If Pleasure is Good, Being Yourself is God

What does it mean to “be yourself” ? Do you know who you are? What are you? Are you Kevin? Joe? Sarah? Jessica? Are you a mailman? A student? A lover? A hater? Racist? Black? White? Rich? Gay? Straight? Lesbian? Smart? Nerdy? Spanish? Mexican? American? Argentine? Sad? Bad? Fucked in the head? Techy? Savvy? Painter? Spiritual? Religious?

No, really, what are you?

Tell me.

Don’t think!

Just tell me.

What comes to your mind first.

Got it?

You know?

Are you sure?

Really?

Okay, cool. Now how do you feel about what you are? Are you okay with that? You happy? You sad? You want to become something else — something more? Or are you totally and fully and completely aware of what you are and are happy with that?

I’m just curious. Curious because I know that being who you truly are is one of the hardest things in the world. Well, at least for me. And if you’re living in the same global society as I am, it’s probably the hardest thing for you as well, whether you know it or not.

Being who you are usually means being the outcast. You have to be the red rose in the midst of a sea of yellow dandelions, standing out, looking odd and weird, out of shape. Feeling weird and isolated. And who has such courage?

This is so because we live in a society that lionizes sameness. Protect the herd at all costs! You know, the status-quo. The norm. “How things are done around here.” It’s dangerous for you to be an individual nowadays. You know that little smile — that little twinkle in your eye — that shows its face for a fraction of a second as you find a moment of total bliss and ecstasy, perhaps in meditation or musing over a happy sight or after a long workout; that little window of true joy when you’re 100% connected with yourself — your true self — and you smile as your bliss sugar dissolves into your cup of sweet life.

There you are! Yes, that little second when your guard is down, mask off, and fake smiles retired. That’s you!

You spent an entire lifetime being someone else. Probably for money or the hope of. Probably for your mom or dad. Probably for a chance to be famous or well known. Probably you never had a choice as you were well-conditioned — so well, that you weren’t even aware of the programming. And to make matters even scarier, if that wasn’t enough, the programmers weren’t even aware that they were programming you. Their programmers not even aware of programming them, and so on ad infinitum.

So there you are. A stranger to yourself. The musician playing stockbroker. The painter playing programmer. The gay playing straight. The Black playing White. The rich playing gangster. The violinist playing rapper. The crooked playing priest.

Imagine a world that you’re in so deep that even the mere thought of being yourself for a second scares the living shit out of you. Now open you eyes and welcome, hola, you’re living it! We’re living it. We all have a million and one labels of who we are playing the role of and even more of who we want to become, while most of us not having the slightest clue of what we really are; some knowing, but not accepting in fear of the repercussions of becoming out of tune with the herd society. Most content, and content-less as a “404 file not found” webpage, being safely lost in the herd of illusion and false reality. Ubiquitously know as “The Bubble.”

Your minds a metropolis of control circuitry, installed and operated by the Norm 1.0, automatically updated quarterly.

Lost is sameness. The stale water of society that reeks with the dross of conformity, “playing it safe,” and “be a good boy and fall in line, now.” Rise to the top and we’ll throw you a bone! Good doggy… Good boyyy… There you go (slap on the ass).

But there’s hope. Because deep down inside, you’re there. There’s a master inside every slave. With your fragmentary, dualistic, and confused life, your spirit lies fully intact. Exact. Brilliantly shining. Your true essences is preserved. And in those brief moments of total bliss and peace, when you see yourself for that nanosecond, hold onto it for just a bit longer. Bask in that bliss. Swing on the capital T of Truth like a kid in the park. Each day, go just a bit deeper. Swing just a bit higher.

For there’s a world of fluxing pleasure in the world of being who you are not. Sure! Pleasure of sex. Money. Cars. Fancy shit. All that sort of shiny jazz of this and that. Hell yeah. Pleasure is there. It’s real. We’re all after it. And we all suffer chasing it. That’s life and no one is beyond that. That’s human. But what if I told you about a world where if you were yourself, you’d have joy. Joy being everlasting and not fading, not fluxing, and not even pulsating. But constant joy. Joy without stimuli. If pleasure is dial-up, joy is cable.

Si, that’s it! Imagine that, eh? You can have that. It’s waiting for you. It’s waiting for me. And the key to that joy lies within yourself. Who you REALLY are. And only when you peel away the layers of fakeness, dullness, safety, and conformity can you enter into joy. Once in, everlasting.

Sadness, desire, grief, ups and down, yeah, still there. But so what… you now have joy which can never fade. Pawn promoted. You’ve found yourself. You’re authentic. You’re real. Can you dig?

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