The precipice. Maybe you don't know of it. Odd that I do. Is that a human trait? Not just nurture but nature?

Why can I feel so dirty on the inside? I shower more often, but there does seem to be a difference between external and internal. Must there really be so much muck? Is that also something inherent to the species?

The precipice and muck are well expressed in music, it seems. But it is suggested that it goes the other way as well. If you are frequently expressing certain ideas and emotions in music, they will cycle back into your heart and life. I always thought they just went out into the ether. Into the ears and hearts of the audience, and the universe.

Sometimes I can comprehend the connections between internal and external. They do link up. Maybe the problem is using my sleep and dreams to determine these things. You have limited access to your physical self. You are all spiritual/emotional. It's a good barometer though. It's a pure version of the depths. Unadulterated.

I really need an internal shower. How does one accomplish that? Maybe some laughter. Maybe some enriching repartee. Maybe some whimsical music-making. Maybe a good team sport. See? These bridge the gap as I go along.

Pandora's box. Another one of those expressions I should look up. Quieting the mind has the capacity to open one. It's a double-edged sword. You get a sense of what is really happening around you - it's extraordinary all the stuff you're missing out on in the cacophony. But, with the good comes the bad, eh? Why is it I don't mind the rush of positive feelings, but am so scared of the painful ones? It's logical in one way, but kooky in another. They should both be equally off-putting. Maybe they are. The good stuff is indeed fleeting, maybe for that reason. I am just as unable to handle it as the disturbing imagery which is hiding under the surface.

Is that why religions tell you to wait for heaven until after you croak? Are humans ill-equipped to handle the extraordinary highs and lows of nirvana? I was tempted tonight. Tempted to re-frame. Tempted to look at things a little differently. With a different perspective. And something bizarre happened. I ceased fretting over the minutia which often occupies me. I saw. I witnessed. There it was, life. There were people, and objects, and sights. And of course sound. It was a concert after all. And it was a lovelier concert than I've heard in a while. Because I heard it differently. With new ears and mind. And then I got a rush. A joyous thrill. That one that others seem to get. It's the one gotten from just being alive. From just being, and being glad for it.

But then I got another kind of rush. A more sinister one. The floodgates opened, and everything was allowed in. So I guess my mind had to close up shop. It didn't feel inclined to get to know those demons further. But it's too late. I now know the difference between being alive and being stuck. I'll be less easily duped from now on. With all the gradations and layers and nuances, it is really very simple. On or off. Open or closed. I don't want to go so far as to say alive or dead. But it might be right, eh?

It's all in my head. It's all in my head. They're all in my head. Now who they are exactly is something of a question mark.

There are a lot of them. They are hard to discern, so it often sounds like one loud voice. But it makes more sense that it is a combined effort. It's interesting, because I give people a pass, assuming there's no bad intention. They didn't intend to become a nightmarish mantra in my head. So that absolves them. Not that I'm really interested in blaming anyone. But fact from fiction is important here. One must accurately identify the culprits in the course of history, regardless of intention. You can only surmise intention. Even the party in question may not know their own intent. Intent comes partly from the gut, rather than the mind.

There are those who have inadvertently or purposefully drilled their poison into my brain and soul. That is the situation, and I am left here to pick up the pieces and put myself back together. I must retrieve my shattered soul from it's little corner where it likes to hide from the nasties. It must supplant all the chaos and hopelessness. It's kind of like the Tao Te Ching, right? The strongest force is watery. The quiet, flowing true soul (the Way) has the capacity to erode any behemoths. Love is akin to this, too. If I were more in touch with my loving self over the years, I could have had some protection from those nasties.

I've always wanted to give 110%. It's interesting that I think I can turn that off. It is my nature. I look for ways to express intensity. I can't convince myself that it is unstable and therefore undesirable. If I have managed to curb my appetite for unbridled-ness somewhat, I'm a little afraid to imagine how I used to be.

I will suffer amazing amounts of pain in efforts to succeed and to drink in life experiences. I have two ways of behaving: 150% or 15%. All or nothing, basically. Somehow my brain and my soul are not tuned to those middle percentages; I don't even notice life at that wattage. Is that why cats like me?

The human heart seeks expression. But it seems that some of the most beautiful forms of such demand significant limits. I think that I want endlessness and unbridled-ness. And I do. But there must be the yin to accommodate the yang. Otherwise you fall off the deep end and you lose exactly that destination, that telos you most want to savor.

The need for constraint comes more naturally for some than others. You are naturally drawn to those who personify contrasting qualities. It is the painful truth of yin and yang. It is the irony which flies below the radar oftentimes.