Vanity

 Why do we preoccupy ourselves with what others do? Why does it matter so much? I thought why, for myself.

I was the one peeking through keyholes, through windows, jumping on fences, spying on the neighbors. Maybe having grown up as a single child for ten years, my best playmates being elderly neighbors and the dogs. And so, I was that lonely, restless child, curious about everything and everyone. 

Only now I realize that the curiosity I was exhibiting towards others might have been in fact an act of intrusion. 

I have gotten so used to watching people and trying to figure out ways they were thinking. Ways their emotions and thoughts influenced their behavior. This way I started noticing connections. Subtle looks, silences, cringy remarks, or jokes, idiosyncrasies, their eyes, their eyelids, they way they held themselves, and their most prized possessions. 

The way they used different social compulsions to mask an underlying state of worry. And I was doing it too, the way monkeys do. Watch and copy. The perfect example of an evolved mammal placed in a busy and thriving society. 

I was in it, playing the "games". Of push and pull, of climbing the ladder. Of becoming - or being - so darn interesting. I invested so much time and effort into " fitting in". Even if in a quirky, or awkward way. Restless. Always looking to the external world for guidance, or acceptance.

 Fair enough... I can in fact steal all the pieces of the puzzle and arrange them into a composition that would be me. 

Vanity. And a sense of worry. Which led to even more chasing. And inflation. Slowly - but surely - the mind was wreaking havoc. It became dull, full and bored. Like a news-feed. I fed myself to the point of abcess. 

Grotesque.

 With worry comes insecurity then gossip. A way of devaluing others in front of others while placing oneself in a 'better' or 'higher' position. Because my opinion of myself was two-fold. Ugly, yet, pretty cool. Or cute. My mind, heavily fragmented, torn. So was everyone else's. A 'Cirque du Soleil' type of gathering where some were the stars of the show and knew it, accepted the role and acted as such. Others, were the clowns. 

The swingers. The crazy architects. Gallant artists. Slick athletes. Healthy yogis. Snatched entrepreneurs. Hippies. Dreamers. Half-baked intellectuals. Fresh-out-of-the-box babes and their older counterparts. Loaded. Posh. You got the easy-to-hang-out-with hikers, bikers, the hardcore climbers, runners, overachievers. Then you got the underground. The dj's. The sound guys, guys with the visuals, guys with the camera, guys who invite you to the afters, those ones dancing in the front row, sweaty, ecstatic and assured. Singers, ravers, guys who know guys who know the guy. That one girl who passes you the bottle of holy water. Lost souls, guys who watch from the shadows. Guys who buy you drinks. Every possible combination of these, plus more! Plaster, colors smeared all over the face. 

The show was a carefully orquestrated parade, but, each to their own. Obviously. Nobody discussed the choreography, yet everyone recognized their place within the scene. I'd probably do it again. The dance, the joy of being together, and the fall into solitude, after. The gossip? 

Better not. But who knows, I don't think I can force myself to become a righteous person. I can still slip. And still do. The point, I figured (not only I, but also millions of others before), was to watch myself and become aware, when acting out. That attention immediately stops the performance and directs the scene in a different way. Or dissolves the act altogether and leaves one as is. Kind of hanging, with a slight snigger.

As to others? I really don't know anymore. Still fascinated, occasionally amused, in a slightly twisted way. The scenes unfolding in front of my eyes... Brilliant! I try to channel this eagerness into a careful analysis though. 

"Don't get too excited. " 

Get it right, you know. Maybe someone will find all of these amusing. The confessions of a philosophical fool. There is still so much to learn. So much. The mind and the organism, sucking in data, like a sponge. Storing. 

Images, stories, discoveries, music, skills, techniques, tricks, pieces of art, historical events, scents, pretty faces, bodies, bottoms, movements of the muscle, sensations, notes, feelings. Layers upon layers upon layers. Infinite connections. Is there a way to put all of this data into order? Is it even necessary? I say let the mind do what it is capable of doing. 

Trust it. 

Who is that point of awareness trying to organize everything, trying to control data, or to arrange things and events in an orderly fashion? Is it a voice that one may identify with? Is it coming from the head? Well then we have separated the rest of the body from the voice within the head, as if it were a puppet. 

See, the network of neurons within the brain is an intricate maze of messengers, constantly shifting. Carrying information within, and transmitting to the nervous system. None of it is separate, they all work together. By themselves. I think we so often forget how intelligent we are. Because the layer that we may call organism is intelligent. The conscious mind may become dull after many years of sloppy use. 

And here's the thing, the more of these neurons one may be able to activate, or use, the sharper one may become. And not only thay, as the mind may overcome itself and expand to a level that is incomprehensible. And if there's a chance of attainment without constant use of stimuli, take it.

 Nature provides. 

The Holy Church of the Untamed. 

"You talk too much." 

So I was hushed.  Fine.

And there it was again, Presence.