I was watching the show ‘Griselda’ on Netflix where the main character becomes a drug lord and initially it seems that she is doing it to find a better life. Some time down the line though when there is a chance to walk away she does not want to, after all this is who she is now, what would she do with herself if she did not have a war to fight.
This is the kind of predicament I find myself in, why simply being here is not enough. There is this investment into being a ‘who’, some story which has to continue being written. So like Griselda, what do ‘I’ do with ‘myself’ when ‘my’ story is no longer being entertained? Then there are feelings of emptiness, of blandness, of boredom, of restlessness etc.
But those feelings are not at all what actually being here is like, I know this from experience. They are ‘my’ emotional reaction to the story no longer being entertained. So this ‘who’ never gets to enjoy simply being here, ‘he’ has operate within the boundaries of ‘his’ story. And I know that enjoyment and appreciation is available right now, it is just that in some perverse way I want to continue playing within that story, so indeed I get exactly what I want.
I have tried in the past to cut the investments I have by turning the issue into morality, by forbidding myself to go in that direction and of course it did not work. Then the past couple of years I tried to kind of assimilate actualism alongside those investments, to have my cake and eat it too, but I am starting to see the limitations of this.
It seems the genuine way forward is to actually see that there is no necessity to play this game anymore, because this compulsion to go ‘into the story’ has a flavour of “you must do this or else something bad will happen”. Which means there is something there that I cannot see clearly yet, something to be discovered.
It seems it is about seeing that there is no longer any need to continue being a social identity, and this makes sense when I take into account just how ancient and ignorant these belief systems are (as per my previous post), why continue playing to a story which was written back in the mists of time? The funny thing is that whenever I contemplate an alternative course of action I simply jump to the opposite - “oh so I am just meant to sit around and stare at a wall all day long while I waste away”, of course within the group I am either aspiring to be a hero or I am accepting my fate as a looser, meanwhile that incredible place that I visited yesterday is simply waiting here to be lived.
It is a funny one also that I have those experiences of perfection on one hand, which is the actual Summum bonum of human experience. Then on the other hand I have this obligation to forever pursue that which ‘humanity’ has already defined as worthwhile. But how could you even compare this magical perfection with essentially being a valued group member, yet the latter one seems to win a lot of the time.
It seems that my frames of reference have to change altogether, to admit that what actualism offers is simply way more precious than the most cherished values of ‘humanity’. It seems once this is in place fully then there is no going back anymore, why would I?