I was very interested in stemming the evil tide. ‘Yes, yes, yes’ my brain said fervently, it’s very important to stem the evil tide.’ I didn’t realise that I was the evil tide! I didn’t realise that the evil tide was me. I didn’t realise it then you see – I was right at the beginning of my journey, my journey of self-discovery.
The journey of self-discovery is a cruel one, you see. Far crueller than we might imagine. Far crueller; far, far crueller. Far crueller for me anyway, I don’t know about anyone else. I expect everyone else is doing okay. I wanted to write an article entitled ‘The first time I took LSD’. It would be very interesting, I thought. It would be very interesting. I grab my pen and start scribbling furiously my trusty notepad. Later on, when the initial frenzy of writing has subsided somewhat, I realise to my dismay that I have just written page after page of nonsensical gibberish.
Yes indeed the journey of self-discovery is without any question at all a very cruel one. So cruel, so cruel. It is unbearably cruel, as it happens. I find myself staring in fascination at all these posts that one sees online regarding and relating to the subject of how deliriously magnificent it is upon it is to embark upon the jolly old journey of self-discovery. Awakening the inner joy, and all that sort of stuff. All that sort of Craic. There’s no end to it really is there? It’s a bottomless pit, I’m afraid – folk will never tire of yattering on in this fashion. I’m very serious about this – they will never tire, they will never tire.
I read and I read and I read, searching and searching for some mention of the pure undiluted horror that surely attends every genuine movement in the direction of actual awareness but you think I ever find any? There’s nothing, not a whisper, not a whisper. If only there was a whisper, I say to myself, but there isn’t. If only there was. The absence of any whisper on the subject is quite deafening. ‘Where is it?’ I ask myself. Where is the mention of the horror of awareness and the unbearable unendurable sense of self-loathing that it unfailingly engenders?’ What am I reading about here? What are these people on about? I scour the Internet, as you might imagine. I scour it from top to bottom, but there is nothing there. There is nothing there but spiritual candyfloss, as I am pleased to call it. Nothing but spiritual candyfloss.
I know that the journey of self-discovery always starts with hope, of course. Needless to say I know that. It’s the same old story every time, I daresay. ‘What wonderful things will I discover about myself today?’ I ask, trembling with excitement as I take my first tentative step on the path. What wonderful things, what wonderful things. It’s all so exciting isn’t it? You are filled with the urge to post meaningless gibberish on your Facebook page. I’ve been there, don’t worry. I can relate to that, most surely I can. Those early days of hope. It all sounds so glorious doesn’t it? That’s before we discover that there isn’t anything wonderful about ourselves, nothing at all.