Struggling to find myself

I have been on a quest for some time to find myself. I have tried many things. I have dipped into many religions. I have read books. I have met all sorts of people. I have Googled every idea, every thought, and every strange keyword that came my way. I joined groups, bought memberships, and even changed the way I eat (multiple times).

I camped out and camped in. I sat in a sweat twice. I baked goods for fundraisers. I removed chunks of flesh and blood off surgical instruments for an animal MASH clinic. I prepped dogs for surgery and cleaned up their puke afterwards.

I smoked, experimented, and drank copious amounts of intoxicating substances. I sang gospel. Read the bible, more than once. I read the Gita, more than once. I read The Course in Miracles. I read Winnie-the-Pooh.

I have taken classes on clay, painting, drawing, and yoga. I have danced in a sari and chanted. I have taken an Indian cooking class and a didgeridoo class. I have drummed hours on end. Been covered head to toe with clay. Bum filled with sand from the beach and covered with baby puke.

I have done a fair share of fun. Yet it's so hard to remain happy once the moment has wore off. The people are home and not with you, and you are left with the memory. The memory is great, but the actual in the moment feeling is better.

In the Gita, and other Eastern studies, you are to get away from the sense-gratification. It's a drug that keeps you from finding and keeping inner peace. It keeps you in lack. Always longing for something new to "kill the pain" of boredom. I admit, finally after 35 years, I am a sense-gratification junkie!

I long for the next big gathering of fun. Chanting, dancing, drumming, sweating, throwing clay. Making fires, drinking wine, and talking with other humans.

It would be nice to get to the point where I am OK with being alone, being "here now." I am not. I am still desiring Native American sing-a-longs in the woods with drums and flutes and dancing. I still long for dancing naked around the fire. Painting nudes. Feeling my fingers squish in wet clay.

As Cyndi Lauper put so eloquently, "Girls just wanna have fun!"

Is anybody out there?

Growing up I felt invisible. I could talk endlessly and no one listened. They would ask questions about anything and everything NOT pertaining to the subject at hand. I have memory upon memory of being mid-sentence to be blatantly ignored while a grown-up you spat off about being pissed at someone, money, or work. I rarely said much to people about it. When I did that to was ignored. I thought as a grown-up this would change. I never let it fester much because I knew someday I would be a grown-up and I could have conversations with other grown-ups and be heard.

This is only partly true. I did grow up and I do have a many great conversation. I have a listening audience, so it seems. What I have discovered it a deaf audience pretending to hear. They nod appropriately, they gasp at the right moment, they uh-humm at the appropriate moment. You feel all warm in fuzzy inside until the next week when they chastise you for not telling them XYZ.

In the beginning you stand your ground and tell them you did. You think they are senile or overly worked. Eventually you discover they are self absorbed and could really careless about what is going on in your life. You discover that you can tell these people the same stories over and over and over and over, like an unraveling sweater that you keep knitting and knitting.

This leaves one to ponder all sorts of things; like why bother being social, why speak, why.....

As a species we chatter far too much and wail about the most minute happenings. We want to be heard, yet no one is listening.

This leaves one to ponder further the meaning of existence and I think living in a silent wooded area surrounded by chattering tree leaves and bouncy squirrels a real boon; if you can find such a utopia!