You don't know how much it bothers me that I do drugs. Not 'bother' in the sense that it was wrong, and it's a bad thing, and that I shouldn't have done it. Rather, a bother like certain heartbreak; an ever present constant reminder of the fact. A fact like you've done it: you did it and now it can't be taken back. It's been done and it's over, but it keeps coming up.
I think it's somehow due to the intertwining of the senses. You smell the taste that got you to feel high. And it comes up again, when it is smelled on the street or worse, in a friend of a friends, or a given family's function. It flirts with your mind and permeates the soul, the smell of opium on a crisp day, the lush verdant green of a sticky smoke, a lovers lips tinged with a tar like tobacco.
Yet sometimes life reaches up and touches the top of the objective happiness chart and one begins to go over feelings that brought them great joys and pleasures. With a smile one continues to go about the pleasantries of daily existence; the smells, the feeling, the various joy. The people, the places, the events, and the experiences, all shared underneath the umbrella nest.
Until a thought creeps in, familiar and forgiving at first, but quietly becoming hostile in its pretense. A 'what if' moment, of unrefined decision, an executive decision waiting to be made, one with implications both great and small, and one that will define a certain avenue of your life forever.
Nothing bad, though. Perhaps a rocky road of truth that would have lay uncovered, hidden, hiding; growing recessively and silently in the overgrowth, just waiting to be awakened. Beckoning to be heard in a forest of thought. An El Dorado of potential for pretentious thinkers.
So you did it, and now its been done. No turning back, you're on the road to El Dorado! And yet a new thought springs up. Like fingers quick to point blame.
You remember a time past, one long ago that seemed only to exist in a bubble. Thousands of plants surrounded you, and so you reasoned that at some point they must have grown. You saw them hard at work, building as they were being built. Allocating resources left and right, their self-perpetuated growth happening, the structure closing in. A garden was forming it seemed. The very light was being converted into sugars and building together from the bottom, the sides, and the ground, up and in.
Everything was in a state of tug. Pulling and tugging on one plant over, and then the next. Each gravity being pulled and pulling, each plant now becoming part of a phalanx, each strain being pushed for their own weight and their own victory, each species for themselves until the few realized that the odds go up, for all of them, if they work together.
With every passing moment, comes more understanding. The image on the minds screen closes in on truth and begins to respond. It's as if in seeing truth it becomes a blatant roar. Or rather, it became a blatant roar. Once then, one looks around and slowly realizes that the garden is walled in, and in this realization comes the thought that in this moment of understanding, lay all of the time in the world.
This digression into a plane holds true an eternal example of a prime moment of intuition and understanding. The Ohm that everyone spoke so highly of, that that is recognizing every individual noise and sound, knowing that every drop of water flowing through the river took the high road down. Maybe this was it.
A wise man once said, 'A drop drops confused in the midst of mist and opts for Ohm, the path of least resistance'. Explaining further that this is the weary way of a conservative world trying to stick to what it's been doing for so long that it deems it best. And so it trickles down with the assurance that all will soon pass, and that it will find itself back on top of the mountain of reason, for reasons unknown, but sacredly kept. Because that is the way.
Again, I find myself on a plateau built of rational thought. Screaming from the top down, takes time until it is understood below. 'So many reasons,' the bottom ponders, 'for why he might be saying this'. A rock moves laterally underfoot and I struggle to regain balance as it crashes down below. Introspection. So I go down a different road, for here I've gone too far.
I don't know much about what I just learned, but I took this:
In the beginning I said that 'no one would know how much it bothered me that I do drugs', and I then digressed into an inquiry on 'bother(s)'. I said that this bother was recurring like an itch; begging to be scratched. I likened it to many things. Like, it doesn't matter how hard you scrub when you brush your teeth, it wont get them any whiter. It doesn't matter how much you try to get at it and where you attempt to reach it, or anything of the sort. It's ever present and will remain a constant for as long as it will linger, and until you forget. Which seems like purgatory until you collect reason.
The text also illustrates a substantial loss in memory, during and 'in' the formation of creating new memories. Many varying points were brought up in the text from the beginning to the end, and each time a different field of associated thoughts were swept in. Some sentences were about shortcomings and others were about goals. All involved the world and the reality of our construct as we know it. Mentally it formed an elegant Venn diagram mosaic, many times larger and smaller.
In the formation of new memories, and as they come along new ideas appear many and varied at a time. Some calculations and notes become lost in the process, and so they must be noted and redrawn again. Like reading a sentence over to better understand it. You reach a crossroads of sorts. If you don't understand it you begin achieving a different, perhaps less objective vision than the one you are trying to parallel. So a wise person would reread the sentence until they fully understood for the sake of knowing what it was that was implied.
So there's still hope, is what I was getting at. Different things must be significantly characterized in hierarchies of value, values, and importance. And different things must be processed one at a time, quickly, for different reasons and seemingly all at once, but all in a single file. Each given a moments time.
So what is this paper talking about, if anything at all? Perhaps that the answer to all of it lies in the pursuit. That you can technically step in the same river twice, and on a long enough time line, that anything is possible. That these fun disproportionate truths are what make life worth living. So much larger and so much smaller than the rest of us, and in provocative ways too. It keeps things fresh and interesting, change 'is what we need', right? And after needing change you step into the river again, but this time it's dried up, like some post-apocalyptic ending to a short story, or essay involving few things but 'philosophy'. Consider this paper a footnote for the new dawn.