Emotional Control or Confusion

Okay.

If I see you and we talk, but I go away feeling disheartened because our conversation isn’t quite what I expected, who is in the wrong? Are my standards too high? Are my parameters too narrow? Perhaps my preconceptions aren’t as perceptive as they are pricey. Maybe the cost of fitting into my mold is uniqueness in any form other than the brand that I’ve created.

Here’s a better question: how do I relax? How do I convince myself that this life is but a dream when its concerns shine with a patina of importance? It’s a lot harder to think rationally when your stomach is all tied up in knots, or when your heart is palpitating, or when your every sense is trained on one thing around all which all else revolves. At what point will I become capable of feeling at ease in my ignorance?

When the most basic tenets of your ego’s dogma fold in on themselves as stubborn petals and refuse to show their true colors, what do you rely on? If not others, for others are as fickle as you, then who? What is the consistency of life? Where does ultimate truth lie? I long for an idea that possesses such gravity that I am, willing or not, drawn into its orbit.