The Driver of My Meat Vessel
Everyday I strive to be the best version of myself that I can be, as I'm sure a lot of people do. I'm not claiming to be special for doing so. It's selfessley selfish. I do it to better myself, for myself, and as a consequence, everyone else I encounter benefits from it also.
The trouble is, is that it's really quite hard to maintain a self propagated image of well-being and love and kindness at peak efficiency all day, every day. Impossible, dare I say. I'm only human after all. But what is human? Well first and foremost we are the intricately complex, multi-cellular manifestation of 13.8 billion year old matter. We are as old as the universe itself, but it's our pesky and insessent self awareness and ego that decides to attach a number to who, what, and how we are the moment our ancient matter becomes conscious. On top of that lays a plethora of thoughts and emotion and personality that makes us, well, us on a daily basis.
Sometimes though I feel as though I have woken up in an entirely alien body. I still identify as me. I still have access to all of my memories. My personality is, for the most part, the same as it was when I fell asleep 8 or 9 hours previous. But something feels... Off. Some people would point out that it's a relatively common phenomena to awake in a lower state of awareness. Or to wake up in a worse mood than will likely emerge throughout the rest of the day, and of course they'd be right. But that's not what I'm talking about.
No. What it feels like, is almost as if my soul has left my vessel sometime during the night, and another one has decided to hop in and fill the gap. I awake feeling like me, but not feeling like me. I'll go days feeling like my conscious moral decision to act and be a certain way just does not gel with whatever spark is powering me for the duration. Someone will do or say something that will just outright piss me off. Immediately I'll jump back into the shoes of my old ways of self-centred cowardice. "Dickhead." I might think. Or "Why the fuck are you doing that, moron?". Which itself isn't really the issue, as this can happen at any time regardless of whether or not I feel the grip of something other.
No, the bigger issue that comes of this is the act of almost abandoning mindfulness. On a 'good' day, someone might do or say something that makes me feel like I've sunken back down to the depths of civilian level consciousness, and I'll think or say something to myself that only serves to enharden and embitter my soul that little bit more, but then, I'll catch myself in the act of doing this, reflect on it, and subsequently stop doing it, and try again to engulf those negative and selfish strands of being and saturate them with empathy and connection. This usually corrects the course of my day, and I go on, all the better for it, from there. On the 'bad' days however, I'll catch myself in the act of darkening my psyche with those degenerate thoughts, but instead of thinking "Oh that's right! We're all human beings with flaws and imperfections who are just trying our best to struggle our way through a world in which we had no choice whether or not we entered." I'll actually succumb to the notion that actually it's trying to be kind that's futile. As if taking the moment to try and adjust my outlook is not worth the time or effort.
In the moment I shrug it off and go about my, subsequently usually, shitty and festering day. It's not until later, when reflecting on the turbulent adventure that has been the day gone by, that the horror of such a seemingly small distinction enters fully unto the light.
Now meditation is something that is very beneficial, but also quite difficult to get into the routine of. It definitely isn't something that you should do if you don't feel like doing it, as I sometimes don't on regular/'good' days. But on days that take on the characteristics of the one I've just described, meditation, for me, is a must. Difficult, sure, given the attitude of the day, but vital in trying to understand and reconcile with whatever being is seemingly at play within me. I use the time to contemplate many a factor that may in some way be a causation, and to chisel my newly found pilot into a loving and content energy that will better fit the hole left by my previous occupant.
I often think, much in line with what I've written about higher dimensional beings, that whatever energy, or soul, or chakra inhabits us, isn't necessarily a permanent resident. That it can chop and change and hop in and out of us whenever it so chooses... In a weird way, it kind of gives me hope and affirmation that I truly am not the body. I am the Atman, the Atma, the Self. Perhaps all the body's job is, is to simply take in and nurture, care for, and reshape damaged or broken souls before sending them on their way to the next realm. Sort of like a cosmic, metaphysical rehab for lost and confused strands of our Godhead. Maybe when the body dies, it matters not, for I can be at peace with the fact that "I" have already lived and died and passed on to whatever comes next countless times already throughout the duration of this particular physical, meandering existence...
Or I suppose it's entirely possible that I'm just a nutcase crazy hippy who needs to stop daydreaming and get a grip on "reality"... I hope not 😉
What do y'all think?