Self-deception

I went back to square one with Kierkergaard’s “Works of Love,” because life events caused my bookmark to be in suspended animation between the first few pages of the book. Now that I’m rereading it, I read and was struck by something along the lines of: who is harder to awaken—the one who is asleep or the one who is dreaming of being awake?

The certainty of death

The title may elicit shock, but worry not—it is simply a statement of fact. I have witnessed death twice, or 1.5 times to be more precise. I witnessed my mother’s final breath, but not my father’s. I witnessed my father’s remains being slid into a crematory after I kissed his forehead and then proceeded to weep thunderously. My apologies for the graphic description; consider this as part of my mourning process. I cannot fully describe the sadness I felt then and continue to feel now especially when I’m alone in my thoughts. Other times, I think of other things...mundane things, happy things related to my beautiful family, exciting work-related ideas, useless anxieties, the usual idle speculations (which I’m trying to cut down), what to eat, memories triggered by certain songs, etc.  But always I ponder on the end of life. Sometimes my life; most of the time the lives of my parents. My father and mother are gone and that reality throws me off balance at times. So, for anyone with parents who are still alive, cherish their presence.

Protected by the Word

Image source

I believe that there are other-dimensional things that influence our average emotional and conscious states.  My parents were very spiritual persons. At one point in the 80s, my mother subscribed to what could be considered as occult-ish. Note that she didn’t practice it, but believed that others did (she also believed in the supernatural) so when my siblings and I would develop unexplained rashes or physical issues, she would take us to the family doctor and then request an albularyo or local healer in case our predicament was caused by an upset elf or whatnot.  You can say that my mother covered all the bases. 

So my awareness of voodoo or people casting spells began at an early age and my mother wanted to make sure that we were protected from unpleasant elements from all realms—being Roman Catholic, this may seem contradictory. I do remember that during my mother’s remission from cancer in the late 90s, she and my father became more focused on religion than superstition and I don’t recall having any albularyo sessions since then. Also, my father immersed himself in Catholic Christian doctrine and joined Opus Dei.  After my mother passed away, my father became ever more spiritual and had a huge influence on my spiritual life—he gave me all the volumes of In Conversation with God, among other books. He also taught me to pray the prayer above regularly for protection.

Why am I posting this? I have been praying the prayer to St. Michael at least once  (sometimes more) daily, because I had been feeling a strong need for it. I became fascinated with astrology and tarot during the start of 2019. I have no recollection as to why or how I was led into this new age rabbit hole. I will not elaborate on how I know that there is something sinister at play, regardless, my gut is churning and I feel that my parents are still protecting me. For some inexplicable reason, I just know that there is something amiss and that this seemingly harmless fascination...is starting to feel harmful. I tried to convince myself that this is just purely entertainment, but I feel something wrong.

This whole viscious cycle of dwelling-on-the-tiny-dark-cloud-of-the-past as opposed to the >90% sunnier landscape of life necessitates the help of The Lord and the intercession of Our Lady, St. Joseph, the Saints, and Angels. I am not talking about mental health issues—I’m mentally healthy. Without revealing details of what’s in my mind, suffice to say that I have been guided. And no external, non-divinely guided entity or energy (hah, I used the word energy lol) can veer me away from the right path.

As a post script, I work in the hard sciences and both my parents studied political science and then became practicing lawyers when they were alive. 

I don’t blame you if after reading the statements above, you suddenly picture me growing up in a hippie household that probably constantly smelled like incense (let’s just say ‘incense’ and keep it wholesome). 

So this post is a revelation about that intrinsic part of ourselves that is transcendental...that formulaic logic and empiricism can co-exist with the metaphysical.

Of Peace

“Let there be peace on Earth..and let it begin with me.”

https://youtu.be/vXFeeJ6LSMc

Tied down by tradition and social norms

Have you ever felt caged or bound by rules or norms imposed by the circumstances you were born into? That  when new knowledge or experiences update your perception of certain things and you invite conversations about it, you are immediately...sinful? Going way too much against the grain? And when you ask for the specific potential bad outcome of this new way of thinking, you are given a vague answer? 

My frustration lies on being controlled about what I should think and how to behave or what I should expose myself into. As if I were the child and not the partner.  I feel the opposite of liberation. It’s like a ball and chain for the mind—it’s ridiculous isn’t it? 

I feel like imploding into my own mind and never divulging what I think to those whom I know will demean my non-traditional ideas—those who tend to be non-strangers, unfortunately.

Let this be a rant. Thank you for being the respite of my consciousness, bloggerverse. And I am sorry that I am not sorry that I feel territorial about my thoughts. It’s my brain in my skull and I am unhappy that one would dictate to me what I should think about.

Well, we know the simple solution—keep certain things to one’s self. For harmony’s sake.