Breaking My Addiction to Being Me -- Inspired by Archaeology

A Weird Mental Athlete

Let me guide you somewhat metaphorically towards my present intimate reality which I like describing as the one of a mental athlete. I guess, that's what one becomes after some decades devoted to practices like self-hypnosis, meditation, depriving one's ego of its favorite foods, and basically defying one's spontaneity.

I mean spontaneity, which translated, boils down to slaving to one's automatic pilot programmed by an ever questionable cultural paradigm.

And now, since I have announced something like a dignified aspect of my uncommon passion -- let's call it weirdness just for fun -- let me start by unwrapping a rather common flip side of that weirdness.

I got my driver's licence at my age of 36, probably due to being "driven" already, but on some other road -- we often call it a path. Ever since, in this time span of 39 years, my driving record in both kinds of "traffic" has stayed pretty clean -- with no accidents, no parking or speeding tickets.

Namely, I skillfully avoided bumping into those who uninvited threw themselves in my way; I carefully insisted on not parking my personality where it was not its place; and, I avoided crazy highways, not really being in any hurry to make a big success out of myself.

And now, leaving my fun with this lengthy metaphor, let me surprise you by saying how my passion for outdoing the last year's model of me wasn't spurred by that rather common "dissatisfaction" with who I was.

Well, there is good -- better -- and the best, and I hardly ever in my adult life went bellow "good", with the "best" still remaining a mirage and an intellectual lure of a sort.

My inspiration to insist on a "better" came from a strange source -- archaeology, particularly that part of it which is hinting at the human origin, possibly having much to do with genetic engineering of our species done by some space people.

Here, I'm giving you a fair header about what is following -- so if you are a religious fundamentalist, or an evolutionist, or just a skeptic mocking anything "outlandish", feel free to look for something else to read.

Passion of Going Against the Grain

Due to something innate in my nature, I could never really buy into the slogan of "accepting myself as I am", or its other form of "going with the flow", which I readily replaced with the one that's saying: "It takes a dead fish to go with current, but an alive one to go against it".

In my case it meant a life long challenge of replacing what I was. But it took a whole new dimension after my initiation into those tantalizing enigmas of archaeology, coupled with the latest discoveries in the science of genetics.

Namely, those fine scholars came up with the news how our human genome has some genes which don't really belong to anything alive on this planet. Then some anthropologists continued tormenting me with their claim that humans were not really designed for life on earth.

Like, our primordial ancestors could not outrun their food, but were much more bound to become it. And then, there was that terrible gap in the "evolution", with the logical sequence being broken between those tribal primitive folks and those who built all those architectural marvels not repeatable by our modern technology.

You see what I mean?

I got hooked on the question of our true, hidden potential.

Then, as if all that evidence of an out of this world intelligence at work was not enough, I heard about those savants, or individuals with incredible mental abilities.

Einstein alone would be enough to make me scratch my forehead till it would bleed, but then, there was that case of an Indian woman who could allegedly multiply a seven digit number by another seven digit number -- in her head. It took the old model of computers quite some time to verify the result.

I saw those savants as a result of a genetic fluke, with those ET genes of a superior excellence seeking and finding a "crack" in a weaker section of the structure of animal's genes, something like an escape route for their expression.

Some musical geniuses of classical genre used to swear that they had gotten the whole composition at once like served to their mind from some source out there. "Out there" could mean out of their familiar mental processes. Or it could mean their ET genes serving as antennae for telepathic connection with who-knows-whom.

Wasn't it Nicola Tesla who also said that he was getting his ideas from "out there"?

As I am meditating, very often I am "told" some outlandish truths, but not in form of words, rather appearing as that "a-ha" experience of something unfathomable. When I wake up and try to verbalize it -- I can't, it's beyond my everyday mental repertoire.

So I started theorizing about all that, quickly coming up with the idea that we all have those abilities, but the frequencies of our animalistic genes inherited from our primordial "mother" Rhesus are outlouding the fine frequencies of our sperm-donor "father" from space.

Now, how is that for a little intellectual adventure.

A Strange Combination

That line of thinking satisfied my wondering why those advanced civilizations like Mayans, Inca, Egyptians, and others were so knowledgeable -- but so blood-thirsty at the same time.

