Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Self styled exile into the now-  Yes I like so many others have sworn off Facebook.  Like quitting cigarettes I'm certain the number of attempts would equal at least 12.  I finally deactivated my account, which to me means that If I so choose i can sign back in and resume the 'Habit'.  My critic tells me that swearing off Facebook is trite, shallow and not indicative of any real action.  But the act of closing and locking a door that one frequents 2 to 50 times each day is nothing but stellar.
What anxieties arise from my choice are fear of isolation, of not being important or helpful.  To become non-existent, to not take action to stop the swelling tide of blood and lust that shakes our current world.  But Alas nothing could be further from the truth.  For in this  time away I have found something of immense value, something I had not even known I had forgotten; myself.  That is , as my dear friend Rachel reminds me, used to spend time writing each day, carrying with me a notebook.  She reminded me that it was my most cherished item and that I never left home without it.  How could I have forgotten.  Because I have stopped spending my time on Facebook, I have actually spoken to some of the people I  see on Facebook.  It was in these actual conversations that I was able to connect with them on a human level and it it through these intimate sharing I was reminded, or it was reflected who I used to be.  Its one thing to know this intellectually and quit different to speak on it from actual experience.  Ultimately, "I am always at choice", as my my sponsor Lucy always used to say.  So being at choice always asks me to consider that I have chosen at some level to escape one way of living for another in hopes of experiencing another.  But here I am again returning to the spot, alone just me really.  And this is the rub... I write in this moment , as if I have an audience, as if people, fans supporters were hopeful to read my efforts to write.  It creates in me the illusion of deeper purpose that my words matter and only matter if they are seen my others.  Is this a narcissistic injury being acted out in yet another cyclically abandoned blog?  maybe...but lets not forget that I am here. Writing and all my inner selves are here, as are all my ancestors.  I am all those that went before me, deeply embedded into my genetic tissues.  I am the sum of countless lives, as are we all.  And what of god or spirit?  Lets call it the 'great undertaking', this proposition that the human experience is overseen by a magisterial entity.  I like to belief that I have a deep sense of the Divine in all things, that everything we are everywhere we conceive, what we make what we destroy, dream invent and explore; everything that IS in conception and awareness including consciousness itself, is at root WHOLLY, for nothing stands outside of nature, absolutely nothing.  I believe this intellectually, but in my heart I know so much sorrow its hard to accept that I am not a beast cast out of heaven.