They say that a journey ends when you come back to the same spot you started, with new eyes with which to view your surroundings. Perhaps yourself.
This past year, I started off at a very clear point in my life. I ironed out all the uncertainties - knew exactly where I was and where I'm going, and had just finished my bit of soul searching.
Now, I have decided to leave all that behind. The comfort and solace I felt was no longer comfortable and things were becoming quite chaotic.
Coming full circle, I am reacquainted with the great philosophers whose words I listened to but did not fully understand, a year ago.
It's easy to be Captain Hindsight, but here it is. Here I am.
All my life, I have had women come up to me with their tales of betrayal. Either they betrayed other people, or more usually, tales of how they were betrayed. I thought I was doing them a favour by listening to them. Little did I suspect that those stories were probably meant for me.
I beat depression in 2003, 2006 and 2008. I thought I had it covered. But then, recently, I was in its thrall yet again. Every time, it feels like the worst time it happened, but the Truth is, I don't know.
I know for a fact that any type of negativity comes from identifying with an image or a role that is created by the delusional self. I used to know it, now I have gone through it.
The mind is the great deceiver. It tells us that we are defined by our cars, our clothes, the books we read, blah blah blah. It doesn't. Those things only define our selves to other people and if your God is Other People, then I guess it is true for you.
What I believe in is that we are not all of that at all. That at the very essence, at a basic fundamental level, we are so much more than our possessions and our actions that we have accumulated around us.
In essence, I believe in the soul. The spirit. And I believe that we are all connected.
The Absolute Terror fields, made up of things - of matter, thoughts and dreams - are simply there as an imperfect shell.
We are never who we THINK we are or the little stories we tell ourselves about us. To believe in those images - those illusions - is delusional. It is a mental illness, much like believing in black magic, African money, pyramid schemes or an invisible pink unicorn.
I have had much to ponder these past few months, and I have come to the realisation that the more you think of something, the less value it has. Try it.
It only bogs you down.
Tired of pretending and focusing on things that do not matter, I started a series of actions that has led me here, where I was two years ago, but with perhaps a clearer understanding of myself and the universe. And how they are both one and the same.