From my Buddhist Wisdom Inspiration Cards:What is,
is the same as what is not.
What is not,
is the same as what is.
When you realize this,
being perfect, is already.
This is a Practice card, which I'm gathering means that this is something I'm supposed to try and incorporate into my life. And I get it, I do. I understand the purpose of this line of thinking, Buddha Box, but I'm not the sort of person who can put this into practice. At least, I don't think I am. I focus too much on what is not. I linger on what I am not and what I should be and what I have not managed to become. The hardest part is that all of that, all of that thinking about what I'm not is so staggering that I don't really try to change. Not in any major ways. Not purposefully. I change because everything changes. Even though they say that people never change, it's not true. It's just that typically the changes are so small that a lot of people would miss them, pass them right over and go straight on to the other side. As a general rule, people do not notice other people. Not for what they are anyway. They see the outsides, the masks that we have deemed it's okay to show the world or this person or that person. Mask upon mask upon mask. If you kept digging, it you kept taking them off, one after another, would there be anything at the core? Or would it be an empty box? Do we build all these walls around our cores to protect who we are from being torn apart by the inherent harshness of the world or are these facades there to convince ourselves that we really aren't nothing? I'd like to believe that it's the former, but I'm not sure that I've scraped myself raw enough to know.
I never wanted perfection. I have always believed that perfection is unattainable. If we were perfect, we would stop being human. Humanity seems to be all about accepting yourself despite the imperfections. It's embracing your flaws whether they be physical or mental or emotional or social. Perfection was never a goal of mine. Not failing, however, was a goal. As was learning to be content, being special. Not being mundane. I hate the idea of being mundane, yet I fear that I have fallen into the trap. There's a line that jumps into my mind at times, and I don't know if it's the depression, since we've talked about the fact that depression is supposed to be a separate thing, a sort of monster in your brain that your higher facilities go to war with yet depression typically wins because it feeds off your weariness and it plays dirty, or if it is me. Whichever the case, the line I have for myself is: "Replaceable, unlovable, forgetable, ignorable me." I use that for myself. I use that to describe myself.
So, no, perfection was never a goal. Being special was. I seem to have shattered that goal a million times over because I lack something. Energy, ambition, drive. I want things. I get excited over things. And then it fades back to the low level of emotion I usually maintain, the deadened "I have to get through this. I have to keep going."
I don't understand, Buddha Box. It comes down to that. I do not understand. What is, is. I am alone, tired, frightened, lost, yearning, broken, falling, isolated, withdrawn. I am not vibrant, energetic, confidant, open, fulfilled, whole, pretty, found, saved. I am not saved. (I would like to take a moment that I do not saved in a religious context. I do not believe in organized religion, especially the various trappings of Christianity. I believe that god is inside everything living, and that we interrupt him in any way that we need to, which makes all religions and belief systems valid. I believe you create your own hell. When you have a crisis of faith, you have lost the path to find the god inside. No one else can save you or show you your path.) No one has saved me. I am not sure that anyone outside the existence in my head can save me. Perhaps people can only offer signposts.
I don't know what you mean, Buddha Box. It is possible I am not ready for this revelation. For now, I may simply have to simply view it in the same way that I believe in parallel universes. Somewhere, some when there is a me who took a different path. Our roads diverged at some point in time such that she is what I am not. That I can live with. That I can understand. Yet I'm fairly convinced that this is not the truth you are trying to tell me; it will have to do for now.