#i am utterly and absolutely crazy about thi

[inlovewithaspiderguy]

BITES HER BITES HER BITES HER

[a--musings]

The love, defined.

July 10, 2019. Recently, many friends of mine, knowing that I’ve been reading Osho’s ideas on love, have asked, “what is love, A? Have you figured it out?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I provoke. “You tell me what you think it is.”

And that’s when the floodgates open and the banal platitudes come pouring in and I cringe at the clichés. They say that the ultimate partner is one who will readily give up everything for you. Love is selfless sacrifice, and if you really love someone, you would give up your all to be with them. If so, I don’t want it, I think to myself. How much am I supposed to compromise--to reject parts of myself just to accommodate someone else? How is it actually me that somebody would love, in that case? And why would I ever demand someone to give up themselves for me?

So then they say that love defies all logic and reasoning. It doesn’t make sense; it just is, and it makes you crazy along the way. Let me guess, you probably have “Live, Laugh, Love” plastered somewhere on your walls, I think to myself. Are you implying a nonsensical state of delusion? One that keeps you stuck in some false reality? Sounds like a chemical imbalance to me. Love brings the freedom to allow clarity and helps you align with yourself. What is illogical about that?

And then they say love is when you find someone that you just can’t live life without. You can no longer envision a future without the person. You don’t feel like yourself without them. Sounds dangerously codependent, I think to myself. I would never, ever hope to make someone feel incompetent without me. To feel like they need me to be capable and worthy? To not exist fully without something outside of themselves? Again, I don’t want it.

So, what is love to me? I’m still figuring it out. Part of the reason why I ask is so I can gain insight and borrow ideas that might resonate with me. To fully accept one philosopher’s beliefs is to deny the uniqueness of every individual’s experience with humanity. I can’t run around claiming the definitions of Osho, or Nietszche, or Socrates are truth. I am creating my own, which at the moment, is messy and incomplete. But there are common themes that I do believe to be true: love is absolutely logical, it is freeing rather than limiting, and it starts with the self.

Not too long ago, I made a mockery of “love.” Humans aren’t meant to be constrained to one partner, I argued. It’s not even evolutionarily advantageous for a male to stick with one mate. Love is just another idealized social construct, stemming from predating attempts to define a neurobiology reaction, that ever so happens to be beneficial in supporting our primal needs as animals to perpetuate our contributions to the world’s gene pool. All we are intrinsically driven to do is reproduce, essentially reincarnating through offspring and achieving immortality. Love, at its root, also supports the beneficial bond of co-parenting to produce capable offspring. You don’t really “love” a person in the romantic sense that we were taught. You just intrinsically need a partner to help you raise healthy kids. As a society, we just use the glamorized idea of “love” to bind two people together. That’s all there is to it, and it’s naive to think of infatuation as anything more than that. 

I falsified this detached perspective, and depicted a relentless need to base every idea on logic and science and microscopes. It made me feel cooler, better, helped me feel less stupid and weak, and less of a wide-eyed, naive, poor little girl to be pitied. Ugh, pity. My ego detests it. So I created and embodied a false idea of a strong, independent who is above romantic connection to be fulfilled. My stance fed my ego because it allowed me to be condescending and superior to the emotional friends brave enough to live honestly and openly.  

But I lived in a perpetual state of cognitive dissonance, and in doing so, I trapped myself in a cage. I preached all things logic-based and analytical, but my natural actions and patterns of behavior proved otherwise. You can say all you want, but it is so very difficult to restrict and conceal true motives in your actions. My dear friend A once told me, “always pay attention to actions, never the words of a person. People can say whatever combination of words they want,  but what they do will always tell the truth.” My action were loud and clear once I stepped back and admitted to myself that I created a real world inside my head to retreat to from the facade. I was cold and aloof, under the guise of simple indifference and disinterest in affection and intimacy. But what of my earnest and most sincere behavior that I didn’t have to reveal to anybody else? I would daydream for hours, staring at clouds and pretending my love life would follow some cliché rom-com trope. I would ruminate on all the mushy-gushy stuff, thinking about who I would whisper I love you to every night and every morning. I would think about myself as the coldhearted scientist, patiently (and secretly) awaiting the rescuer who would defy all these thoughts and prove me wrong. Ironic, wasn’t it? I was already proving myself wrong. 

