Attachment and meaninglessness

I bled on my bed sheet last night.

 

I’ve lent my Vanish soap to someone and I’m not sure when I’ll get it back.  Funny that whenever you get something dirty all you can think about is how to get it clean again. But would your first thought ever be to replace it? Probably, if you can’t be bothered or it depends on how much you care about the object.

Despite my tendency to throw everything away, I would try cleaning it before I consider a replacement. Not always, though. It’s a matter of attachment.

How about you? Do you form attachment to objects and give it meaning?

I am fascinated by how certain objects play a decisive role in shaping a person; you become a slave of the object by obsessing over it. In my current case, it’s the bed sheet and a post-it-note from 2007.

 

Good to know that our heads instinctually create meaning for everything…and within the meaning arises a warm familiarity that equals security.

 

Without intending to impose existentialism on you, I think if it hadn’t been Sisyphus and his love-hate-relationship with the boulder, I wouldn’t even be where I am now. The boulder has probably turned into an internalized image of Sisyphus and all he sees in the boulder is the purpose of his life.

 

I see the same thing when I stare at the white sea.

 

It might all be meaningless, but when I see the white sea I want to strip myself naked and jump right in, have the sea suck my mind, blood and my entire heart until there’s nothing left. I give the sea all I have, because I have a lot to give away, especially for cleansing. The result is exposure through words that I put together; it’s a game that turns me on so much. However, many times the sea would spit it all back at me and I’m again a prisoner of the heat that I myself create. I don’t want it. That’s when the game turns into a war.

 

No time for truce.

 

Just more stripping.

 

And, I need my soap back.

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