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Marriage Material

A lot of the things that I want to say about getting married are being waved away by congratulating people. They dismiss the process and its Ok. Perhaps the experience isn’t as deep as I think it is, but perhaps the experience should be taken to its limits because nothing lived marginally in life is worthwhile; sometimes full immersion is the better bet.

So surely congrats are in order, but also some major dramatic text must follow; knowing me.

The Good old rant

I close my eyes and I can hear the voice of Alan Watts, mixed with the voice of one wedding planner. One is telling me that nothing really matters, as long as you remain true to yourself, and the other is telling me this is the most important and defining time of your life. Nothing will ever be the same again. So you need to add flowers and light, and hang angels from the ceilings, or else; doom.

Except this is the third piece of dramatic text I have written, and it still feels too awkward to write; let alone share. Usually my words flow seamlessly, they come out un-calculated and relevant. Most of the times I feel like I’m making sense. Now I don’t.

I’m not making a lot of sense because despite everything, and despite my ability to withstand and accept and embrace imperfections, I cannot let this be imperfect.

I’m not making sense because statistics make me uncomfortable and the odds are not to my favor. I care about marriage and divorce world averages, and I also know how fickle human beings are.

I’m not making sense because teamwork takes effort, and a lot of time I like to do my work alone. Because I pride myself on being nauseatingly diplomatic, but also stubborn in my methods.

I’m not making sense because I could be dramatic and inconvenient, my moods will upset and undermine others’ feelings if left uncensored.

There is so much that doesn’t make sense, and I suppose will not. There is so much intertwined in one person’s struggle, so how do you navigate another person’s?

The Awareness that something isn’t right

My ego gets weirdly awakened when I write those things: Labeling and victimizing, assuming and judging. A recipe for disaster. So, the alarm must go off. Something must be uncovered because our egos are never right.

The Transformation mentality kicks in

I always felt an instant reward, a cognitive rush from turning something abstract into something meaningful for me, and for others. Transformation is beautiful, turning one thing into something else naturally is a very rewarding experience.

So I stop myself here, and I try to recalibrate my thoughts, perhaps lining them in a different way will smoothen out the transformation. Perhaps removing myself from fear, control and dreadful stress will open up my sight.

Shifting into marriage is a transformation; a brilliant one. Making a choice that one person versus everyone else is the partner you want to do life with is breathtaking. Literally.

In transforming material from one state to another, a lot is lost; and that explains the feelings of sorrow one develops. But with loss comes novelty and the space is created for new material to become what it must. So being aware of always leaving space for ourselves and for the other is incremental to reach higher levels of happiness.

So who are we in standing in the way of transformation that is natural in every way possible?

There is love and hope in our unison, and there is space for struggle, the singular kind and the compounded one. We build together what we must, and we let go of forced living. One must learn to be free continuously, and if we keep on learning; then marriage must be the space where people learn how to free themselves and each other. It must be the space for people to work against fixed cultures and dive into creating better quality of life for themselves and those that surround them. I think that is the purpose of picking a partner: growth, creation and soft nourishment of each other’s unabashedly brave spirits.

 

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What is your life purpose?

Have you at some point in your life wondered, perhaps after an equally uncomfortable and inspirational event: What is my purpose? Why am I possibly here and not anywhere else? Why is my life so geared towards proving itself worthy?

Perhaps you have, and possibly you have not; either way, watch this clip Rick and Morty- You Pass Butter, its a great opening to where I am going with this, and it might make you laugh- or slightly dislike my growing references to the show- and we will continue after you have finished.

One of the primary, and most automatic functions of a conscious brain or intelligence, is to serve a purpose, first and foremost living life; surviving. The purpose beyond that could be anything, literally; even passing butter.

The scene linked above, readily mocks this intelligence, by having Rick create a robot that once ON; looks up at its creator and directly inquires about its purpose. The first time around it was OK for it to serve butter; the second time around it expected a higher purpose; and was met with the same ridiculous task: Serve butter. The robot throws its mechanic arms in the air, drags its head down and says Oh My God. The existential frustration of Is this it?

