*
What dreams we make for ourselves. 
*
You would think that we would make better ones. Dreams without endless, senseless striving. Dreams without unease and bitterness. Dreams without dead children, faithless lovers, flesh-eating diseases, floods, famine, and pestilence. 
Dreams without those who would harm us.
*
Ah, but it is more complex than that.
*
Sometimes I am more than half convinced we are little more sentient than bacterium, or a virus. We eat, shit, fuck, and scheme. We see a green light and we go. Red and we stop. We do what our genes tell us to do, like the kinds of food our genes tell us to like, want to fuck the gene package that is most likely to successfully replicate our own set of instructions so we can make another one just like us to eat and shit and fuck.
The monkey on the back of the tiger holds an imaginary steering wheel, connected to nothing. He chatters to himself about why he wanted the tiger to turn left instead of right, but he’s only fooling himself. 
Anyone can see the tiger’s the one in charge.
*
I guess we need the fiction of control. 
*
If you think I’m off base on this, consider someone else, not you. I don’t mean you. Or me, for that matter. But think about someone who really has lost it. A drug addict or alcoholic. A republican. A preacher or a cop. 
They come up with all kinds of reasons for what they do, but anyone looking on from the outside can see what’s really going on. 
Right?
I mean, haven’t you seen that yourself?
*
Yeah, me too.
*
So, if it’s true for some of us, why isn’t it true for all of us?  Because if you are sensitive and loving and compassionate and spiritual then the lies you tell yourself are better than the lies an addict tells himself so he can keep getting high. 
Right?
*
I remain dubious.
*
Whatever the reality is, I still am a big fat sucker for love. I don’t even care if it’s real, or what. I’m going to act like it matters, and that’s all I need.
It doesn’t have to really matter.
*
I believe it does.
*
I am a fool for love.
*
Maybe my steering wheel isn’t connected to anything at all. 
But it is still fun to lean into the turns, and to feel the wind on my face.
*
Namaste.
*
Advertisements