3/? – Finding Solace In Silence

So before we carry on to the next mile marker, I want to pay tribute to your endeavors. The forks in the road that led you to resonating with these words tells me that the path less traveled would be a mutual point of campfire discussion, where we could compare souvenirs and tragically poetic stories that most could only imagine. I hope you can find the pride within from enduring such endeavors that should come without caveats or fine print disclaimers. You may be surrounded by barren fields where cheers of support used to grow, leaving you to be the only one to evaluate just how proud you should really feel when surviving whatever turmoil you’ve encountered. I salute your victories that have come throughout whatever various trials and tribulations that shaped and defined the person you are today. I may never know your name or resume, but what I do know is that the world can be hell and yet you are breathing and actively finding your way through the fog. You may consider it rather difficult to believe in yourself, so I’m here to remind you that I’m not the only one that does. If you take nothing else from my efforts, remember this; You are the victory that the world wishes it could claim.

In regards to the substance of our last conversation, we could assume that after exorcising the ghosts of the past and dismantling their relentless chatter, a battle-tested mind would thoroughly appreciate the true value of silence. Their tombstones of yesterday laid to waste and replaced with shrines meant for worshipping mute button deities carved in stone. For myself, the quiet of the night used to be synonymous with the feeding grounds of the ghosts that occupied my thoughts. When sleep was a risk worth taking, despite the roulette style game of potentially escaping from a mental nightmare into the actual definition of one.

It was an epic departure that I was eventually able to find peace in the late hours of the night, sometimes up until the sun gave its routine go signal for a majority of my city’s rat race to continue. The night became for a good long while the section of the clock that I used the silence to allow my creativity to thrive, as well as my self-education on potential skill-sets that at the time I had no idea would fit so well with what God would ask of me in the future. It was a preparation period for a war I imagine none of us saw coming, on a digital battlefield that I had zero intentions of existing in.

What drowning out the ghosts did was reveal just how valuable it is for me to pay attention to what I consumed mentally, with the real possibility of backsliding on my progress when the negative heavily outweighed the positive. It also doesn’t help that a common through-line in various diagnosis from big pharma witches is that I have a solid tendency towards obsessive behavior (I apologize for your jaw hitting the floor over this shocking revelation), so you can imagine the big brain move I made of making sure that obsessions had a low chance of potential exit ramps that would send me spiraling. Fast forward a handful of years of me attempting to perfect this new mindset, and even the deja vu memories of dark times become a grave I don’t mind visiting every once in a while.

Something on my heart that I’ve realized over the last several years is how valuable the property within our mind’s void is to the enemy. It should be blatantly obvious to everyone who would care to notice that the name of the game has a lot to do with controlling what, and more importantly how we think. They’ve cranked the gaslighting to 11 alongside the rage-baiting headlines becoming the entire business model, with every dinner table topic of discussion morphing into minefields of friendly fire. Giving us just enough rope to get by while claiming zero responsibility if the chair gets kicked out beneath us. An Indiana Jones type of bait and switch from the desire for success through healthy accomplishments and goals, which creates the environment for leveling up in our individual lives, to free time consisting of chasing dopamine dragons through internet thought-narrations unoriginal to ourselves.

The decimation of critical thinking is a box they must check off during their warpath that’s designed to separate us from God, by making us feel like we already are ones. The ability to retain knowledge replaced with search engines, human interaction with notifications, even the desire to be loved with online followers and digital credit scores for street cred. We took a bite from the entertainment apple whose core is proving to be more rotten than we originally compromised our minds for.

Have you ever witnessed a loved one that’s torturing themselves mentally but from your point of view, their grass is a respectable shade of green and not nearly as apocalyptic as they are treating it? Have you ever had to admit that you were doing that to yourself, where fictitious doom lingers around every corner? I know I’m not the only one convinced that the entire system is intentionally creating such mental chaos not to just forcibly enslave us, but rather have us crawl in the cage ourselves with no lock and key required. Hell can be up for debate on its details, but it’s hard to argue against it being possible to live in during our limited time here. Destroying God’s creation and what he intended for all of it has always been the end game, and my digital view of the world in recent history has made this quite clear to me.

We’ll get back to discussing silence, but what I hope you get from this rabbit chasing thought is that you’ll remind yourself periodically that the internet isn’t real life, and you make progress on your personal goals and healthy lifestyle choices outside of Wi-Fi connections.

