- Jan 31, 2011
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The black dog has visited me for many years, I am not sure what dog he actually is, but he is very big, with the most beautiful sad eyes. since I was 13 he appears and sits on my right shoulder, and can stay there for hours, days, weeks, . These days he does not stay for long, but the nights are the worse. He will not let me sleep, he just sits on my shoulder, whispering in my ear, drink is a guarantee for him to appear, as is the thought I have caused someone hurt. I have got used to him over the years, he has nothing positive to contribute to me at all, he fills my head with theories and thoughts, he is everything negative about me, if the wolf represents excess and excitement, then the black dog is nothing short of depression. I have made my my peace with him, I let him play his favourite album 'this is my truth, show me yours' by the manic street preachers, and I read this forum, past postings, my own past postings, see how I have grown since I have found a path, after a while, bored that I am not sinking into a sea of depression he gets up and shuffles of, and I will not see him again for a while. He keeps trying to get me to play with him, the games we played for years, a bottle of scotch,
a debate on how powerful being lonely is, the ability it gives you to do exactly what you want, when you want, and how you want, some funeral march music, ah yes the perfect evening, followed by another debate on the point of life, the realisation that there is no point to life, the glazed eyes, and then the sobbing, the shoulder shaking, nose running, full scale sobbing, as it sinks in, there is no point, enjoy yourself, don't enjoy yourself, do what you can to try and ease the guilt, and then one day die. The temptation to cut out all rubbish in between was always tempting, if there is no point, why not die now. As the drink flowed, and the black dog spoke soothingly of death and peace, the concept would become more and more like the ultimate answer, but that was then, the old days, before the path showed itself,
you know the smell of freshly baked bread is beautiful, but if you stand in the kitchen, after a while you can't smell it anymore, you have to leave the kitchen, and then 10 mins later walk back in and you can smell it, sometimes it does no harm for the black dog to pay a visit, if only so that when he is gone, the smell of bread is as strong as the day I first smelt it
I read Hesse again yesterday, although nowadays I read him from a sikh view, rather than trying to find the answers, Steppenwolf sits next to my keyboard, it is well thumbed, but still full of many passages that are in complete agreement with sikhism, together with many that are not..., I read Demian, and a line stuck in my head, 'we hate in others what we hate in ourselves'
I thought about that most of the night, if you extend the sentiment, then we love in others what we love in ourselves, we fear in others what we fear in ourselves, a man who is not faithful, fears infidelity in his wife, a man who does not love his wife, but abounds in her love for him, fears the loss of love, how can we break this, how can we grow past these childish feelings, by humility, accepting that you are nothing, seeing the creator in everything, and realising that the only love you need is from within, from the creator, using this love within to amplify the love you show others, anyone, everyone, everything
The black dog looked up at me, boredom in his eyes, 'your no more fun anymore' and shuffled off
a debate on how powerful being lonely is, the ability it gives you to do exactly what you want, when you want, and how you want, some funeral march music, ah yes the perfect evening, followed by another debate on the point of life, the realisation that there is no point to life, the glazed eyes, and then the sobbing, the shoulder shaking, nose running, full scale sobbing, as it sinks in, there is no point, enjoy yourself, don't enjoy yourself, do what you can to try and ease the guilt, and then one day die. The temptation to cut out all rubbish in between was always tempting, if there is no point, why not die now. As the drink flowed, and the black dog spoke soothingly of death and peace, the concept would become more and more like the ultimate answer, but that was then, the old days, before the path showed itself,
you know the smell of freshly baked bread is beautiful, but if you stand in the kitchen, after a while you can't smell it anymore, you have to leave the kitchen, and then 10 mins later walk back in and you can smell it, sometimes it does no harm for the black dog to pay a visit, if only so that when he is gone, the smell of bread is as strong as the day I first smelt it
I read Hesse again yesterday, although nowadays I read him from a sikh view, rather than trying to find the answers, Steppenwolf sits next to my keyboard, it is well thumbed, but still full of many passages that are in complete agreement with sikhism, together with many that are not..., I read Demian, and a line stuck in my head, 'we hate in others what we hate in ourselves'
I thought about that most of the night, if you extend the sentiment, then we love in others what we love in ourselves, we fear in others what we fear in ourselves, a man who is not faithful, fears infidelity in his wife, a man who does not love his wife, but abounds in her love for him, fears the loss of love, how can we break this, how can we grow past these childish feelings, by humility, accepting that you are nothing, seeing the creator in everything, and realising that the only love you need is from within, from the creator, using this love within to amplify the love you show others, anyone, everyone, everything
The black dog looked up at me, boredom in his eyes, 'your no more fun anymore' and shuffled off
