Projection’s are amazing things. They push the boundaries of our own human limitations by group thought; a gestalt that represents the give and take of the creative process. We watch as each of us push sacred cows to the point of violence or verbal abuse, listening to the weakness buried in the best of intellectual rationalism.
I watch a person walk by, and a good bit of the time I can tell from their walk what sort of injuries they’ve had, in some cases what jobs they’ve abused themselves with, that produced such effects. I can listen to the nature of my own introspective speech, or that of another and know the nature of who I or they think they are; sad to say, it usually is never what we wish.
I watch the degradation of social structures, architectural meanderings, emotional loss, or intellectual buds of logic, grow or wither as the center of their gravity is lost to the nature of what they choose to become, rather then dream of being more.
It is a thought sometimes that occurs to me in those dark filled nights, the light of life shining through the canopy of darkness, pin-points of light, of thought always there, always giving us the choice of following a path of discovery rather than a path of mediocrity, following the viral abuse that some become addicted to, looking for there next fix, the next soul they are driven to drag to the depths of there own despair.
I enjoy the verbal repartee of the quick wit, the slow jabs of the unexpected , the round house kicks of ignorance that contrast the nature of my own limits at times. What occurs to me in those projections of weakness for all to see, are the mountains of emotional baggage that weigh on our souls, weigh on our words, our thoughts, our actions, dragging us down to the lower level thoughts of abuse we shake out of our pores, like the smelly yellow stink of sweat; a hangover, from a bad night out, never ending, lost in the inebriated dreams of being more than we are.
It is a soulful truth that; if we are not careful, what we become is the prophetic self-image of what we allow ourselves to see as truth shining forth from another’s eyes, becoming what they think we are, rather then seeing the potential we all have within us.
I heard it said once, that “my focus is my reality.” Truth to say, if what another thinks of me becomes my focus, their thoughts of who I am; then yes, sadly, that too also becomes my reality.
Just some thoughts in progress…have a nice day……