When Solome kisses the head of John the Baptist…

I’m laying in bed on a Friday morning at 10:30am.  It’s snowing like a bitch outside.  I feel enjoyment and relief that I don’t have to massage asses today.  I made a grand total of just over $20,000 between the months of September thru December 31.  $20,000 in four months.  If you piece that together, that’s a lot of ass rubbing – A LOT!  How did I do it?  One cheek at a time my friend, one cheek at a time….

I want to blog, but I have no aim.

Let me just get one thing straight, I don’t care about money.  It comes and it easily goes just as quick (if not quicker).

I massaged a man with parkinson’s the other day.  He wasn’t a cute little man like Michael J Fox, no, he was big.  Tall, big-boned and overweight (making his disease harder to cope with).  His breathing sounded labored like he was in a deep sleep.

I looked at him and then at my massage table.  I couldn’t fathom it being comfortable for him.  This guy came to me for a relaxing, caring touch and my narrow table couldn’t fit his requirements.  It’s not his fault, it’s my fault.  I’m a care provider who can’t provide.

Once I get back from Spain, I really need to consider buying a wider table.

But we managed the massage anyhow.  His feet hung off the edge and he had to fold his arms over his stomach because there was no room for them.  His left leg kept spasming and contorting in what looked to be a painful leg cramp.  I placed my hands on it to say “shhh, calm down, shhh….” My efforts were fruitless.

He was in his late 50’s, no hair, a red splotchy swollen face.  When he talked, it sounded like his tongue was numb and enlarged, making him very hard to understand. He had no ring on his finger.  When I write about how important it is to not rely on anyone for your own happiness – this guy is the perfect example of why that is.  In his condition, it would be hard to find someone, anyone, unless he settled.

But what if he never finds his match – his loving safety net?  Does that mean he will never be as happy as a married man can be?  That we should all cock our heads to one side and say “aw poor guy” and move on with our lives?  No!  We are not entitled to place judgment.  We are not the standard – the mold that one size fits all (like with my massage table).  If someone doesn’t match up to your requirements or “level”, that doesn’t mean they can’t be happy like the rest of us.

Judgement brings with it inequality (even in the form of pity), inequality leads to blame, and blame triggers anger.  A  man in his condition can get angry at both himself and the world if he lets society, or any outside influence determine his ability to find peace and happiness.

He has to let all that go.  Everyday he’s faced with it, he needs to let it go.

It’s a casserole of nonsense.  I don’t pity him.  It’s his lot in life and it’s for a reason.  I respect him for choosing his bold journey.  No one makes it out of this world alive.  Who am I to say he can never be happy or find peace?

It’s the ego’s illusion is all that is.  When Solome kisses the severed head of John the Babtist.  We kill the things we love when we can’t control, understand, or have them.  We kill the things we judge when we place ourselves higher.  We kill ourselves when we can’t find love and the world rejects and pities us.

The power of suggestion is profound.  If we believe what others think about us, we become it.  We become it because of our neediness (letting others blame and resent us).  We become it out of the fear of loneliness (relating to fear of death).  We let circumstances shape us, relinquishing all control we had to empower ourselves. We let the fear of becoming an outcast overrule our inner strength and potential for greatness and happiness.

We end up running away from our own individuality, our inner God of wisdom.

I can see all this in the microcosm of human behavior.  When we are asleep (unaware), the nightmares and darkness take hold.  The gravity in the absence of light sucks us all in.  Like a black hole, an imploded star.  It’s death – it’s dying because of the fear of dying.  It’s the temporal causality loop of unawareness.  Everyone is asleep.  Everyone is afraid to die.

If you’re afraid to die, then you’re afraid to live.  Fear of anything is the root of ego.  The ego attaches itself and refuses to let go of anything dear to us, anything we believe will bring comfort and safety.  When we believe in our appointed religion using only the ego, we believe only through our fears.  And those fears can warp our religion to fit our own needs and beliefs, shunning all who disagree.

I know how crazy I sound, trust me, I know.  The worst part is not being able to know if I’m crazy.  I feel like if I know I’m being crazy, than I’ll get sucked back into my fears and weaknesses, letting them dictate me.  I’m teetering on the edge of reality.  Being the girl I once was, and this new, aware woman.  Or is this “aware” woman merely a decompensation of my original, true self?  Is my true self deteriorating?  And in the fear of that happening, I’m grasping at gossamer threads of reason that no human soul could possibly understand?

Am I crazy?

I see the crazy in everyone.  It’s a lot like when I smoke pot – I smoke pot and listen to others talk and it sounds like they’re the one’s on drugs, not me.  I can actually feel their insecurities and why they act a certain way or say what they say – I see all that, I FEEL it.  I want to grab them by their shoulders and shake them, pointing out who they are and what they do, but I know they won’t be able to understand.  They’re unable to see it.  The only thing that would come of it, is that they will  protect their character and defend who they are.  Anger and blame will transpire from their view of me making them feel unequal to myself.

Everything must be done mindfully and respectfully.  We learn at our own pace.

I can only help others by casually asking the right questions.  In time, perhaps they will see.

This isn’t the case with everyone however.  Some people I listen to while I’m stoned, make perfect coherent sense.  It’s the people who aren’t afraid to be themselves, the one’s who share their hearts to others – those are the people that make sense.  Unfortunately, there aren’t many of them.

I can’t smoke pot around most people because it makes me see them for who they really are.  It’s depressing and isolating.  Alcohol does the complete opposite in that it let’s me glide right into their world – I become one of them and it’s easy and fun to fit in.  And I excel at it!

I’m still lying in bed.  I really should brush my teeth and eat something.

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