Now, what's all that got to do with my mentioned quest of being a mental athlete? Was I trying to activate those ET genes in my genome? Well, whatever my ambitions might have been, I never went that far as to see myself becoming a self-made savant.

However, on a very small scale, somehow I never developed an interest in competing sports -- or competing at all -- politics, big money, all of which are just socially acceptable forms of a diluted animalistic arrogance, greed, need for power of an "alpha status" in the herd.

We even found some perverse excuses for killing each other in wars. Instead of an intelligently unified, collective effort towards national and global harmony, we invented antagonistic parties, ideologies, religions with different gods -- well, something to clash over since we might mess up our tuxedos by going for each others' jugular.

Indeed, those ET genes have been doing their best in our genome to give a dignified outlet and name for every aspect of our animalistic nature.

In short, the world inspired me more for what not to become than for what to become. As I am listening to Chopin's piano nocturne, I fancy that the ET in me is the one enjoying it. And, as I am, no matter how in a small way, resenting loud revving of a motorcycle down on the road being an outlet of idiot's cry for attention -- I see it as my animalistic knee-jerk response.

Observing these two aspects of my nature, and cultivating one while sabotaging the expression of the other, gives me an enormous pleasure -- if not an uncommon and out of box purpose of living.

Shamelessly, I will admit how in many, many instances I was ready to swear that I am not really of this planet. For, I could not understand so much going on in the name of "smartness", whether on individual, national, or global scale.

But, just like Tibetan monks have cultivated a genuine love for their Chinese oppressors, I am cultivating a genuine compassion, love, and understanding for my fellow humans. Not approving of so much of what I see, but not condemning it either, because that "mysterious" part of my awakening consciousness it telling me that conflicts of any sort are a cosmic stupidity.

The Ever Teasing Taste of Mystery

Breaking my addiction to being myself -- as the title of this post was announcing -- basically means that only the animalistic part in me is insisting on sameness, and I am doing my best to snap out of that spell. Animals have their "programs" -- humans outgrow their limitations set by that finite model of being and functioning.

Moreover, it has been proven that diseases and conditions are symptoms of various personality profiles -- and as we unlearn being what we are, those diseases attached to it are gone as well. But it may take time for the medical dogma, firmly attached to pharmacology, to give up and place the full responsibility for our health into our own hands.

Will we heed the new message? Hmm, sometimes I wonder, witnessing the mental laziness as a sort of a global pandemic. So many of us will still prefer pecking on pills and lie down on the shrink's couch -- because it's easier.

There is always a better way to think, to feel, to respond to life. Neuroscientists are telling us how brain cells which fire together -- wire together, creating new neural pathways, new models of experiencing, virtually making our five senses report a different outer reality to us, maybe even with an aid from a budding sixth sense.

The Great pyramid of Giza was not created by someone who looked at the stone quarry and said: "It would be nice to cut huge blocks out of it and pile them up into a pyramid shape -- but, too bad, it's only a dream". Rather, it was built by a mental athlete of a special kind, the one who could use every second of his life knowing that "he CAN" -- and then it was manifested.

I mean the kind whose mind was not in a yo-yo game of oscillating between a divine and a beast-like nature -- but in a focus of an intent which, translated in quantum realm, meant a "god's command".

So often I think how we waste our precious available mental energy on impulses coming from our body's non-stop game of survival. We are not strong enough in our heads to somatize our mind's harmony into body's harmony -- but so proficient at turning our mental crap into psycho-somatic health issues. It's like we also enjoy having it in reverse by mentalizing our indigestions into a hate, our menstrual cycle into a PMS, our constipation into a depression, starvation of our groins into raping, and animalistic fear into arrogance.

So I spy on all that in myself, and as much as I can -- and I haven't become an Olympic mental athlete yet -- I refuse to identify myself with my body, my circumstances, my bank account, or by number of flattering comments readers may, or may not leave under my posts like this one.

And, while I may never find out who or what I really am -- at least I have a pretty good idea about who and what I am not. So, thank you archaeology, thank you genetics, thank you Chopin, and every other sign out there for that sweet taste of mystery.

For all those who suspect that I have lost my touch with reality -- I know I am Val Karas, a male human, living in Canada, and it's Saturday, November the 16th in the year 2019. How is that for a proof of sanity, LOL?