Does this resonate with you?
It resonates with me. Big time. I think that despite being a crazy, drug-addicted and unpredictable piece of humanity on a good day, Thompson was, I believe, tormented more than most by the deep callings and urges of a spiritual existence, and found a way to express that in his writing that is quite unmatched. This fully expresses that search, that longing that has permeated my life for many years (forever?) in a way that I rarely find.
Cause, you know….what are we all looking for? What is it that our hearts want? What is it that our hearts—not our wounded, conditioned, traumatized ego hearts but the real soul and core of our true selves—are really seeking and needing? Why are we here, dammit?
Where is the fulfillment to be found in this experience, this being human thing? Is it in finding a good job (no)? a perfect home (nadda)? a bodacious physical form complete with six pack and flowing, lustrous hair (hells no)? Maybe…a new car?
…for a while, maybe.
Or perhaps is it in the elusive promise of that perfect relationship with our other half, that princely (or princess-ish) individual sent from the ethers to rescue us from our own damnation and silliness, redeeming our inadequacies through the intensity of their enduring love? This must be it! This is where we should put ALL our attention, surely, for it only makes sense that the meaning of our lives should be in the hands of someone else!
Please, no. I have been caught up in this lately, on a personal note, and am now wading through the woundings and challenges that cause a person to think they are and should be in search of their 'better half', depending entirely upon the presence of another to validate their existence. It's a wonderful learning experience, but surely, certainly, without a doubt not the way a human being is meant to exist..
My heart longs for something, I know, that cannot be named nor pinned down nor fully understood by the limited logic available to my third-dimensional brain. It longs for union with the whole unhindered by self-recrimination or restriction, an experience untranslatable and incomprehensible (generally…though Rainer Maria Rilke does a damn fine job of this, amongst other lyrical geniuses) by the poor capacity of the English language to describe an experience of such magnitude. It longs for freedom of a type that does even occur within our sociological framework, but which provides the framework and basis for an individual to live their truth and capacity fully and honestly.
All of these things I can name, and yet they do not yet come close to what it is I am truly trying to describe, and therein lays the beauty, perhaps.