When you are vulnerable to judgment, you are too ashamed to be yourself. I was harsh with myself, feigning heartlessness and apathy, but I was just guarding my fragile, delicate heart. When I began to develop self-compassion and humility, I started to allow myself to just be, in my truest realest form. I stopped being ashamed and embarrassed of the truth. Besides, one personality type was not better than the other—they are simply just different, so why must I choose to play the part that I didn’t even want to? Eventually I chose to be me, and anything that didn’t get along with that simply was not meant for my life. I finally started to become happy after admitting, accepting, and recognizing every part of me. I am a textbook romantic. I am sensitive, expressive, idealistic, emotional, bohemian, eccentric, and abstract. I can also be moody, complicated, temperamental and difficult. Why is that something to be ashamed of, anyway? I was placing judgment on myself, forcing myself to take on a false identity to spare me the shame. So...I am not the level-headed, practical analyst that I claimed to be after all. So what? I see the world through a different lens than others. So what? What is there to analyze? To what is there to attach judgment? Why did I think my authentic self was lesser than the self I portrayed? By whose standards? The person I portrayed was neither better nor worse than the truth. I just wasn’t me.

We have to find a way to come back to ourselves, to be in touch with our center. That’s how we can truly live a fulfilling life and realizing our own inherent value. This is how we are utterly freed from the need to find something outside of ourselves. This is how we know of our infinite worth on our own. We don’t realize how crucial it is to begin weeding through the bullshit that was projected onto us—the nonsense we internalized and accepted to be our own authentic self. We are told who to be, and what to view as acceptable and glorified traits. In churches, in schools, anywhere in society. There are too many external factors rigidly affirming who exactly we need to be in order find inner peace and in order to be whole. But what happens when these things don’t ring true for us? Much of our grief and suffering as humans originates from the fact that, since birth, and in virtually every aspect of life, we are kept away from ourselves. We are taught to keep these truths hidden. But before you can truly love someone, you need to discover your true self, your absolute. Creating the habit, mindset, and perspective to fully understand embrace the wide spectrum of the human condition starts with how you perceive yourself. To understand your true self will open up your mind to understanding that other people have their true selves too. You will know who you are and what it means to exist consistently with your values. You will understand how to not change your core for someone. To not expect someone to change their core for you.

There are a million different things that I had to learn and accept about myself, and this is why I question whether or not I really meant every I love you. I am a complex person. This is the truth. And for many years, I kept viewing this trait as an imperfection. I was dating men, year after year, who made me feel like I was fundamentally flawed, and I was unhappy because of my complexity. There was too much going on up in my head, they’d say. They wanted me to be simple. They didn’t want me to think and write because they didn’t think it was healthy to strengthen my habits. They couldn’t tolerate my need to search for deeper, hidden meanings and symbolism in movies and songs. “Why can’t you just listen to a song and enjoy the rhythm? Why can’t you take things for face value? This is why you’re unhappy. You can’t enjoy life’s simplicities.” Eventually, I realized that it wasn’t that I was unhappy because I was difficult and complicated. I was unhappy because I couldn’t accept these very traits and chose to continue fighting it—fighting me. I was in relationships that encouraged this struggle with my inner self. Imagine that. Someone who is supposed to love you is telling you, “you’re unhappy because you are you, so change that.” The truth is, I was unhappy because I was in an environment that did not allow me to be me. In return, I likewise created an environment that pushed them to reject their simple, undemanding ways. Read more books. Talk to me about philosophy and astrophysics. Why are you not interested in neuroscience? If you loved me, you would watch more foreign films and go to slam poetry at sketchy coffee shops. But all of this simply wasn’t them, and expecting them to speak my exact same language was not loving them. We were keeping each other away from our true selves. They saw my complex thinking patterns as flaws, just as I saw their inabilities to do so as flaws. Neither were. We could have accepted our differences, but we didn’t. This was just not love. 

