“You are free and that is why you are lost.”– Franz Kafka, “Letter to His Father”
I constantly sway back and forth between knowing who I am and what I want, then not knowing anything about myself at all. It’s like an automatic dissociation from the self and it leaves me ungrounded, floating. I often try to resist this lost feeling, but it’s such a frequent experience now and since many of my experiences often inspire wonderful art, I’m just going to let it happen now.
There is a loss and lack of meaning behind so many instances where I’m hyper aware of my absence in various populations…groups…social circles. For the longest time, this felt like a curse, like I was some sort of poison everyone was trying to avoid or when they did notice me, I was either scolded, shunned, or pushed to convert to what makes them feel comfortable. Why do they tell me how to feel? How to act? How to think? I can’t belong in places, no, I won’t belong in any place where everyone wants to be the same or where everyone wants to be unique and free, yet surrenders that power to one way of being. I feel like most societies develop a mutual and reciprocal respect for how we should live together, tolerate each other, but even in America, land of the free, there are sects of different societies that are determined to control one another not noticing they’re being controlled by higher powers…or perhaps they do know. Perhaps they’re just as aware as I am that the figures with the most power and influence have made themselves untouchable, so if you can’t beat them, join them and if you can’t join them, mimic them, pretend. What loss…
I was reviewing the aspects of Luciferian doctrine from a variety of left-hand sources. I do that when I feel lonely and lost; it’s such a lovely reminder that I’m not alone in the pursuit of enlightenment, enamored by the virtue of being the forever student because the mysteries of nature are so everlasting, that they will outlive us effortlessly. There’s something about accepting that that makes being a mystic honorable. Because I no longer bow to gods or people playing god nor dive too deeply in a doctrine or an influence simply because of its appeal (Luciferianism included), I have an intense, undying freedom, which I noticed repels anyone who has only wanted to blend in or belong. I do tend to romanticize solitude, but I don’t want to be cut off from experiences with others simply because they won’t find any need to include me in something. Even if I am included, whether ulterior motives are there or not, the experience inspires.
Who am I? Am I freedom or is that too simple? Am I ravenous for knowledge or does that set a very ambiguous precedent of my identity? (It’s not like I’m a walking computer.) “I’m an artist,” is closer. “I’m a creator,” is even closer. “I’m a mystic and creative spirit,” hits the nail on the head for me and will forever be too mysterious for others. Perhaps because I live in a world where individual souls are so desperate for belonging, I mimicked that as a learned behavior. I don’t think I want to belong to anyone or anything, at least according the standards of a society. I think my belongingness exists within myself and is transfixed with the reality of my existence, which I guess is as grounded as I’ll ever get.