Sins had to remind himself over and over again about the priorities that he needed to align within himself, because day by day, he got the feeling that his time as a conscious human being possessing a soul (he hoped he had a soul, because the more he read books, like Sapiens, written by Yuval Noah Harari, the more he thought human beings were aimless, purposeless and directionless and all happiness was a result of biochemical algorithms that governed the movement and flow of chemicals inside the human brain, rather than some ‘divine’ purpose – a myth, an imagined reality that bound humans together through stories) was going past him in a dizzying array of shapes, objects and people, as if entrapping him inside a vicious reactive cycle where his creative juices were being stifled or rather not being used as he thought himself to be capable of.
This sucked.
Sometimes, Sins was also guilty of bottling inside his emotions, leading people of both personal and professional nature to think of him as a vile, cold, unfeeling human being who lacked the necessary empathy to understand other people’s feelings, a fact that Sins attributed to an incident that he was subject to during his childhood, a couple of incidents actually, that unfortunately would stay with him till his grave, and known to only four people that he knew of, one, whom he had told personally, and the other three who belonged to his family.
This sucked as well. Big time.
Each morning, Sins found himself chiding himself performing the same habits, so much so that, he freaked out one day, because he realized, he had been doing the same things over and over and over again everyday – cigarettes, marijuana, zoning out in between during work – accomplishing the mundane routine tasks but not ones which required original thinking and ideas, excusing himself off making sales calls citing excuses that seemed to resonate and make sense to him only, spending his money on junk food, excusing himself off working out, spending hours on his mobile to satisfy his lust or content that made no addition to his life whatsoever.
It sucked so bad, that he could smell it, everyday, every minute even.
For months he had been striving to gain control of his thoughts, awaiting, hopefully in earnest, for a tipping point – a jolt from the blue, from the abyss that he had dug himself into, a disappointment, a chiding at work, or a few symptoms in his body, reacting to the substances that he was exposing himself to, daily, but they never came, instead a woman he had desired and had tried to be friends with, a lover even, for a few blessed nights that they had spent in each other’s arms, had called him an asshole, a punk who was full of deceit, a person who ‘mentally destroyed’ people, an asshole who deserved the worst, and who was dead to her going forwards.
He had listened, stunned by her outburst, but privately, admitting he had deserved it, because he couldn’t remember doing anything personal for anybody, and even if he had, he couldn’t remember it, on account of the haze that enveloped and gripped his mind like a vise.
It sucked so bad, that he felt like slamming his fist inside his head and clearing any block that he may have suffered over the years. But, he decided not to, because his room-mate would have to clean up afterwards, not to mention, facing his weird landlord and the authorities, who would find some illicit substances inside his wardrobe, and dismiss him as a punk, an addict who had lost interest in living. Sins wanted to live, craving the life that he imagined, an estate perched on top of mighty hills, surrounded by steppes of terraces lush with vegetation and woods. He imagined himself, as fit as his ancient ancestors, hunter-gatherers, alive and in tune with nature, blending consciousness with the magnificent spirit and flow of the earth, in the arms of his companion, their days spent in frolic and fun.
Sins snapped out his dreams, attuned with confidence and renewed vigor. He felt it was possible, but didn’t know how. Were all his vision about the grand way of ling, attainable? Sins slept after a few minutes, still immersed inside his visions, they had been so real. Especially his estate.
Marijuana Maharaj 