Essays: Our Thelma and Louise | Can I Die Now? | Un-connected

Metaphysics Over Easy (Hold the Toast) | Sharing Onions | The Horse Hollerer | Can't We All Just Get Along?

Another Day at the Office of Life

The volume of my intolerance is becoming much louder than the din of mediocrity and incompetence which surrounds me. This is not a trait that gets you places in a bureaucracy. The razor sharp contempt in my voice, in my pen, so troubles and upsets people that they feel they’ve been slapped. They have.

On a larger scale, it is becoming my calling card. My skills are being overshadowed by my reputation. My desire to be helpful overshadowed by the cost of my help. The bureaucracy does not tolerate people who are situated, stuck perhaps, well below their level-of-competence. The apparent mediocrity that surrounds them is a by-product of working with people who have the right to be involved and make decisions yet operating well above their level-of-competence. This juxtaposition, in balance, is called Government.

I have become frustrated and bored. Taunting others has become a hobby, pre-supposing that my skills are my free pass. However, the door through which I pass feeling unencumbered by civility – professionalism - has no free pass. And the cumulative impact of my carelessness is getting dangerously close to too much.

As I approach the natural end of my stay in this body, something the unconscious mind keeps tabs on, my contempt and intolerance grows. It is a sign that I am on a track in life that simply does not resonate with the fate intended by the guardian angels that decided what soul would pass through my mother into this earth and set about manifestation. My true fate. Why I was put here, so to speak. And it is this discord that becomes more evident day to day, and is now becoming who I am.

So inured I have become.

But why is it so hard for me? Others simply pick up and move on. They don’t subject themselves to the paralysis of self-pity. They don’t consider the fight worthy of their precious time, and they move on until they find their fit and balance. Do I need to be wanted, or want to be needed? Or should I just be, and let those who want or need me, find me? Why is it such a complex exercise for me? Why not just pick up and move on? Money? Fuck the money. The universe sucks it out of my accounts and fritters it away for me on a daily basis anyway. It is telling me something. I am dying, day by day, and letting money, or lack thereof, steal my life breathe away. Confidence. I have lost my confidence. I traded that in one day, I guess, when the impact of doors closing, not opening, left me stunned. How can this be? Rather than move on until those doors opened, I settled. The beginning of the end.

It will come, when I find my way. It is a shame I haven’t found it yet. But I won’t let my ego keep me from jumping in every day and taking a shot. The powerful ego, so afraid of failure. The ego will kill its host to stay alive. The great irony. The cosmic conundrum. It is why in the seventies people gave vast sums to the ashram, to rid themselves of their ego, of which money was a great part, and experience joy. To move day to day swimming downstream, allowing what is to be, and to be what is. To intentionally experience joy right now, and then again right now. In the end, that’s all there is. As I finish this sentence from its start, I have experienced an infinity of now, or what some people call the future. Oops, there it goes. And I missed the ‘moment’, which in sum, is my past. Missed moments define me. That I can define my future, right now, pisses off my ego.

Can you tell?

Essays: Our Thelma and Louise | Can I Die Now? | Metaphysics Over Easy (Hold the Toast)

Sharing Onions | The Horse Hollerer | Can't We All Just Get Along?