I spend a lot of time writing cogent stuff that makes sense. Sheesh. Let's stop that.
Today I'm writing a creek of consciousness. Because I prefer creeks to streams, honestly-- they're more creeky.
I've been feeling loads of crazy lately-- breathless, panicky, wake up in the morning feeling like disaster is imminent crazy. I think this color of crazy is maybe yellow mixed with pink. Kind of all swirled together.
Why is the color of crazy important to know? Well, that's a good question-- why is the color of your parachute important to know? I think it's so you realize what to reach for when you're about to jump out of the plane into nothingness, as prompted by your crazy.
My crazy is the kind that tells me I'll never be able to figure all this biggification stuff out, I'll just flail around into the void and be the world's most sorrowful speck of failure.
And what's up with that? Didn't I just write a book on ending suffering genius and discovering ecstatic joy? Yes, I did. Haven't I brought myself into long periods of happiness under much worse circumstances than the ones I have now? Yes, I have. So why am I suffering?
Well--- I haven't been listening to my heart or putting my genius' requests at the top of my priority list. I haven't been doing loving-kindness virtualization. I haven't been keeping a commonplace book.
I've been letting myself get overwhelmed by preparing to launch the book and learning all kinds of technical stuff and marketing stuff. "Letting myself get overwhelmed" is a mild euphemism for "swimming in a rotting swirling stink pit of hot fear." Also, the very word "marketing" has always sounded to me like a verb which describes a kind of dry, coughing vomit. Maybe like a cat producing a hairball. That's what "marketing" sounds like.
So you see, my genius does not like technical stuff or marketing or swimming in hot stink fear swamps. She likes poetry, perfume, furs, trancework, dreams, attention and sex.
So my genius (her name is Elsinore Finch) has thrown a pink and yellow fit of crazy at me. Makes sense. Geniuses don't like to be disrespected. It's amazing how fast I can go from bliss to misery when I stop doing the stuff that works for me.
This is sooooooo annoying, man. I can't even tell you. I've wanted a quick, final fix all my life. A pill. Brain surgery. Something to make it all smooth out once and for all without me having to devote conscious effort to keeping the ship sailing.
Alas, as I am reminded again-- it doesn't work that way. I think I need to write this into my introduction of the book-- a reminder that the suffering can always come right back when I stop taking the right actions.
Knowing what color my crazy is helps. It lets me see it and discover that actually-- it looks kinda fun. Like banana-strawberry bubbalicious which I always used to beg my mother for at the grocery store. I think I'll make a crazy-colored picture for my genius and see if that appeases her.
Then, I'll plan to publicly hypnotize some people into having sex, because I know that's what she really wants.
What about you? What color is your crazy today?