Category: Writing

Dreamer: Since I was a young boy, I have been enraptured by the dreaming process, for I realized that it is a state of mind like none other. No matter how lucid the dream may be, one is always subject to unexpected occurrences in a fairytale world that defies time and space.

I have mainly been fascinated by the skewed boundaries of past, present, and future events, whether real, imagined, or prophetic. My dreams have always consumed my consciousness, imagination, and life.

As I grew older, it became more evident that my existence was split. The “real” waking world was no more concrete than the subconscious projections on the back of my eyelids. Through my teen years, I became sullen and depressed, spending more and more time alone with my confused, antisocial thoughts and attempted escape to dreamscapes where I was in control (or so I imagined) of my life and had some semblance of influence on the world about me.

As the years progressed, I continued to confine myself to my bedroom, where I filled my mind with fantasies of paperbacks, film, and video games. My peers admired my intellect, not to be immodest, but it was all I could show for my life since I had never devoted any time to regular childhood pursuits like friendships or team sports.

My friends were books, and growing up this way made me misanthropic. I had to teach myself social etiquette as if it were a language. I developed subtleties in this respect with the only means I had at my disposal: Trial, error and determination. I tried, and I was a failure at first.

Yet, with purposeful persistence and a sense of humour, the experience made me aware of my shapeshifting chameleon personality. With proper research, a little planning (and a lot of finesse), I can infiltrate any form of organization to ascertain any amount of knowledge through creative human intelligence.

While my body of matter on earth has housed and facilitated my existence for a mere twenty-odd years now, my soul in this incarnation has been privy to revealed secrets of mysteries and realms beyond any of my human imaginings. I am writing this diary from past existences spanning countless eons in many different forms of energy as a memoir of my travels and experiences. Living a life in solitude was something I embraced and exploited for my purposes. I began to realize that I pushed the real world away in an attempt to accomplish some unconscious mission I was on. My faith grew as I absorbed it (psychic osmosis?) from the many religious groups that I voraciously explored in search of meaning during my teenage years, many of which I spent experimenting with drugs and deep, heady philosophical thinking and reading. I was out to find my destiny and accomplish it.

My life was the most enigmatic mystery, remaining elusive until I found subjectivity from my spirit guide.

My mind had always absorbed like a sponge, and my learning curve never slowed like most people’s once they reached a certain age. I became addicted to the power I felt information held, for everything in life is just an architectural mental construct that, with the correct codes, one can unlock the doors to the true self and the universe. These codes can be found by carefully analyzing the sources of all behaviours involved in a situation. Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself, so let me explain by going back a few steps.

After the equivalent of many incarnations worth of experience revealed to me, I seek knowledge as a precious commodity because I feel it is the purest form of power a soul can acquire to empower for mastery of internal and external forces. As a child, I could never imagine that any one “thing” was just a singular, unique entity; instead, I had always perceived every detail as a variable in an ongoing numerical puzzle, which was my curse. Ironically, I don’t particularly like numbers, as far as arithmetic is concerned, but my unconscious brain does. I learned from my stolen education on an eclectic variety of subjects that all I needed to find out were the titles of the books, and my organic computing mind sought to calculate every possible angle of what I saw, which further inspired my insatiable curiosity to fill it with more and more answers.

My cynical overanalyzing made me realize that every thing must have a counterpart on a separate plane of being. Because of this extraordinary revelation, I have developed mental and spiritual capabilities vastly beyond any physical potential my corpse could contain, still a human but awaiting a tampered destiny. It merely lives as a vehicle in this world, breathes a few processed shots of gas into the blood that pumps to keep me alive. While my body lays comatose, I have managed to continue and enrich my own human experience.

My journey has obsessed my spirit self, making me a slave to the unknown, a knight on a personal crusade against the ignorance that preoccupies and binds my entire kind.

I want to think that I am fighting for a noble cause for my fellow creatures and that my intentions are met with success. However, as the battle between light and darkness rages for supremacy the boundary lines are seldom clearly defined, especially in the human heart that is susceptible to many temptations. (The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple.)

When properly trained, the mind is a magical portal to worlds above and beyond. Still, it is also just a dependent organ belonging to an autonomous organism. It is the foundation of human life in this lowly realm that most are content to never (and terrified to ever) venture out of.