I don’t want a partner that will readily give up anything for me. I don’t want someone who will morph into the person he thinks I want him to be, nor expect me to do so. I want a partner who will know he never has to. I want a partner who knows I am here to accept him for the way he genuinely is. I have no right to decide who a person should be—no expertise, gifted with omnipotence to tell someone what to change. I hope to help him learn that he is already inherently valuable and worthy all on his own. To love is to foster an environment and seek opportunities that will continue helping him to strengthen the connection with himself. To love is to put in the time and effort to understand each other’s souls, and give one another the space to be, unbothered.

Come to me as you already are. That is all. Let me know myself. Let me help you know yourself, too. Let’s share these things with one another. Let me encourage you to pursue the things that will help you understand what it is that you are, and let’s inspire one another to live as that person to the best of our abilities. Because that’s what you do when you love someone, I believe. You simply let them be, and you help one another grow into your most authentic selves. You appreciate all parts of each other. When you love someone, you acknowledge that this is who you are, and you do what you can to add depth to their acceptance and understanding of that. You free them from the urge to change, or run away to avoid themselves. You empower them to face themselves. My friend S told me when you love someone, you expose your flaws to one another, and though you know these imperfections exist, you still would never change a thing. 

But then again, if this is the case of love, then perhaps I love every single human being in existence. I encourage my siblings, my parents, my friends, strangers I walk past on the sidewalk to be true to themselves, and I want them to know this is who I will take them for, and I will never judge them for that. This is love. 

But to be in love? Perhaps it’s when a person bares their soul to you—the good with the bad, and the beautiful with the ugly—and you still want all of it because you organically connect with every part of them in the most deep, significant, and beautiful ways that you can’t seem to do with others. Is this being in love? Maybe. But I don’t know. I suppose that’s a question for another time.

—a.

[xottzot]

2017-3(MAR)-22-2017-Wednesday-(later)--abo drug addict in the street.

2017-3(MAR)-22-2017-Wednesday-(later)--abo drug addict in the street.

If you've read anything in my blog you will have seen the utterly criminal rampant aboriginals who are also rabid booze and drug addicts.

They started in this particualr area a little over 10 years ago at the end of Kalara Way street Koongamia, in West Australia by taking over a household which had previously been a place where country aboriginal people could come and temporarily stay (aka hostel) whilst going off and obtaining medical help from the city of Perth and the towns around. There was absolutely no crime or problems from there then.

But an aboriginal man ("Fatguts") we called him, he took it over and ruled it and made it into a drug dealer household. And the crime there was rampant and ever escalating. Nothing teh Police or autorities did could stop it.

Fliss knows all of that above and what came next.

And across the road from him in a rented house lived a single woman with two small children. But they were truly terrorised by Fatguts, and one night he went beserk and went so far as to walk into her yard and try to get her to come out so he could assault her in the yard there. (of course she did not)

Fliss and I called the West Australian Police. They came, and got him. By then he had gone off in the dark of night and daring ALL neighbours to come out so he cold attack them (he was actually louldly yelling & boasting this) until finally he was around the (closed) corner shops area where he was apprehended by Police.

Fatguts came back from being arrested.

But the innocent woman was so traumatised that she left with her two small children. Fatguts loved it. Aboriginals then moved into that house (which I call because it really truly is "the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD") - It is situated literally directly across the road from Fatguts the drug dealer. They were always closely linked to Fatguts. It was like an 'overspill' of the house Fatguts ran.

In early 2016, Fatguts was totally evicted, togther with the terrible others he had collected in that household he lived at. - (all that is in my blog as history.)

And also in my blog is the rise of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, which has seen truly countless Police incidents and visits to. That place not only has supplanted the original drug dealer household for crime, but is actually WORSE.

I've stated all that (yet again) above in this enry to preface the following that I'm going to write about which happened today, Wednesday 22-March-2017.

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I kept hearing a football being bounced around and loudly thumping from a great height onto the roads. Sam & Max were also getting very distressed and agitated from the noise.

The time was around 3:00pm (15:00), and the nearby Koongamia school was just out or had already ended its school day.

I saw an adult aboriginal male in the street. He was totally by himself. But he was acting truly crazy. And I DO mean crazy as in mad, insane, off his rocker, on drugs. -- He kept kicking the footbll high into the air (to nobody) and it would thump back down onto the road. He would then walk to the ball, retrieve it, get back onto the road and do it again and again over and over and over.

