moosiclovers

With reluctance, my eyes blink open, I concede to the morning light. Immediately pitted between harsh reality and fanciful illusion. Impulsively, I wander into fancy. Glimmers of light shine on my escape, teasing me. Hours go by. All my senses are enthralled. Nothing makes me feel closer, yet nothing could be further away. My freedom detained with it. Forsaken me to see only barren wasteland with every waking breath. Guised as my eternal truth. Daylight passes. Unable to remove the blinders, I become increasingly oblivious to my muddied vision. Dusk approaches. My facetious attempts to regain my freedom served only to amuse myself during this bleak hour. Finally, by dark, I resolve on its existential nature. The solution for freedom, for hope, for relief, seemed to be in the acutely lived then permanently ceased. Intense, fantastical, indulgence in delusion followed by inevitable death.

How did I come to such a resolve? I am not sure I can recall exactly. The simultaneous dissolution of spirit and delusion’s hijack happened like an insidious disease. Piece by piece, picking away at my foundation, at all that I had built. Little bits of pleasure traded for little bits of vigor, inconspicuous to most. I let it take me. Each time it did, it left me a little more hazy, veiling the totality of what I relinquished. Until I was left with nothing. Barren, in a desolate sea, clueless and bewildered in emotional disquiet. Only able to speculate as to my sweeping ignorance of this noxious affliction.

Like the threads coming loose on your tightly woven scarf, delusion can take over in the same way. Insidious in it’s nature and unrecognizable to most that it afflicts, delusion not only affects individuals, but groups, collectives, and even societies. As emotions build and the truth is harder to come by, we as a people become vulnerable to delusion.

In my emotional unease, delusion can sometimes takeover, and I become conflicted. In this time, I turn on Portishead, “Threads“. Beth Gibbon’s quivery, soft, melancholic voice understands me. The repetitive lyrics in this song are analogous to my repetitive thoughts. And that ominous horn-like sound, created by a detuned VCS 3 portable analog synthesizer, at the end of the song, oh man, it draws it right out of me.

“Better if I could find the words to say
Whenever I take a choice it turns away

I’m worn, tired of my mind
I’m worn out, thinking of why
I’m always so unsure

I battle my thoughts I find I can’t explain
I’ve traveled so far but somehow feel the same

I’m worn, tired of my mind
I’m worn out, thinking of why
I’m always so unsure
I’m always so unsure”

I have found writing and listening to music to be extremely therapeutic in times of need. If you are ever feeling emotionally conflicted, maybe give it a try, it is a great outlet and you feel relieved after. Share it, express it to others, and maybe they can also relate. The more open and honest with our expression, the more we as a collective can find the truth and avoid delusion.

-A