saml

(Pardon the hyphen in G-d. It’s a Jewish school thang.)

So, I’ve established that I’m a very sensitive person. I am not quick to judge and I often look to understand the structure behind the projection. I am always aware that there is one. Or I believe that there is. No one and nothing simply is what it is. Everything is a result of…

I am groping violently for the truth, for the deeper meaning. I am not content to leave anything simply. My creations;  my school assignments, my artwork, my everything, always has to reek of my thoughtful perceptions...

How can I justify that? Why do I have the right to attach myself to my creations? Why must everything; my clothes, my room, my demeanor, my passions, my style, why must it all bear my individual stamp? What makes me so fucking rebellious, so anti- conformist, so soul-searching? Why do I care so fucking much about being true to myself?

I am told it is because I am a creative person. But that is too esoteric an explanation for me. True to my creative spirit, I must search for deeper meaning…

Let’s define creative shall we, ok, I will; How about… One who is inclined to apply internally constructed logic? Think about it. My main creative outlets are writing and art, both in which I try to recreate exactly what I see and feel. I am conjuring ways to express the truth. Conjuring implies internally constructing and the expression of truth is a synonym for logic. In trying to represent a 3-d apple in two dimensions, I must engineer an effective way of doing so. In trying to describe the visual, I construct sentences using a series of words that I think will best convey experience.

I do approach life creatively, I will agree with that. Not just in creative outlets. But I am trying to find meaning in this world. I insist on having a system of thought, on talking about what is deep, real, and hidden. I am not content to be an average anything and that in itself is creative. It’s not about being the best. It’s about being me. Not denying any part of me for anyone or anything and questioning the rules and given society imposes on me. And how am I to explain the presence of this creative or internally constructed logical thinking? I have no fucking clue.

When I was in rehab my father always used to send me these letters. Again and again he used the word; empowered. He wanted me to feel empowered in my competence as the unique individual that I am. He wanted me to strive for something great because he believed I was destined for it. He wanted me to believe it too. The temptation of a life pleasure seeking was beneath me. He insisted that I not reduce to my potential to just that. Although he did think I was rather brave and creative for trying…

So, in devoting myself to a life of pleasure seeking, I was assigning an uncommon meaning to life. I had come to the conclusion that life was about nothing more than pleasure and I followed through with my application of that logic. Now I know sex, drugs, and rock and roll isn’t exactly original, but still… Is it not creative to reject societal standards and instead search for my own?

So why does my father believe that someone who has dedicated their life to being their own person is profoundly competent. If anything I would say they were rather incompetent for taking themselves out of the culturally imposed rat-race toward success. How can he be so trusting of my potential? Does he really believe I hold the power to make it in this world only conforming to the rules that I, the one in drug rehabilitation, see as fit?

And if I do then riddle me this: how am I supposed to find this “power” in myself?  How the *** am I supposed to exceed the expectations of a mere mortal and yet except that biologically, that is all I am. I am just a fucking evolved monkey. The complexities of my thoughts and emotions are just the result of a bunch of cells fucking each other, or whatever they do. My personality is just an intricate web of lies I instill to protect my self-perceived vulnerabilities. And my particular way of approaching life, my reasoning, my logic, has not proven to be anything close to superior.  

I suppose I could think that my genes and impressions mixed in such a way that makes me predisposed to some unique power. But I don’t think I’m content to explain my potential as an individual as some biological and experiential fluke. Scientifically, I am but a natural being, with hardly a devine purpose, and yet I don’t believe that for a second. How can I justify thinking that I am special?

Perhaps the question is not how can I? But why am I trying to? Why am I not content to accept the widely accepted? It seems that it is not enough for me to know that I am unique in genetic makeup; I have to prove that I am something more than a lucky compilation of x and y chromosomes. So I end up unconsciously creating (there’s that word again) different ways of being, of thinking, and doing; all to fully express and discover the unique self I insist exists within.

And as far as I can tell, in every environment that I’ve been in, my ways of being, thinking, and doing have been extremely different from those around me. They’ve been extremely different from every societal norm. Socially, I fit in well, and yet fundamentally I relate to few. I love human contact because in the moment it negates the profound isolation I feel in my worldly perceptions. I just feel so fucking different. And of course no one can understand the totality of my “self.” I don’t even understand the totality of my “self.” But I think I do more than most people. I think I’m much more in touch with my distinctions. I care a lot about what makes me specifically me. So it is only natural that I ponder why over and over and over again. Why did I do this? Why am I this way? Why is it so important for me to justify?

