This

I think that trust is a weird concept.

 I look a lot of words up while I’m writing, not because I think I might be using them, but because I fear I might be using them incorrectly. I’m not, but the exploration of a doubt is always rewarding, well, it’s informative at least, and that’s good enough. Sometimes I avoid looking up words, because they’re just fine the way they are, and I don’t want to ruin them, but that train has already left the station, so I just looked up weird. I then looked up concept to make it a hat trick

Trust is a weird concept, and it doesn’t matter what I think.

I’m not sure if I believe in absolutes; I think that such beliefs demand way too much wilful ignorance, and that ignorance gets dressed up as austere objectivity, or hyper-reactive permissive apathy. These are not positions from which one can grow, but only rot.

I’m ignorant about a lot of things. I’m ok with that. There are only so many bunks in my mind barracks, and it’s already hard enough to sleep, so I can empathise with the desire to narrow down the options to either certainty or blame, but I can’t do it, because that won’t heal me because that’s not how I work. You’ve got to be realistic about these things.

Where was I? Oh yeah, fascism. It’s means band, as in to bind, or hold things together like fascia in the body, cohesion by adhesion, comfort in the limited options of your loss of freedom, comfort in the apathetic belief that freedom can be found in the culture of blame, and that your freedom and competence are worthy sacrifices as they lay gutted upon the alter of safety.

It’s just a trust issue, really. It’s really weird what happens when you don’t trust yourself or anything else. You become unhinged because it’s not a natural state at all. You’re supposed to be confident enough to trust that you can make decisions that are good for you, and competent enough to give it a good effort, and resilient enough to survive failure, and try again. Human have egos, though, and that makes one seek quality of life, which is something that I really enjoy and why wouldn’t I, but usually there’s a balance that needs to be struck between what’s good for you and what enables trust IN you.

 I’m laying way too many tracks here, too many trains. There all going somewhere, but I’m having one of those days in which the difficulty is choosing one to ride, and then staying on it.

 It’s a trust issue, really, and trust is a weird concept.

I can make this into something worth your time, because that’s worth my time. You’re here because you trust me, and I’m here because I trust myself to sit in this chair and struggle with the weirds because that is where I am conceived, but I need to pick one track and follow it since there is one.

That’s how I like to get unlost, I reduce all to their lowest common denominators, their prime numbers, their truths. Truths are sentient, you know. You’re not supposed to just stare at them, and then ask others to stare at them with you, and talk about that. You need to ask them questions, and then shut up and listen. There’s a good reason that truths are found in places that people have moved on from; it’s because they don’t give a shit if you like them or not. They’ll still be where you left them when you come back after proving yourself wrong and are ready to listen.

Mine stands on the Willowbrae trail. The rest of the class is playing hide and seek, but he’s been playing commando, and now no one knows where he is, and he likes it that way. He thinks it’s weird how much he likes it, and it is, but it’s just the way he thinks; it’s not odd, it’s just the way it’s supposed to be. But he doesn’t trust that feeling in himself. It makes him sad to be alone, when he cries. He’s ashamed of the way he thinks. He’s afraid to be alone, and ashamed to not be.

A decision was made there on that trail, not consciously, I didn’t say, “Now it’s time to crush yourself in a fist.”, but I did. I became everything that I am just so that I could avoid that 12-year-old kid standing on the trail, and also so I could return to him, because there’s only one trail, and besides, I brought him with me. But now he’s not leaving; I have to stay with him now.
I thought he was vulnerable, and I despised his strangeness, his weakness, and as mine hardened me around him, I hid him.

The thing about encasing things in stone is that you can’t see them, or hear them answer your questions when you are ready to listen. If you really need answers, and that stone just happens to be you, you’ve got to smash yourself to pieces. If you survive, you’ll likely have enough humility to listen.

Positive disintegration.

So, in a heap, in the process, considering the weirdness of Fate, I asked the same question again. “What do I do now?”

 This is what he said.