I suppose many of us have felt that way at some point; expected something greater and were met with a frustrating response; and surely almost always no response at all. Try it: Look up, down, around, inside, at your mom and dad, at a chimpanzee (wherever your faith lay; no judgement here) and ask your creator of choice: What is my purpose? Almost all (except your parents) will have no audible answer for you. Does that mean you need to listen to your parents? Well, of course. Does it mean they know something you don’t? Possibly, but not abstract enough to be your metaphysical purpose on this planet.

And so, we go with the easiest, we let mom, dad, society and religion at large tell us what to do because that answer is the loudest when we ask relentlessly about our purpose.

But, let’s tone it down:

What if purpose is an absolute sham of the mind (intelligence), and the ego? Do we question our existence in the years before we develop egos and personalities? Not that I know of. We open our eyes when born, and BOOM consciousness. We are aware of life but we are not anxious, we are flowing through our early infancy and childhood. Yet, we start developing character traits, and personality tricks and glitches as we get exposed to a list of factors. Our egos start becoming, we are then incapable of separating our consciousness from our egos. We think, OK, now that “I” am here on this planet, what is “my” purpose?

Let’s make it a little simpler now:

Your purpose is the purpose of your ego. Have you had a slight complexity with the way you look? or the way you speak? or how you may have been perceived in certain occasions? Have you grown up rich or poor? With or without two parents? The options are endless for the factors that affect who “we” are, or who we think “we” are.

We do not need a purpose, we can do something we love, for a number of reasons, we can go through living a good life for a set of goals to be achieved. We might even excel at something enough to be thought of as born to do it. At the end of the day, a purpose for existence is an object of the mind, something to serve the deepest existential insecurity in your intelligence and your ego. Why the hell am “I” here?

As Rick puts it: “Yeah, Welcome to the club Pal.”

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Colorless

I paint my lips the color of indifference and I stare at my pale face. Today I’m not making any effort, not for myself or anyone for that matter. Colorlessness suits me.
Lost, but I keep moving. Lazy and obnoxious, I let everything go; I genuinely do not care. Pointlessness remains a headline for my daily life regardless how sparkly it might seem for spectators; it remains spotless, bottomless and boring.
Purpose is still just a word; and words are nothing but excuses that when put together in a slightly aesthetic way, might shield our absence. I am afraid I could be falling out of love with words. Unnecessary shields of our temporary realities; which we so comprehensively dismiss.
So really, corrupt me in every way. Perhaps I need no walls, I need no doors or structure. Let it all fall I have no place for it anymore. I decided to break tonight. So flood me, and I want to see what parts of me surface.

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Opaque Windows

We must release ourselves from the castles and the walls. Smash the windows and break the doors. Start the revolution of a life we are well deserving of. We must free ourselves from minds so irritated by overthinking and inflamed with questions left unanswered.
We have nothing to hide away from because the worst of it all is inevitable and eternal. We self destruct so naturally and flawlessly into corpses and has beens. We become names and memories and there is no shame in that.
We cannot let scribbles on those walls define us, we cannot allow our space to remain so untouched and unchanged.
So maybe you are defeated, and maybe you lean against solid walls and find comfort in a shade so overwhelming you forget light ever existed. Maybe you wait for a purpose to fall from the sky or rise from under your feet. But what if youre doing it wrong? What if the dark is not all there is to the night? What if your castle is only a prison? What if while you built that tower, you forgot the way out?
We live our lives looking out of our marble windows. We peek and we squint at a world we might never touch or feel. We postulate opinions and suggestions about everything out there as we close our eyes and lock our doors.
Maybe the best salvation is a chaotic, unrehearsed and overestimated impulse. Maybe smashing your fists right through opaque glass is all it takes.
Maybe blood rolls down your palms as dust settles around you and the world finally finds you.
We must let ourselves dive out bruised and broken, colorless and unwelcome, numb and passive; the crash is all that matters. The impact; the collision itself is what we live for after all.