Jiva and Ajiva

Seven ten.

The sky is pinkish brown from wildfire smoke. Yesterday afternoon I revisited a place on the web that serves as support for people with schizophrenia. But now, the appeal of this site has diminished for me because I don’t want to identify myself as mentally ill. Rather, schizophrenia is just an accidental attribute and not a definition for myself. If it’s true that the essence of any human being is freely created by himself, then why choose to mortify your own spirit? Even if I choose images from the zodiac for my nature, it’s still me who does the choosing. The one who esteems and assigns value is always oneself. It isn’t something external. We determine our identities and design our own fates through self expression. In the beginning is freedom of the will.

Eight forty. I’ve been over to the market and back again and seen a few people this morning. Suk worked the store himself because Heather went to a convention of beauticians in Washington DC. He said he’d like to see more customers in the morning because it makes the time go faster. I caught myself buying more food than usual due to increased appetite from my med. So I began to ponder selfhood and the issue of freedom: just what is the soul in its purity? It seems that part of behavior is material, like karmic particles stuck to the life principle, the monad, the soul. But you don’t have to be a slave to physics; you can override it as long as you are self aware. Across all philosophies, it appears that the individual soul is entirely responsible for its destiny by choosing certain actions, good or bad… I dreamed about my brother and a nephew last night, both of whom have serious problems with addiction. I only wish they could see the light and take care of themselves. The key to their liberation could be forgiveness. 

Uncreated

Six o’clock.

Still is ink black outside my window. Things are in transition for me, or perhaps a little on the rocks. The drought continues. The obsession with freedom has gone away or altered in some way. It may be enough to be alive just for now. My mind’s eye sees things it normally doesn’t, but then “normal” is a misnomer these days. I don’t know what I am or what I want from life; just a schizophrenic guy staying alive. Figuring myself out could take a while, so in this case, existence really precedes essence. The sky is turning lavender to the east. I remember times a few years ago when I was very patient, and people remarked about it. I spent much time Downtown with my peer support in the fall and winter early in my recovery… It’s Friday, and the store should be open. I feel like clay for the shaping, and yet I would resent it if someone tried it. Never trust a therapist to steer you. I hope that a perspective of my own takes shape as I adjust to this medication. As it stands, my selfhood is merely a pool of language and I feel like a Frankenstein creation. And now the heavens have gone gray, kind of like my own identity. I am void and formless: will a voice speak over the waters to declare it a day? 

Words in Stone

Quarter of nine.

My mind is made up to stay home today, no church. I don’t like the way Christians persecute gay people. Life is hard enough without the shadow of the Church hanging over those who don’t fit the same mold. It’s getting more difficult for anybody to figure out where they belong and what they ought to be. A person does well to be insightful and choose prudently for herself and not be led astray. Everyone wants the world to resemble themselves, and for this reason they may give us bad advice about who we are. Ultimately it’s up to oneself to decide on identity and tune out all the confusion from others. Personally I’ll never see another therapist again. Psychology is a cannibal; I don’t trust it at all because everyone seeks a mirror in other people. At some point the wilderness of reflections ends and you arrive at the stone of your foundation; but you must do this alone, like Zarathustra musing in his cave.

I don’t know if I’ll hear from my sister today or not; it depends on whether she’s alone at home. Her Bible is not the answer for me. Probably I’d just as soon be by myself today. Family for me is not the cornerstone of all beliefs and attitudes; I don’t owe them any debts of fealty to their narrow mindedness. The problem is that they don’t really think about anything. It’s all just a knee jerk reaction without being self aware. It’s even a taboo for us to “think about ourselves.” And that’s unfortunate. The inscription in stone over the entrance to the Oracle at Delphi reads, “Know yourself.”