The Burden of Being

That Jordan Peterson, I LOVE him.  I also love Keanu Reeves (I mean, who doesn’t, but fan-girling really isn’t my style). 

Ol’ Jordan is a little maligned by– well hell, I don’t even know who…and I don’t really care enough to look into it.  He’s just smart AF.  He mentioned once (or many times, more than likely) something called the “Burden of Being”.  It’s that weight we all carry- not knowing who we are or why we are here.  To top that existential bullshit off, we have to actually pay to play.  Not only have we NOT asked to be here, we have to find a way to provide for ourselves in this unasked for life.  And there’s more; depression, illness, financial woes…a never ending shit show of sorrow here on planet earth.  And I have always wanted to be able to




Because fuck all that.  I’m a Gemini, man. I just want to float free and fearless, but noooo.  I have to carry the burden of being.  But I believe in this Yin and Yang thing here on earth.  I have always felt (ok maybe not always) that any bad thing has a good thing if you look at it differently.  Like carrying a burden in the physical realm, while difficult, makes you strong.  Resilient.  Able.

But able to do what?  I dunno. 

And therein lies a mystery.  But everything in life seems to have a purpose even if I don’t know what that purpose is.  I mean, a baby in the womb gets lungs for WHAT? He don’t need no lungs.  He swims in a sweet and sterile ocean of his own urine.  Lungs schmungs.  But after a while that little guy gets evicted and we find that those lungs are indeed necessary.  We. Just. Didn’t. Know.  So the fact that I don’t know what my strength is for just means that I don’t know what it’s for yet.

Being is hard.

A lot of us have trouble with that being thing.  We prefer to be doing.  But at some point our doing slows and finally ceases.  What of us then?  That’s why, if we are wise we learn to sit well with ourselves, like old friends.  Befriend our demons and find out what they need, because our demons are really just the ghosts of our pain.  Judging them helps no one.  Healing them helps everything.  But it’s so effing hard to let go.  To let our rights to keep our demons go.  For some of us, our demons are all we know. They are the only steadfast and abiding thing on the planet for us.  And in that there is some sort of comfort.  Even if it kills us.

And how many of us actually like the idea of being in our bodies? 

How many of us feel, rather, that our bodies are nothing more than ill-fitting suits that add to the weight of the burden of being?  I mean, it would be so much easier if we were just light and airy whispers flitting about, but no.  And most of us didn’t get the body we ordered. Or the hair.  Or the family.  But whatev.  We just have to keep lugging it all around until the day we die.  Sometimes we try to kill it faster to escape the pain.  That seems logical…

But oddly, I actually think that we chose to be here.

That we decided to take up that cross.  That this game of life is for some purpose, we just don’t know exactly what that purpose is.  From what I’ve heard though, from gurus and near death experiencers- we are here for love.  To know it, to learn to, to live it.  And this is no small task when we are bathing in filth and bullshit all the day long- so it’s not easy.  And that might be the beauty of it.  The lack of ease.  The challenge.  Like can you get through life on planet earth with all of its weight and can you find love.  Maintain love.  Understand love.  Whatever it is.  And I’m not talking about romantic love.  That’s pretty much nonsense.  I’m talking about a global, pulsating, glistening thing that we just can’t quite seem to lay hold of.

Well I don’t know. 

Grasping love seems unlikely- at least if everyone else is in charge.  But fortunately, we get to be in charge of our own directions and aspirations when it comes to love.  We get to believe what we want to, even in the apparent glaring evidence of opposition.  We get to choose.   We get to create/manifest that which we want if we really want it enough to make our whole life about it.  And half of the time, I’m pretty sure I am not willing.  The weight of focus is just another million pounds to add to the rest of it.  It’s that fucking burden again.

So what do we do?

Well, the best answer I can think of is to take a deep breath and bear it.  That’s it.  And expect that like lungs, there is a purpose for it somewhere in the cosmos of our existence.

Yup.  That’s it for this edition.  I still don’t know shit.  But I am willing to wonder and I suppose that counts for something. ❤

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