And whilst he was doing all this, he was acting physically off-his-rocker. He would stop, look intently for an unseen thing in his hands, then do something else, like taking off his black tank-top t-shirt and then peering at it and looking all through it. He would take a few more steps on the road then go back to intently searching through the scrunched-up tank-top he now carried with him. He was now of course bare-chested. And he would sometimes just suddenly stop and look through his hands again, and look through the tank-top, and be looking all about despite nobody being around. He would walk a few steps, then turn around, walk back again, turn around and do it all again. -- It was utterly bizarre. An agitated aboriginal off on some drug induced crazed manic mania looking for things that weren't there.

He would go to the yellow football, pick it up again, give it another almighty kick, sending it high enough so that it would sometimes hit the powerlines but he never cared. He didn't even care about the football itself. It was insignificant. Which eventually rolled away until it was in the vacant front yard of the evicted aboriginal drug dealer house in front of the wire security fence there.

As he did that, he was slowly making his way on the road until he was opposite the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. It's been evicted, empty and boarded-up for almost a full year now. And it has had more than one security fence put around it to keep the aboriginals out but they kept breaking into the yard and into the house, especially as they were doing so from coming from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD just across the road from there.

He also kept looking into the yard of the yard of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. All the while screwing up his tank-top and then finally draping it around his neck. He kept walking in wide circles, not staggering but not going anywhere.

He retrieved the football and once more began kicking it about to nobody.

An innocent man came along from the school direction with his own son?, tried to ignore the aboriginal as they went home, and they went into number 7? Kalara Way.

Their apeparance had surprised and unsettled the mad drugged-up aboriginal who then quickly grasped the football and walked steadfastly away towards the school which is literally across the road.

But he was only gone from sight for a minute before he returned and once more began manically kicking the football in the street. It seems the man and his son had spooked him.

Once again, the aboriginal made his manic crazed way all up Kalara Way street kicking that football, but then he turned aroud and went back down again, again doing the same as all before. He had by now pulled his black tank-top t-shirt on (he had done that around the corner out of sight).

Once again he went standing on the road in front of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD whilst doing all this.

But he kept wandering all about, creeping closer and closer to the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, but never daring to step inside the yard. He looked several times into a big green wheely-bin that was there. He began lounging upon a huge pile of tree branches that has been laying there for days on the street verge. But he could never sit still.

Eventually he went back onto the road again and once more began aimlessly wandering back and forth and kicking the football to nobody.

A woman (who does not live there) walked out of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD with a handbag/shoulderbag and totally ignored him. She walked away to the Koongamia shops area.

And as soon as she had walked away from the house, the aboriginal man literally SPRINTED into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, and went inside.

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Around 6pm (18:00), there was a large vocal streetfight going on in the same street.

At the bottom of Kalara Way, at the left of the "T" intersection there stood a male aboriginal who was extremely loudly yelling out obscenities and acting crazy.

I could not see if it was the same man, but it could have been him.

He was accompanied with several other adult aboriginals and some aboriginal children and they all stood on the footpath and he was yelling very loudly and crazily up the Kalara Way street from there. He was unintelligible.

Three females came out from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD and just stood in the middle of the street and stared at him.

His outbursts never stopped. Others joined the females and they all just stared down at the man and the group before the women all turned around and began walking ON the road and towards the Koongamia shops direction.

Seeing them walk off like that, ceased the yelling and made the others walk off too, along Clayton Street further into Bellevue.

There were up to 18 individuals in the streets involved in all those loud goings ons.

You may think this is nothing, but this kind of thing is happening with evermore frequency and is always getting worse.

In the past there has been near riots in the streets there, all centred upon the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD.

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It was going to be dark very soon and I had some tasks to do before then, such as having a small meal, giving Sam & Max some, taking them outside for ablutions, and cleaning it all up before dark.

As I was doing so, an offroad motorbike could be heard tearing along the roads. I didn't see it. It was probably one of the illegal unlicensed motorbikes that have eben tearing about for 4 months each and every day and night. Such as the one earlier today that I wrote about in my blog and the strange event concerning it.

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P@19:44. -- I love you Fliss. Sam and Max are very much in despair as am I at you not being with us. We wish we were with you away from this hellhole.