Because I am an artist. And it is my nature to try and understand things as they are and not to conform my ideas to readily available labels. Labels are so blatant in their connotations and I see nothing as good or bad. I see nothing as black or white.  To reduce something to a label is to oversimplify its beauty and to extract a lot of its truth. But to assign it too much meaning is to give it too much attention, too much of oneself. I have an intense urge to comprehend the meaning, the truth, the intention of life. Why the *** am I here? How the *** did I happen? And I am not content to just shrug my shoulders and take my place in society. I need to know. And so I try to understand and fasten an understanding and that in itself makes me creative. And the products of my creativity, my writing, and my art, are just a testament to the yearning I have to comprehend truth. My creations are how I can show society that my unwillingness to conform to always search for deeper meaning has a purpose. With my art and my writing I say, “Here is how I understand and this is the best way I can describe it.” But what I still have yet to figure out is how I can believe that my opinion, one of a genetically endowed mortal at best, matters?

Could there be a divine purpose for my existence after all? Maybe I think I’m extraordinary because I am destined for something extraordinary. Perhaps I am meant to continue on this self- excavated race for personal success. There are too many signs, to many coincidences… My life feels like it makes too much sense.  Like there are too many external interconnections to believe that human existence is just a biological fluke. Though I can’t except a G-d of anyone religious understanding, I have a hunch that there is a creator; that he or she or it developed a cosmic pattern that is developed. Do I think that I have a destiny? Not quite. But I think that every kind of choice is followed by a perpetuating circumstance and that there are atmospheric patterns we can sometimes observe. But every pattern in life experience cannot be exposed because how is one really to communicate the extent of their experience. But we already have proven patterns in psychology, in nature, in math… If man generated math; a system of numbers that work together in intricate ways, then maybe I can think of G-d as the generator of  atmospheric mathematics; one that is mimicked by every pattern in existence to a lesser and lesser intricacy. Maybe G-d is really just some convoluted pattern? I don’t know.

All I know is that if I was simply intended to make babies and die then I would have been born a fucking rabbit. I am a human for a reason. I am me for a reason and I have a duty to be that self; to thrust every inch of me upon this mysterious world. To work my ass off and show everyone and myself what I am capable of. Why? I have no fucking clue. I don’t think I’m self-centered enough to believe the whole world would improve if only everyone embraced my philosophical views. I don’t want to contribute because I think the whole classroom of society deserves to hear me. I have the urge to contribute, to speak, to thrust myself onto this world for my own satisfaction. I want to be part of something bigger than me and yet I want to be nobodies ***. How am I to do both? How am I to contribute to a society with social standards that go against my own?

By the grace of G-d?  And where is this G-d now? And if he exists does he really want to get involved in my personal life? Am I to believe he will hear my prayers and provide salvation for the bratty teenager over the starving child in… everywhere?  If so, G-d should really fucking reassess his priorities.  No, I think I must conclude that if G-d exists it would be in some removed form.  One who will not directly tell me what I should do with my developed individuality.  One who will let me go on pondering  why  I have been so persistent  in cultivating it. In short, I believe what I have to say is new and relevant. And I ask how can I go on believing this unless I believe my perceptions are special? And how can I justify believing my perceptions are special if I am but a figment of biology? Am I content to believe that my genes and circumstances intertwined in such a profoundly unique way, or is it something deeper?

I want to say this to G-d; “Promise me I am not wasting my time on this Earth. Promise me that my rigid commitment to self-discovery, my constant search for meaning is not in vein. Promise me I am not isolating my mentality from the rest of societies and standing up for who I am for no good reason. Promise me that I can handle the burden of living up to no particular standard, that I can handle the struggle of being true to myself even if that means sacrificing comfort. Tell me I can do this, tell me I should do this, tell me at the very least that I know deep down the right thing for me to do.” Hmmm…Maybe G-d reveals himself as a conscience. Maybe he is that thick stream of guilt diffusing through our blood when we know we have wronged. Maybe G-d is that humble grip of confidence we feel when we know what we did was right. Maybe the advice of Jiminy Cricket is worth noting? Can I trust myself to “let my conscience be my guide?”

Wait a second...Could it be?...Is Jiminy Cricket in fact, G-d?