I feel like I'm in a place where I don't matter, or the necessity to matter doesn't exist. I'm just here and I'm doing the things that I'm doing. I moved my tent far away so that I could find quiet time and then walk the trail to the main hub of the sanctuary when I felt the need for it.

I'm afraid to write about disappearing, but there it is.

I talk to few people.

I'm going to write it: there's nothing heroic or honorable about forcing yourself to maintain your body when the other side is calling. There is a place out there, in the ethers.

I don't know.

I tell myself that I'm in paradise, I have everything here that I've ever wanted. Loneliness, too, seems to be something I want, and I fight it and hate it in my mind, conjuring up broad fantasies about a long-lost lover who appears around the corner in the woods, and then disappears because nothing lasts for too long, whatever that means.

The things that other humans say and the way they say them, the tone, the desperation for connection even though it's just self-listening. I do it too. I usually enjoy talking most when I'm engaged with myself and what I'm thinking and what's coming out of my mouth. I don't really care if anyone is listening or not. There have been moments where I will just spout something outloud, because it sounds beautiful or interesting to me, and at first it will be for everyone to hear, and then it will be just for me when clearly their attention is focused elsewhere.

Maybe I'm surrounded by deadbeats? Am I a deadbeat? Burnt out youth with no energy to save the world, no energy or enthusiasm or passion or courage, so we create this mask of despair, this clown, this running joke, this parade of silliness. That's what is left. Nonsense.

And perhaps I am surrounded by incredible inspiration. We definitely make music here, in fact it's the music making that soothes our shrugs, our "I don't knows." So many angelic voices, and their instruments of sound, there's no urgency to compose words about them. There is a sadness there, in noticing this music we create. Because there is nothing else, it seems.

Indeed. The world we've inherited is under gridlock. Tight borders.

Over and over again I wish I could really travel. No passport. My feet are my passport. And if I could just move through spaces and meet genuine farmers (notice: gentle farmers), and go go go, sail on a ship with a small crew, like a sea-faring commune of music-making not-hippies-hipsters-deadbeats-gardeners-homesteaders (but something else, something we don't have a word for yet).

And, you know, all the trash in the oceans.

So part of my sorrow in living at the mountain/sanctuary is that here I am, a privileged white boy with 1/16th Lakota blood, ridding himself of everything that confines reality into definitions and dualities, "healing" from trauma, sometimes "inspired" to create, thinking again and again about things, mulling them over, then casting them aside when they "don't work," calling on the ethers for allies and friends, watching the movie before me going in a direction that I did not foresee, that I'm not sure is in my best interests, and do I have "best interests?"

This whole experience is so strange and alienating. It really is just a dream. And I take comfort in knowing I don't have to study it, because, honey, there is no classroom here. Your brain is doing a lot of work to stitch this film together in such a way, and you don't want to see what everything looks like when your brain doesn't stitch the film together, when there's no longer a "story," and there's just empty space, which seems to be the true state, because there's no thoughts that box you in, there's no mental chattering that keeps you down. In fact, what gets you down is the full-frontal view of your worst nightmare come true, that your life before waking up had been spent just going on and on and on about things that were never true.

Just as you can be lucid in your dreams, you can be lucid in your waking life.

Do this trick with me now.

First, notice that you are watching a movie.

Second, ask yourself with no words if what you are seeing is "it."

Notice if you feel a subtle "otherness."

I wish I knew what this whole objective was in being, because then perhaps it would make sense to run around and "play."

I tell myself that I came here with the specific intent to redirect humanity, to help guide humanity. Alas, I have become humanity, so I am one of them. I am still not them, something "other," but I have gotten into the rut of human suffering, which I think lies in the mind.

Imagine apes being bestowed with high technology. How long would it take them to figure it all out?

That's what this is like.