Memories of past cigarettes smoked while smoking. Emotional traveling.
Caption: ¨Lost my mind.¨
I read a line in a book that has I title I cannot recall, nor the character who said it, that went something like, ¨Unemotional people always cry from movies.¨ Although I know this doesn´t apply 100% of the time I identified myself with this sentence. Watching movies in the safe sanctuary of the hostel I find myself overly emotional, swept away with misplaced emotions. Somehow a movie triggers all those moments I experienced as the watchful observer that I could not deal with in the moment. They bubble to the surface. So busy in doing. So busy with dealing with the events that are taking place that your emotions don´t have time to catch up. Emotionaly inhibited. Instead the seeds are planted and grow slowly. You don´t find time to deal with them until you are quiet, until a waft of smoke, or a overly dramatic scene pulls back the curtain of the fully grown surprise. You are caught by the aweful beauty that you did not expect to see in that moment.
I sit quietly watching a scene with a potato in my throat. All that I fear and desire in life comes rushing to the surface and you wonder what you are doing in this moment is the best thing to create the future that you will be happy with in 30 years, if that day will ever come. Yes, I know that the future does not exist, only the present and all the simple truths that make sense in one moment and in the next moment are arm wrestled away by my the conditioning of my upbringing. You can´t underestimate the affect that your home environment has on you. It´s always carried with you, like your nose or eye color.
The emotional crust is peeled away at times and you become more human. You can clearly see the importance of everything and you realize it is impossible to be at all places at once and to please everyone, including yourself. It is in these moments you are equal with the rest of humanity. Brothers in fear, desires, hopelessness, and happiness. We all desire the same impossibilty but act differently in our struggle. Yes, in three mintues the curtain has returned, the smoke blows away, the potato is gone, and you are yourself, alone, and busy back to doing. Life continues until that next moment sneaks up on you where you become a human again, and you forget about yourself.
I bask in the luxurious friviolty that traveling allows, but it isn´t for this that I enjoy it. Rather it´s the addiction to those moments where you feel more human. You are humbled by your momentary peek into the grand reality that engulfs us. All your efforts that put up a profective barrier to keep you safe, your arms attached to your body, and your head to your body are nothing more than a luck-filled lie. Walls built of money and planning just keep you from realizations. Money cannot make you a better or worse person. It is a nuetral energy and you create it´s meaning by your attitude and relationship with it. You wont become a buddist if you give away all your money.
As Whitman says, I contradict myself, I am full of contradictions, as you can clearly read, I am. Isn´t that a great gift to allow yourself?
To be a human, but to rarely act like one due to well learned habits.
