When reading many of the writings of others, a common thread often appears: An escape is necessary.
There has been so many roads along this personal journey. The times now behind have brought me to this very moment, and as reflection can be now be observed, I recall such disarray in my youthful ignorance. It was a bad, bad deal. I just didn’t know, as I winged my way through this weird world, how to process the constant trauma, both self-induced and residual. The two, always reciprocating and encouraging each other.
Something to numb the mind of its tragic maladies, or a go with a God who never spoke the same language as I could.
In recent times, the thoughts have diminished. I know now what had never occurred to me before in all of those days of suffering and accelerated destruction of myself and the world around me. I never knew how to be that silent watcher of my mind. There was never a time when the religion or therapist had told me to look at the face value of what was being played out in thought. The constant string of jazz, always changing and contorting. It would consume most of the time. I remember sitting at one point with my gun and wondering if the pull of its trigger would end the thoughts I couldn’t escape.
I don’t really know how I’ve arrived at this place where all seems to be so easily accepted, as long as my habitual tendencies step aside. To fall back into a trap of becoming my destructive thoughts; being controlled by a conceptual narrative derived from sensory, is a practice I really cannot see happening anymore. The fiery pits have destroyed my will to suffer, so I do have a deep drive to keep the knowing of what thoughts truly are, and how they pinch and pull.
We all try to escape the thoughts. Very few practice the observance of validity in what crosses the mind. It is humbling and increasingly soothing to see what is happening within. Perhaps one day the world won’t need an escape from the mind.