People so rarely listen to each other. Why ruin the story in our heads with perspective when we can build them out and make those ravenous creatures live.

We talk, we prattle, and the words zoom past. We can’t the see the rushing words, the torrent of meaning. We can’t feel the gentle breath flittering by. We see what we want to see until something shatters our illusions, until something tears the veil of self-imposed ignorance.

The curious observation here is that most people (all people?) seem hellbent on maintaining their illusions, their made up stories, as if tossing away that bullshit was like ramming a sword in their own bellies.

I’ve done it. I’m probably doing it right now and I can’t see it since I don’t have the needed perspective.

It’s all about fear. Understanding kills fear. Experience kills fear. The stories we tell ourselves are nothing more than an overpowering sense of fear. They are an obfuscation of reality and they’re so damn powerful they have lain waste to generations.

It infuriates me that control over your mind is fleeting and tenuous. That you have to struggle to see.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. To see, to understand, to really know what’s going on and to be able to act with perfect clarity on that knowledge.

I want to be the fucking Buddha, it would seem, because not knowing reality, living in a foggy haze has really started to piss me off. Does the Buddha get pissed off? Like Jesus in the Temple smashing the merchants’ tables? (That’s my favorite Jesus by the way. A pissed off Jesus looking to kick some ass.)

Could there be a benefit to holding on so dearly to what is so obviously such a limited blinding understanding? It makes no fucking sense!

[Aside: at this moment the bit in Pink Floyd's The Wall is playing and they're chanting TEAR DOWN THE WALL! How great a Jungian synchronicity moment is that?]