Cocks inclined to the left, so common in our civilised culture, don't exist in tribal societies where men go naked or at least are allowed baggy pants during adolescence. Even though my old, useless people unsuccessfully raised me to be straight, I turned out not just bent, but mainly crooked, too. After talking to many parents, kids, Peter Pans, evil stepmothers and Faery Godparents, I've come to realise that although a kid needs many things, above everything the greatest blessing one can have when growing up is trusting oneself. And you cannot trust yourself without trusting in your feelings.
Like with most adults born after the Counterculture and before artificial baby-making, there are many very natural things I've been led to believe I don't have the right to. For instance, finding people, situations and places boring.
"They're the majority, you need them, they don't need you."
- Come again, dad??
"Only you are unsatisfied. Clearly, there's nothing wrong with them..."
- What does that exactly mean, doc?
"Your arrogance is tremendous. You think the world is an extension of you, not you part of a larger whole."
- Sorry, mom. I didn't mean to.
Fact is, some people sometimes might be boring. But just verbalizing it to myself is still very hard, and when something just feels wrong, my very well-trained mind just channels all the insatisfaction, dullness and annoyance back at me, and suddenly I'm Mr. Boredom because all these people at the table have been daydreaming about a safari or complaining about my vegetarianism for the past three hours.
And because I haven't been doing my meditation sessions regularly, and because I'm chemically addicted to the hormones and enzymes associated with the pattern, the agony haunts me until it's time to renew it with another name-calling backfire stroke.
After joining the gay men therapy group last month, I've been stirring tremendous shit, the kind of emotional junk you learn to supress when living as a couple. I look at my surroundings, feel sick and immediately and without any reasoning or sound judgement from my own part, I just invert the game so that I can play safe with other kids, and apply the label-who-cannot-be-named to myself. Suddenly I feel like I'm a boring person.
Gods, I know I've been whining A LOT here, and I do know how to call MYSELF boring, but because this is my blog, I'm entitled the right to use it to organize my ideas, sort through my feelings, open up for insight and increase the chances of breaking mental/emotional ground.
I need Iron Pentacle work.
Like with most adults born after the Counterculture and before artificial baby-making, there are many very natural things I've been led to believe I don't have the right to. For instance, finding people, situations and places boring.
"They're the majority, you need them, they don't need you."
- Come again, dad??
"Only you are unsatisfied. Clearly, there's nothing wrong with them..."
- What does that exactly mean, doc?
"Your arrogance is tremendous. You think the world is an extension of you, not you part of a larger whole."
- Sorry, mom. I didn't mean to.
Fact is, some people sometimes might be boring. But just verbalizing it to myself is still very hard, and when something just feels wrong, my very well-trained mind just channels all the insatisfaction, dullness and annoyance back at me, and suddenly I'm Mr. Boredom because all these people at the table have been daydreaming about a safari or complaining about my vegetarianism for the past three hours.
And because I haven't been doing my meditation sessions regularly, and because I'm chemically addicted to the hormones and enzymes associated with the pattern, the agony haunts me until it's time to renew it with another name-calling backfire stroke.
After joining the gay men therapy group last month, I've been stirring tremendous shit, the kind of emotional junk you learn to supress when living as a couple. I look at my surroundings, feel sick and immediately and without any reasoning or sound judgement from my own part, I just invert the game so that I can play safe with other kids, and apply the label-who-cannot-be-named to myself. Suddenly I feel like I'm a boring person.
Gods, I know I've been whining A LOT here, and I do know how to call MYSELF boring, but because this is my blog, I'm entitled the right to use it to organize my ideas, sort through my feelings, open up for insight and increase the chances of breaking mental/emotional ground.
I need Iron Pentacle work.
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