Why Do We Want To Die?
I need to write my suicide note – before it’s too late. I get close to that moment, and each time, it becomes more ‘reactionary’, than conscious, measured, and deliberate.
Or, I could just write a book; like Sylvia Plath.
(whom I’ve actually never read)
Sometimes, these “hysterical women” of the past, undoubtedly suffered CHILDhood rape abuse; from adult-male incest and paedophilia. There was nothing inherently wrong with these women, before, it’s just that their life-spark had been murdered inside their tiny bodies. Anyone starving for light knows the damage this does.
Something feral and frothing comes…
These human beings needed their life-spark to kindle their dreams, and blaze the path of their destiny.
Sometimes, it was old medicine – like Mercury poisoning, from fillings.
Altered internal chemistry, from the external environment.
Balance is Zen.
I believe Osho called it: “Lifedeath”. They are not separate things. He wanted to die, too, while he was alive.
Psalm Isadora did.
Why we want to die, teaches us how we want to live. We should talk about it.
Do you ever have that moment, when you decide you want to die, but you also think you should tell people ‘why’ – and then you’re like: “I need to write a note – but I also need to die!”
Then you get caught-up in the see-saw of which side will win, today… I hit that spot, often. Like, I’m used to it now. Sometimes I think, that I will really get bored of it, one day. The oscillation.
People often cry when someone they Love, leaves willingly, and they say: “Why, o why, did you choose a permanent solution to a temporary problem?!”
There is nothing temporary about my problem. Rape, and Homelessness, in the Kali Yuga.
I also realised, recently, that rape and homelessness are not personal problems.
And that’s where I hit my wall – only I didn’t know why.
There is nothing wrong with me; these are not personal problems – they’re global.
What’s wrong with me, is my inability to accept them.
“It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.” ~ Krishnamurti
CBT assures me: “It’s not happening now.”
But it is… somewhere in the world – my world – and I’m still homeless; it’s been 7 years. That’s always happening, now.
And it is always happening to me, because I am a Universal Person, merged with All.
Global problems are/become personal problems.
Every time I rent a room, the House gets demolished to build unaffordable apartments.
So I did a few sensible things… I realised I’d never be able to afford a house “of my own”, so I decided to apply for public housing in my city. Patiently. Until I hit crisis point, and ended up in a women’s shelter, where I was put on the “Emergency Housing Waiting List”. FOUR years ago.
They told me it would be a two-year wait.
Of course, it’s so strange, that a couple (two-people) could rent a one-bedroom apartment for the same price as an individual (one person). Financially, we are forced to co-habitate.
My soul is terribly out of sorts in this MAYA; I am so used to Tribal Lore and Unity Consciousness. Wtf is this insanity?! I ask myself, at least once a day. Not to mention: WHERE DID ARCHITECTURE GO
I actually cry at that; boxes have replaced The Sacred Geometry of “building”.
“Homeless chic; the upgraded ‘Cardboard Box’.”
*top left: a cross between a bullet and a penis, raping and threatening the Earth.
*top right: mentally-ill shaped upgraded cardboard boxes
*bottom left: classic Art Deco apartments, that just need a fresh coat of paint. Curved, like the eye, and ready to party and celebrate life! Adorned with green palms.
*bottom right: Art Deco apartments, Florin Court. Kind of monstrous and gloomy, but INVITING, and hypnotising… you can’t take your eyes off the full photo. Red-brick might have been nice… Makes walking down the street an adventure – not a funeral procession.
I am so used to having a Holy Place; a Temple, where I make sense.
Somewhere I have context, and am valuable.
Being a Holy Woman, I am very receptive to Akasha, and this is not a very ‘yang’ thing… it’s very Yin. And yin is unslaveable. Slaves are always ‘doing’.
I am not a good slave; I Love to serve.
Divinity, only, tho. I will completely ignore your ego if it dare look at or talk to me.
Sensibly, without a Temple for my Holy Flesh, I also realised I needed shelter, so I bought a van to live/sleep in. Shelter. Even though I can’t drive it.
– long story I could never repeat.
Ended up with C-PTSD from recurring rape, homelessness, and loss – most of my people, I lost to heroin and mental illness, one after the other. This is how they escape earth.
Come to think of it, maybe I’m doing well.
At least I am present with my suffering.
(I can’t always crop 4 u)
Being present, sensitised, and Holy, why would I wish to remain in a semi-permanent Maya, where my body is consistently tortured?
I just want to sleep.
Real Enlightenment – as illustrated by this gentleman – is described by me, thusly: “Enlightenment is, to: Go away. And then come back.”
There is a secret in there, only for enlightened beings.
I try to explain as much as I can so seekers and ignoramuses don’t feel left out, but secrets are ‘discoveries’ – I could try and tell you, but you will never knowledge it.
The Secret is found when you “go away”, and you come back with it.
Anyone who does not come back, I say, has abandoned her; abandoned reality.
It is his choice.
I am present with my suffering. Which is caused by Man. Who is the patriarchy. Who is the one-world government. Who is Yang – ‘doing/action/force’. Who his men, himself.
Because my body is female.
He is the only idiot, here.
Why would I not want to die, when I Loved him so, and he is… not really here.
He is raping and pillaging the women and the earth – including me – or he is knowingly/unknowingly supporting the men that do. Working for them, even, when they could be working for me. For us.
I have vision, and blueprints – but no resources. They’ve all been stolen by the patriarchy. The minds and bodies of men, and the land, herself. Earth.
I send out distress signals, that is all.
Yang designed men this way; good for labours of Love.
Of course, there are exceptions to the rule; everyone is everything, dancing.
Unless, of course, they’re not.
He is abusing or neglecting me, and I did not come to Earth to be ‘alone’. Nor did I come to be monogamous. I came to Love all beings. Which does not mean sex.
And he violently strips me of my skin, when my nature is to unveil.
And he grips my throat silent.
Sometimes my eyes pop, drowning in Salt Water, like juice squeezed from life’s burgeoning oranges…
I can call on Durga, but I can’t make him let go.
Sometimes everything goes hard, brittle, and black, and he snaps my neck, and I flop dead.
Don’t make me tell you what he does to children.
Do you remember when people asked you what you’d do if you won a million dollars? As if that was some life-changing amount!
These days, you couldn’t even buy a house.
I think, maybe, the movie mother! is my suicide note.
Watch it when I’m gone; think of me.
I am repeatedly murdered, anyway. Here.
What about you; why do you want to die?