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I’ve spent the better part of my life chasing after certainty.  Probably, although I’m no longer certain, because of my early pre-teen years.

But, that might not be why.  Really.  It might be because of the way I’m wired.  Others seem to be wired far less tightly than I am and are able to just accept that life isn’t a series of boxes.  Not just boxes but those boxes that fit into each other starting with the huge box all the way down to the very tiny one.

I’ve wanted the boxes to make sense.  To speak English to me.  To help me be brighter and more acceptable to myself and those around me.

I’ve wanted to make myself a perfect box.  A universally recognizable and respected box.

And as my life unfolded, it got less perfect, less recognizable and sadly often too often less respected.

My peers left me as they made their way through life, following a collegiate path while I followed the scene of hash and pot.

Waking up a few years later sorely left behind in the streets of LA.  But, being wired for control and boxes I sought certainty and found it for many years within a place called Celebrity Center and later a place called Flag.  Two place where I worked believing that I was making the world a better place.

After a family tragedy, I left working as a staff member and just followed the philosophy of scientology but from a pay as you go member, but always looking for answers as to how do these boxes, my life, work?

Only to find that the tighter I looked for certainty the more it alluded me.  The boxes actually all collapsed, burying me inside.

I did my utmost to pull everything I could from the outside into my mind and just disappear.  So no one would notice.

Which is impossible.  Short of blowing up the boxes so that they are particles in the wind, a box is solid and someone will notice.

And try as I might morning always came.  Someone – a maid in a motel, a waitress in a restaurant, an old friend, or a roommate.  Someone always noticed me.  I just could not disappear.

But without certainty, who can live?  Without certainty, why bother?  Without certainty, it’s just too utterly painful and moreover it screams of the utter  absurdity of life.

I wanted certainty that I would, if I followed this or that rule, be happy.  I wanted certainty that my family would be safe.

Mostly I guess I wanted the certainty that I would not suffer.

Someone had forgotten to tell me that suffering was the First Noble Truth (if you are a buddhist).  That suffering was part of life (if you are simply aware and awake).  That suffering is the human condition.

And regardless, we are all human.

For a long time, I really suffered.  Bit by bit – because I am growing more and more comfortable with uncertainty, not only do I suffer less.  I find that most of my days are filled with the joy of being alive.


Seriously, does anyone have the answer?  How is it that our lives seem to be lived in a straight line of decision precedes action when somehow it appears that an action occurs and a decision happens.

And why are those actions not necessarily ones we would chose?  Sure, we all like the action of someone falling in love with us but how exactly did that action happen?  We definitely don’t like the action of a family member or loved one getting sick and dying.  Or worse, ending their own life.

Seriously, how does it really work?

I’ve been pondering life since the moment I realized that I was actually alive.  Not necessary an obvious realization.  I felt as if I had stepped back of myself and was looking at this person who was breathing and I realized, I’m alive.

Later, many years later I had to really really wonder.  If I were to leap from the top of the cathedral tower and come crashing onto the sidewalk, would I still be alive.  Oh, I knew my body would be dead but somehow I had the inkling feeling that I wouldn’t disappear as I had hoped.

Moreover, my body would be very visible for all to see.  Smashed on the sidewalk.  Nonetheless, the thought troubled me for days.  If I were to kill myself, would I then disappear?  Or would others be able to see me?  I finally came to the conclusion that because I knew it when others died, others would know when I had died.

It felt like a trap.  A trap I could not get out of ever.  I would forever be alive and yet I would forever be dying.

Perhaps the only way it really works if I try to maintain a sense of excitement and caring.  A sense of being curious and willing to experience the ups and downs of life.  A sense of surprise when I fall in love or perhaps more appropriately recognize that I never stopped loving.

The sense of loss is perhaps for me the absolutely worse emotion.  It covers my heart, enveloping it in a heavy shroud and consumes all of my thoughts and all of my hope.  It is palpable.  It weighs so much.

And nothing seems to make it go away.  Years and years after the loss of my father, I can still feel the necklace of tears if I am watching a particularly sad movie.

This isn’t apparently a uniquely human emotion.  Elephants apparently mourn their loved ones.

So, how does it really work?  Just a wild guess but I think it has to do with karma.  Those seeds planted continuously through the millennia that comes to fruition at just the right moment.  And perhaps now I’m a bit more awake and am planting more positive seeds and working at asking forgiveness for my negatives.

But, I really don’t know.