20230321 - 22:20
Today is Tuesday. I shaved my head this Sunday. I’ve gotten the comment “you look like a Buddhist monk” quite a few times. This tickles my ego. I look in the mirror and I do not recognize myself. I constantly tr to play with my hair or brush it from my face. It is not there. I think I am not me. This is nice. Now it’s a front. It used to be, but now it is too. Consciously. Perhaps the fron is in front of the unconscious front. But I think that they’ve merged, which is to say that the unconscious front has emerged. It is no longer submerged. What does this mean? Well, I do not identify with the drama as strongly. It happens to me. I still forget, often, that it is not I, but not recognizing myself certainly helps. Not-me will soon bee somewhere I have not, and I think the combined not-thingness of it all will further help. Or perhaps new-me will emerge. This is the danger, a trap. The journey is simple in that it never requires the creation of something new, only the removal of stuff (and/which is) the unveiling of other stuff. Well then, should I perhaps unveil a new-me? No. It has already been there all along. Recognized in those sacred, fleeting moments, quickly glimpsed but always covered up with a ferocity reserved for that creeping, existential dread. Never allowed to set in, even the distant fantastical pondering of it threating to uproot the tiny core of stability I’ve come to define as my life. Who can be strong enough for such an undertaking? Where, and when, would it be allowed to take place? Certainly not I, and neither here nor now.