The MoonBlog is on its return, as I am less engaged with others, less interacting with their and my own not-self, there is less to write about, less to be upset about, and less insights arrive through the things that come up and play out. As the noise levels are lowered, as there is less information and interactions filtered, what remains, is me. Me doing, me being, me thinking, me farting, me me. Just me.
And there is a lot of me being simply ok, simply being. It is in the interacting where things get yummy. Where things get personal, or become it, get made personal. While actually, on your own, or from your own self is the most personal you get to ever get, in the interaction is where we, or at least I, really can get personal. This is where the drama enfolds, this is where the show really begins. On my own, by myself, even while doing grocery shopping, not much is going on. The choices that present themselves to be made, get made, with not a lot of fuzz, if any. But when it comes to you, and me, in interaction, oh boy, that is where the engines are started, the sparks start flying and we begin to roar…
For territory, for ego, for all the things we expect from that other, impose as rules, conditions for those interactions. By my rules or not.
When looking at your solitary life, there is not a lot that is not ok, there is not a lot that is bugging, you/me as an individual are functioning quite well. We get up, we wash, we feed, we think, we poop, we read a book, we simply function, day in, day out. We would hardly impose that many rules on yourself, and otherwise they will wear off over time, look at the stories of recluses who stop getting dressed or shave and so on. You really get to drop some pretenses, some conditioning, some cultural habits. Which is added dress-up behaviour.
When interacting with others, all that stuff is used, and put in position even, to presume boundaries, to presume go and no-go areas of that interaction. Everything is rigged, and put well into place and from those individual made up fortified positions, we interact, we converse, we shower the other with birthday greetings, or presume to give non-reciprocal gifts. Such a weird animal we are, all those ritualistic dances and poses, acts and actors as the narrator speaks: “and here we see the mating dance of the idiot, the human idiot”
And to find out, and then take offence, when we are not accepted, but we are tolerated. By someone we (f)actually do the same to, we tolerate them too. And now, they have shown to actually only tolerate us for whatever reason works for them, and you/me/we get upset. We get upset with the confrontation of that truth, and, we get to no longer even tolerate them, us that is soooo accepting of others, ha! If you operate within this frequency band, then we can interact like this. And if you operate within this frequency band, we really do get to interact like this, yeah, awesome ! But no, if you operate in that frequency band, then no, we can not interact in any way.
How others can be a mirror, to get to see our very own chalking of imaginary lines on imaginary playing fields, if we dare look, if we dare accept that truth. I have never accepted you, my relation to you and my relationship with you is always subject to a myriad of conditions, of pre-texts and set-ups, always. And when you, being yourself hopefully, but even if you were not you, behaving as you, when you cross my lines, my conditions for interacting, what my Inner Authority deems correct, then that tolerance is over, that tolerance of your behaviour.
‘Mind your step, mind your step’ echoes through the hall of the airport by the speaker near the flat-conveyor belt. Now that is honesty, mind your fucking step buster… or else… or else tolerate my wrath, my disgust, my, my…