Stream of consciousness

Sometimes I wonder if I should be worried by how much time I spend thinking about other people's problems and emotions. Is it a way to deflect attention from myself? Probably. But I think after doing it so long, it's become part of who I am, something soaked in and distributed throughout myself. Why are we? Countless philosophers have asked that question and produced nothing but, to my mind, frustrating pseudo-answers that simply raise more questions, each more complex and hard to respond to. Why? It's a simple thing to ask and an impossible thing to answer. Who are we is almost as hard...but not quite.

I want to know if there are other people who lie awake at night, contemplating fairy tales and life on the moon. I'm sure there are. But it's hard, when locked inside my own head, to acknowledge and believe that. We try so hard to take solace in any detail or observation that will convince us that we are not alone, that we do not have to worry that we will be sucked into our own thoughts and lost...and in the process so many become cynical. We stop asking why and instead just go with it. No questions asked means no tears cried, no pain uncovered, no secrets unburied. Are we truly living then? Sometimes when I'm driving, I glance around me and am swept up in this feeling of calm that comes not from myself, but from outside source. God, certainly. He is everywhere. But here, specifically, I feel his presence in the very earth. I do not doubt that long before we looked to the sky, our ancestors worshiped the earth. They worshiped life. A part of me wishes that that had never ceased, that we never looked up and wanted more but instead remained content. Foolish. Curiosity and greed will always win out in the end. Whether it is for the long or short term remains to be seen.

My thoughts are rambling, half-formed and vague, like my speech. Better that way, this time. Maybe later they'll decide to take form, perhaps even fly. For now, the past beckons even as the me of today stares steadily, fixedly forward...afraid to blink lest she lose focus and willpower. Still so unsure of myself in so many ways. I have changed, yes, but is it enough? I may never know and sometimes that is ok but other times it makes me want to scream and cry at the same time. Feeling...my gift and curse. It would be so much easier if it was just my brain that I communicated with and from. Cognitive psychologists would point out that that is the case. But humans know better. We rationalize and pontificate and strive for the most logical of deductions and observations, all the while influenced and driven by those formless but persistent and powerful irritants like emotions and dreams and faith. You have to see it to believe it...but we believe in so much that remains unseen. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to drown in all the feelings I provoke and am provoked by. Other times the submersion is peaceful, even joyous, like I am at one and connected to everyone else. The introvert and extrovert are always fighting for control inside me, never learning how to take control for good or, God forbid, compromise. Do I even want them to? Who the hell knows...not me at the moment.

My father wants to be a part of my life now that he's retiring. I'm not surprised...and what's more, what's surprising and yet at the same time expected, is the fact that I'm not all that upset about it. Strange how we come full circle. I was born loving that man, tried to hate him and now can only love. Wouldn't dare say I have learned the lesson Mother Teresa tried to give, that you must love until it hurts, for then only love will be left in the end...I try but I just can't make the hurt go all the way away. But that's ok, that's how it should be. If the hurt wasn't there, I wouldn't remember, wouldn't have learned and grown from what happened. Has he? Has he grown and learned from all that happened or has he stayed the same? I suspect it's more of the latter and maybe that's what makes it ok. A feeling of control, having the upper hand perhaps? Maybe. Not very, for there is pity as well. No man is an island and unhappiest of all is the one who sets out to be one.

No clue where the hell this is going.. Need sleep but the words are rushing from brain to fingertips. Haven't let lose like this in awhile. Guess I needed it. Maybe that's why I write so rarely now...everything takes practice before it becomes automatic. Don't think writing could ever be automatic, though, not for me. Cold and dry is not my style, though it does described me at times. Ah well...need sleep. Sticking to that for now. What comes next...we'll see.