Self-realization. I was thinking of the immortal words of Socrates, who said, “… I drank what?”
– Chris Knight
So I am going through a new interesting period of recovery. Self-realization.
Some of it has to do with not drinking. How I think tons of time has passed, but it hasn’t been that long. Drinking took a lot from me. The present and (almost) the future, and kept me in the past.
Basic realization can take many forms. It can be something you realize, or something that someone else realizes about you. It can be as simple as realizing you left the front door open after you left the house to see Karate Kid, or more of a spoken realization. Like pulling up to a park you like to walk at, and noticing there is an event happening. You pull up to the front as the guy in the orange vest motions to you to come forward.
“Hey! Just looking to go for a walk. What’s happening here today?”
Orange vest guy pulls down his sunglasses, “well, we have a bunch of handicap kids in the park today. You can head on in, but they are riding bikes. And, well, they are not very good at riding bikes.”
I nodded and said, got it. I drove off laughing hysterically at what the guy said. So good. But he was really just telling me like it is. This is a reality. No sugar coating it.
I am now going through bins of stuff I have kept throughout the last 30 years, and I am noticing I kept a little bit of something that meant anything to me from every interaction or skill that I once possessed. I have essentially been keeping a bit of the past for single moments that have now come back to represent how I tended to always live in the past. I had a great skill and I could have gone on to be fantastic at it, but it went into a box. I had a great memory from something, and instead of living new ones, it went into a box so I’d always have it to refer to.
I remember that I never liked to take pictures of things when I was younger. Saying my memory was good enough. Like I was lying to myself in some way. I even studies photography for a while. Never took pictures of people. I kinda wish I had pictures instead of all this stuff.
Easier to move around too.
Anyway, this is something I need to realize is holding me back. Most of this stuff is now going to become the representation of my moving on. (Some I’ll keep.) This past will be photographed, included in the book of Fahey, then burned (accordingly to local laws) or set free. I need to realized all of this is pointless and no longer needed.
I need to be free of all of this. Just like the handicap kids who are riding bikes; free of judgment to ride as they please in the park.
The I need to teach myself how to hammer a six inch spike through a board with my penis. Cause that seems like a worthwhile skill I can whip out at any time.