The Innate

There are times, in very few people's lives, where they are given the opportunity to see themselves and their world in an entirely different light. They all of a sudden "get it", for lack of a better phrase. Some people plow on through their lives, either completely unaware or decidedly against the realization of their actions. Why they react so poorly to traffic jams or why they have a stark feeling of terror when they approach an elevator. Usually, there is some significant event in one's past that leads to some future trauma, or awakening or both. Most are, and will be happy with, the midsize vehicle to tote the 2.5's and teach Sunday school and coach little league, etc.. and there is nothing wrong with this. This is they, this is their path. The path that is chosen by a hermit is seen as a journey of sacrifice for wisdom. The journey of a ready-made housewife can be seen by some as blissful ignorance in hope of eventual satisfaction. I do not take the place to judge them, though my phrasing may sound like it. The point here could be choice.

The hermit chooses his path. The wife chooses her path. The toddler, stretching out for his father's arms and recognition and life, chooses in that moment, the way to get it. That is his path. He learns how to survive that day, based on his programming. That idea will quite possibly live with him forever and effect in small subtle ways, the paths he sets himself on. This bleeds into an emotional construct of chaos theory. There is a butterfly that's wings graze the surface of a tulip which bounces a bee of into the sky that's wings punch enough air to assist a breeze that thousands of miles away lends itself to one of the largest typhoons to hit Micronesia in decades. That type of chaos theory, but on a micro scale dealing with human emotion. Your storm may come and you may have to have someone point out for you that it all started with a butterfly's wing. That at that one instant when your father picked you up, or didn’t pick you up, you learned something. To understand if it serves you now, as a skill or not, is left for you to determine.

One of the difficulties in finding this path is the event that brings you here. It can be one of some type of catastrophic failure. Your physical or emotional world gets absolutely destroyed in some way and can never go back. You can however, choose to stay in limbo, but it will probably not work, or be the same, but it may. You can retreat and thereby acknowledge that it did in fact happen and you choose to run or dismiss or stop acknowledging it. Some people think that this is part of what makes a wise hermit. To be able to shun all contact, something must have happened. Maybe. He still chooses to do it though. Conscious or not, he chooses. Because that is what works for him. That is his defense against pain or chance of it. His cries to his father may have never been met or with ill consequences. It's the path he was set on, but he chooses to stay on it or not.

Then there are the people who recognize the damage, see the origin and still decide to choose their steps, on their journey. These people are not as susceptible to being victims. These people usually do not require much in the ways of scapegoats or religions. They have become slightly more aware of their choices. They have become slightly more aware that they once reached out and based on the reactions have chosen to put themselves right where they are. They learned, somehow, to recognize their behavior pattern based on their own ancient ideas about what it takes to survive. They now make choices based on their surrounding reality rather than the tempestuous emotions of a three-year old frightened psyche. This is the most difficult path, as I see it. I know that I am on it, because I chose to be on it. This does not make me above or below anyone. This is simply my choice. I have chosen to recognize pain for pain and love for love and call it as it has showI sometimes hate the choice. I reel with raw emotions sometimes when it feels like I must and I curse the fucking ground for being beneath me but I have to realize at some point that I am responsible for exactly where I am at this distinct moment. No one brought me here at gunpoint. I brought myself. Further, if someone did bring me here at gunpoint, what steps have I been making my whole life to bring me to the instant of gunpoint?

All predetermination aside, I chose to be in my shoes right now and it fucking hurts and I don't like it. I do want to go back to the blissful days of wanting something artificial. Hand me my life in packets of seafoam green, daffodil yellow, and cotton candy pink. Chase it down with aderol, zoloft and lorazepam when my foundation gets bumped. Bring me to my knees, once again, for the offering of contentment.