A beginning...again.

Let me first preface this entry with the thought: I've considered the validity of this blog in regard to suicide awareness, etc., and I've come to the conclusion that this aspect (the blog) of the R.I.S.E. movement will be a bit of a window into the inner workings of my Self, my thoughts, and my daily encounters with my EGO. That said:

Many people who know me understand that I am a night owl. I have many reasons for staying up late, some of which include my work schedule, a desire to accomplish things when I feel others are being "lazy" by sleeping, a pungent disdain for sleep itself (I view it as a waste of time), and the peace and quiet that come along with it. The paradox here is that when I do finally sleep, I rather enjoy it! One might think that this would lead to a different set of habits, but as of yet, that has not been the case. 

The most interesting, exciting, and mysterious part of sleep for me is the dreaming. As an analytic, it is often difficult for me to express my creative side in the form of classical "art" (painting, drawing, dancing, etc.), but I find I've been gifted with an affinity for lucid dreaming. To know that my subconscious can be as creative as it is has been quite an experience the older I've become, and due to my dream awareness, I am able to remember many of the details of many of my dreams; dreams that have brought me joy, pain, unrest, and even to tears.  Those dreams I speak of are those that are predominantly visual in nature. However, the type of dream I'd like to share with you now is one in the middle of which I wake, repeating an unknown stanza or message that I believe to be some sort of universal insight or "download" from another source. That source, I do not know, nor would I claim to know with any certainty. All I know is what was in my head at the time of my awakening, which I immediately wrote down in the notebook next to my bed: 

"Men wake from dreams for which they'd never wish to have...and find they've awakened something within. When they realize the human experience is what they have wished for, life becomes meaningful. A meaningful existence does not die with the human body, but is steadily passed through the ages, and its legacy is born through story. If you are alive as a human, your purpose is to live, and that alone is meaningful."

Why blogging is so foreign to me:

     If you know me at all, then you know that I have no problem sharing my thoughts and feelings at anytime to almost anyone. I think that's why I'm so confused as to why this blogging thing has been such a challenge for me. On one side of the coin, I usually deal with things internally so there is often no point in rambling on about something that I am able to process and come to a conclusion with as quickly as I think about it. On the other side, I've recently discovered the power of sharing those thought processes with other people, gaining an additional perspective.

     

Two things come to mind right now. First, the advice given to me by others about how to approach a blog, and secondly, how I can share the process of my devoted self-reflection (and its results for me) in such a manner that I do not sound “preachy” with it. Proper writing etiquette dictates that I address the advice first, and then move on to the latter idea. I don't care, though. This is my blog, it's my first time doing so, and I will do it as I see fit in this moment.

     

I've had people ask me why it is that I seem so happy or content or satisfied or whatever word they use to describe my demeanor. My answer: I choose to be. It really is that simple. In this country, we've been raised with the idea that we have a right to the pursuit of happiness. I beg to differ. I believe we all have a right to happiness, but only if we choose it. If one decides not to make that choice, then he is entitled to the aforementioned pursuit. (Good luck!) My pursuit: life.