. But when I pointed them out, they got mad!
It all came down to the mind. The emotional/logical mind. It was a little bit of both. On the logical side, it stored facts and data. On the emotional side, it had an ego to protect! You couldn't just tell my mom, “You are a horrible mother!” and expect her to accept it. Not because she didn't believe it, but because she didn't want to believe it. You had to balance humility with ego-boosting. So, you could say something like, “You are a horrible mother, but you have a beautiful garden!” And maybe she would accept it.
I sat down, and tried to tell my dad that he needed to lose some weight. I told him this. He got mad! So, I added some ego-boosting. “But you work very hard at work!” He was still mad. It didn't work! I asked my mom, “Wouldn't you say he works very hard at work?” She gave me a look of disgust. And this is when I knew. She resented him for being obese. So much, she was mad at him and didn't even believe he worked hard at all. He was just a lazy slob to her. She would never admit it, but this is what her actions said.
I said to my mom, “You are a horrible mother, but you really work hard in the garden!” Trying to balance humility with ego-boosting to get her to accept the major premise, with the emotional, feminine mind. She told me to go to school and learn to be a waitress. I told her I needed help with the dishes, she looked at me and said I would never be a waitress, I would be a servant for a mouse. My memory is fuzzy here.
No comments:
Post a Comment