I awoke sprawled on the ground; embarrassed yet fully cleansed. My team stood waiting silently in the wings. Happy to see them, they began to transform right before my eyes, gaining strength and clarity as if coming to life! Knowing energy was neither created nor destroyed (the first law of thermodynamics), I felt honored to witness to such a wondrous transformation before cluing in that I might be the source of their energy. With so little left for myself, feelings of betrayal arose for not only not using my own energy, but for allowing others to feast on it as well. I didn’t know if my dormant DNA had become activated or not, but then again wasn’t sure if and how thinking about it helped any. What I did know was it was my energy and I wanted it whether I was using it or not!
Imagining energy varying from dead and zombie-like states to ghostly transparent and opaque ones to solid and ultimately onwards to pure light itself. Was that was how Jesus had appeared after his resurrection, but who was I kidding? I was no Jesus. Right now I’d be satisfied just to feel comfortable in my own withered and wrinkled skin.
Truthfully, I was terrified of fading away and becoming an empty shell for the playground of my fears. I didn’t want to be found abandoned in some gutter, hiding behind the utterances of spiritual gibberish. No matter how much sense it’d make to my ears, to others it’d proclaim my inability to handle the world. “Look,” they’d say, “he speaks like a god, but with no home. How sad….” Naturally, I’d be carted away and institutionalized where under medical supervision I’d never see the light of day again. No, with the finest experimental drugs ravaging my system I’d be lucky to have any brains left to wipe my ass. As much as I detested living in a mindless world, I hated being institutionalized even more. Once when a young nurse thought it best to keep me and some friends locked up while high on acid, I managed to convince her that doing so would do more damage than good. I knew she believed she was doing what was best for me with whatever she had at her disposal. Yet, it still felt traitorous and a betrayal of my own ability. I promised to go home and behave. I did even though the others still were in rebellion mode.
Thinking such thoughts made my team shake, scream and feed off my fears. I tried stopping them, but couldn’t control it anymore. My TV set had finally broken down taking me along with it. Restless eyes became an infected wound to full-fledged rage and anger. Blame was tossed about like a hot potato as to who had done what, where, when, why and how to me. It didn’t matter if it helped or not. I curled up in the fetal position trying desperately to cling to some form of self-composure. I couldn’t let go; I wouldn’t. But the more I held on, the more my head started to pound and resonate before losing control and pounding even more until the attacks became more violent. As my physicality seeped from me, a bell tolled announcing my doom to one and all. I moved as one with the vibrations, from bell to vibration, particle to wave.
My friends grew suspicious, even scared as the excuses of having a lot on my mind and talking out loud grew thin. I was unraveling and going mad, but whenever I turned inward there was nothing there – at least nothing I could see. I wanted to tell them about the voices, but how could they understand what I couldn’t? They’d never understand I wasn’t really insane, but no longer the me we had once known. Trying to figure myself out before becoming permanently lost I chose aloneness rather than isolation because it could be carried around with me wherever I went.
Under constant pressure, the strain on my mind was overwhelming. The voices around ran like headless chickens. Alone and no longer knowing what to do, I took away the terror in people’s eyes and ran inside. It was the least I could do for them. There I collided head on with my team. They turned around, looked right at me and spoke! I freaked. Having never spoken to me before, I was terrified until I realized I didn’t know what I was terrified of. There were so many questions that hurt to ask, but to not ask was impossible given the circumstances. I felt like a child caught doing some unknown shameful act.
Time stopped. Instead of seeing my life flash before my eyes I found myself cocooned in a state of impending doom. Still clinging to life, I saw how fragmented I’d become just like Krishnamurti had said. Hoping I was being given one last chance to get it right and get rational I fought for control, but struggling only revealed more of me to them. Unable to run from myself anymore, I saw how someone had to be there listening to them. Yet if the ‘boss’ was nothing more than a fragment, who was I really?
Like a cornered animal, I came out fighting, teeth and claws bared. They shouted curses and told me I wasn’t doing my job. Not knowing what that was, I feigned ignorance. Then it all came back to me. I was supposed to be looking for security, clothing, food and a place to live, the basic securities of life. I thought I had been, but their scorns revealed my pretenses. Not knowing how to save face anymore, my ego burned away violently depleting me of my old energy. Deflated and drained, I cringed and stumbled, head and brain hurting. I couldn’t see; couldn’t feel; couldn’t think.
I ran away to a secluded spot and smoked a bowl hoping to refocus and gather my wits before it was too late. All the while they tormented me with their laughter. I didn’t understand why they, I, was laughing at me when we were on the same side. I smoked another bowl and left them jeering in the distance en route to higher levels of consciousness. In my new comfort zone, I didn’t need to analyze what was just plain wrong. Now I knew I needed to go to treatment – before there was nothing left to treat, but I also needed a place to live. Both were important, but what was the use of going if I had nothing to come home to? I needed an answer and make a decision. I was back to that again. Damn, my head hurt!
© Michael J. Varma, The Gong Show, 2011 –
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