The primary obstacle to unfucking one's fucked life is one's own fucking mind. Demons, specters, shades, half truths, misunderstood truths, conspiracy theories, doubt and fear populate the fucked mind. I am not here speaking of mental illness, but rather of mental laziness, immaturity and the mindset of victimhood.
Contortions in reality become the norm in order to shoehorn reality into the predetermined shapes and contours of the lazy, immature, fucked mind.
Baby, this I know.
It still takes my breath away to consider the power of how our thoughts dictate our reality, our lives as they are lived. Feed yourself a diet of self-loathing, of doubt, of victimization by outside circumstance and you are a loathsome victim, forever unable to wrestle the power of your name, your thoughts into the shape of the life you somehow feel entitled to.
You are entitled to nothing. Your breath is your gift and the rest is up to you.
* * *
A hundred years ago I stood on the roof of a warehouse on Chicago's west side. It was a sleety, miserable night. I was there as part of a film crew making an awful cops and guns B movie called Excessive Force. Movie making is a lot of tedium with little to do, and bursts of activity followed by more tedium. I was on the roof just to be outside, to feel the cold rain in order to stay awake.
A beautiful woman who worked in the Prop department was outside on the roof as well and she was crying. She was tall, with strawberry blond hair and the creamy, freckled complexion of the Irish. I was in love. When I asked why she was crying she told me that researchers somewhere in the world had found the crest, trough and crest of a sound wave they could trace back to the Big Bang. She said, "Why can't they just leave it alone? Why can't they let there be any mystery in our lives?"
Not exactly what I thought she might say. Who cries over sound waves?
I said this: It doesn't matter what they've found. There's still the mystery behind the mystery of what, exactly, exploded. All physicists eventually become mystics. For me, what exploded was the mind of God, and so set everything in motion. There's no God the Father, or Mother. Only the possibility of it. By whatever hand we live and that is all the mystery we need.
It didn't make her feel any better, but I gave myself a leg up on unfucking my life - if only I'd of listened. We are set in motion - our origin and our destination unknown - and it is up to each of us to create meaning, to build purpose into the magisterial accident of our existence.
Now that you breathe, what are you going to do?
The only tool available to you is your mind. You can use it to be small, narrow and filled with raging fear, or you can choose otherwise. The greatest obstacle to unfucking one's life is one's mind. The greatest tool in an unfucked life is one's mind.