You ever find a song at just the right time in your life that you end up getting the chills? Where it feels like the lyrics are speaking to your soul?

“I wouldn’t talk to a friend the way I talk to myself.”

That line right there has stuck with me since the day I heard it and also happens to be the muse for this chapter you’re reading right now. Maybe the ghosts of the past are attracted to minds that hate the original narrator. The voice that floods the room with every flaw and shortcoming you have all at once, while you ignorantly think you can’t be the only one currently drowning in it. Recorded history has me saying repeatedly that I despise the sound of my own voice, and perhaps part of the reason is that it reminds me of my own thoughts that I allowed to be abusive for so long.

One of the most difficult admissions I had to make to myself was that unlike the ghosts, the inner voice wasn’t going anywhere. There would be no change to how it sounds and will always have the potential for being a catalyst for downward spirals. This was something I had to dissect and comprehend if I ever was going to train its behavior to be in my favor. Now as I write this, I cannot say that I’ve yet mastered this ability to where my advice about it should come with a satisfaction guarantee. And If I’m being honest with myself, I probably never will. However, I almost prefer it that way and my reasoning is if I’m constantly having to keep my mind in check, whether it be haunted memories or my own voice dragging me down, then I’ll learn more about myself during a time when the world is foaming at the mouth to define for not only me, but for all of us.

So before we carry on to the next mile marker, I want to pay tribute to your endeavors. The forks in the road that led you to resonating with these words tells me that the path less traveled would be a mutual point of campfire discussion, where we could compare souvenirs and tragically poetic stories that most could only imagine. I hope you can find the pride within from enduring such endeavors that should come without caveats or fine print disclaimers. You may be surrounded by barren fields where cheers of support used to grow, leaving you to be the only one to evaluate just how proud you should really feel when surviving whatever turmoil you’ve encountered. I salute your victories that have come throughout whatever various trials and tribulations that shaped and defined the person you are today. I may never know your name or resume, but what I do know is that the world can be hell and yet you are breathing and actively finding your way through the fog. You may consider it rather difficult to believe in yourself, so I’m here to remind you that I’m not the only one that does. If you take nothing else from my efforts, remember this; You are the victory that the world wishes it could claim.

Something on my heart that I’ve realized over the last several years is how valuable the property within our mind’s void is to the enemy. It should be blatantly obvious to everyone who would care to notice that the name of the game has a lot to do with controlling what, and more importantly how we think. They’ve cranked the gaslighting to 11 alongside the rage-baiting headlines becoming the entire business model, with every dinner table topic of discussion morphing into minefields of friendly fire. Giving us just enough rope to get by while claiming zero responsibility if the chair gets kicked out beneath us. An Indiana Jones type of bait and switch from the desire for success through healthy accomplishments and goals, which creates the environment for leveling up in our individual lives, to free time consisting of chasing dopamine dragons through internet thought-narrations unoriginal to ourselves.

Have you ever witnessed a loved one that’s torturing themselves mentally but from your point of view, their grass is a respectable shade of green and not nearly as apocalyptic as they are treating it? Have you ever had to admit that you were doing that to yourself, where fictitious doom lingers around every corner? I know I’m not the only one convinced that the entire system is intentionally creating such mental chaos not to just forcibly enslave us, but rather have us crawl in the cage ourselves with no lock and key required. Hell can be up for debate on its details, but it’s hard to argue against it being possible to live in during our limited time here. Destroying God’s creation and what he intended for all of it has always been the end game, and my digital view of the world in recent history has made this quite clear to me.

You ever find a song at just the right time in your life that you end up getting the chills? Where it feels like the lyrics are speaking to your soul?

 “I wouldn’t talk to a friend the way I talk to myself.”

That line right there has stuck with me since the day I heard it and also happens to be the muse for this chapter you’re reading right now. Maybe the ghosts of the past are attracted to minds that hate the original narrator. The voice that floods the room with every flaw and shortcoming you have all at once, while you ignorantly think you can’t be the only one currently drowning in it. Recorded history has me saying repeatedly that I despise the sound of my own voice, and perhaps part of the reason is that it reminds me of my own thoughts that I allowed to be abusive for so long.