I was never one of those people, a fact that is partly the cause and the effect of my particular mental chemistry with its troubled history and inherent hereditary defects. Looking within my unconscious for the answers to my soul’s yearning is like vainly striving to understand an ever-morphing puzzle cube, so it suits me fine to occupy myself with solving the mysteries of others. My eternal purpose is conveying data through communication, like the archetypal Hermes or Thoth. I present to you my diary, some disjointed coordinates that define the parameters of my life, as a written record of what I have endured and enjoyed up to this frozen point in time.

An introspective analysis of my ongoing investigations into all that is hidden in the infinite dimensions of the All-encompassing spirit that is life: whenever, wherever, however.       

The result of this timeless astral wandering: I have had the unique opportunity to gain a holistic perspective on the universe. At the same time, I manipulated my body’s internal clock to remain nearly the same physical age as when my voyage began.

In my quest for self-actualization spanning the gamut of cosmic hierarchy, I have finally let go of the reflexive misanthropy that, for so long, mired my being in misery. I had always felt removed from my fellow humans, and for the longest time, I loathed the thought of having my soul confined to a body of dust for what appeared to be a pitifully short duration.

While I always mistakenly believed humans to be a wretched species for all of our shortcomings and bad behaviour, I had failed to comprehend the profundity of the unique philosophical position held regarding human beings.

Within a cosmic drama, our seemingly insignificant material existence in this universe merely masks a spiritual dualist paradox. While our bodies are only evolved primates, our essence or true identities exist on a fine line between good and evil, opposing forces dividing the entire universe.

For my relentless cynicism and obstinate refusal to accept what I saw as truth, I have been shown what few other humans have. As a result of this cursed blessing, I have become less human, which is a very difficult condition for my soul.

Have you ever felt that you don’t belong? I know everyone has, but what if it felt like your entire life was out of place, like you were born trapped in someone else’s body and could not escape?

All of my life, I have been tormented by the unease of being in the wrong place and having the inability to do anything about it. It is a very confining feeling knowing you are an amnesiac, knowing you are someone but being unable to figure out who. During one day of extreme depression, I thought of ending my life.

The more I thought about it, the less it made sense. Why should I get off easy? After all, it was the way of least resistance that I had pursued my entire life until that point.

Something deep within me whispered that it was time I changed my tack and started fighting outward battles to stop tormenting myself about things beyond my control. I realized that it was reflexive punishment that I was inflicting upon myself but for what I couldn’t understand. It was as if my life were a self-fulfilling prophecy that I was doomed to suffer. I came to this epiphany one night while I was high on marijuana, and it got me thinking: if I am the one who is punishing myself, then why the hell don’t I stop and start enjoying my life? Well, as I came to understand later, some people love abuse.

As difficult as suffering is, it is a purifying process for our soul, which we benefit from. (I have hijacked the process and now float in limbo.)

Call it masochistic, if you will, but I decided that day that I would rather stick it out and endure the burning than chicken out and face God knows worse.

Basically, we are in hell right now, right here, you and I. The torment we face knowing that our days are numbered in this life, the uncertainty of what lies beyond our inevitable death, the anonymity of our essence, these are penal conditions that we all must deal with to purge our selves of some higher weight on our shoulders.

We live our lives never knowing who we were before, what we are meant to accomplish while we are here or the perennial “why.” This defines the parameters of our lives, the ability to overcome these obstacles and achieve our occult assignment to this underworld.”

“Anamnesis is the loss of one’s soul’s true identity when the spirit body meets its human host at birth, the two differing so drastically in nature that the ensuing trauma renders the soul unable to recall who it really is or why it is there. Most people accept this, adjust to their new lives, and forget that this shock has ever happened, like a microcosmic big bang. Our birth is the catalyst that begins life as we know it, leaving us with but a shroud of dreams, personality and unconscious instincts for us to marvel at, relish in or abandon to suppression and denial.”   

“I grew up in a household under a cloud of paranoia. My family has a history of mental disorders (gasp) that they have tried earnestly and vainly to keep a secret as if anyone could fail to notice. The facts of my father’s death are unclear, but I’m nearly positive that he killed himself. My mother needed to be restrained and sedated for my first few visits to the institution where she resides.

Now, they insist that I call in advance to arrange my visits so her meds can be administered to avoid further outbursts of hysteria. She doesn’t need to raise her blood pressure on my account, and she certainly doesn’t deserve any more trauma.

I can hardly bear to see her in this barely conscious state, but I visit her once a month despite my nomadic life.”

While his mother missed him dearly and he her, between her illness and the trauma of her life’s events, the situation was far beyond either of them to control.”

childhood memories consist of social seclusion and immersion in escapism