Disappeared

The more I try to strengthen something, the more I end up weakening it.  My skin will always be itchy because I have itchy skin.  I cannot make the itch disappear without making the skin disappear.  The only thing I can do is change the perspective.  The more I try to weaken something, the more I end up strengthening it.  The more I break something, the more indestructible I make it.  The more I try to fix something, the more I end up breaking it. 

Tonight I realize that even the smallest bit of light from my computer's charger is as bright as one million suns blazing all in unison in my room.  A little green dot of light is enough for me to see everything I need to see.  Even if it is not enough light, my brain will make it enough light to see whatever it wants to see.  

This is what it means to be alive.  Truth or knowledge has nothing to do with being alive.  Or rather, I do not need truth or knowledge to know that I am alive.  The ability to interpret and create is the defining characteristic of my being alive.  Wherever the line stands between the real world and the created world, the Only World I Can Ever Know, I don't know.  Spending time trying to find this line is a compete waste of energy simply because, even if it existed, it would have no impact on how I live my life.  Whether I spend my time creating or living as a product of my creation is not always up to me.  Whether my life is one or the other I also cannot say.  All I can do is create perspective.  

I find it really funny, interesting and telling that wise people often talk about Buddhism and their transformation/realization because of it as if it were a recovery from substance abuse.  To the enlightened person, all unenlightened people are "substance abusers".  It makes sense to me.  Being an addict to the substantial world--a slave to it--seems to be a part of the problem.

I dreamt/remembered this one time when I was still drunk on a couch I fell asleep on at a house I hated with people I didn't like and one of the people who lived at this house had turned on a college football ball game at an extremely high volume.  He had no regard for me sleeping on his couch and I will never expect him to have.  The idea of me cold and alone curled up on a couch, still intoxicated and lost breaks my heart.  Almost like I feel this deep compassion for this stupid poor creature lying in his own filth.  I wish I would have behaved differently and did something to help him, but I didn't and now I have to live with the guilt of having not.  And all of this about my past self.  There are many other situations and people that have been treated by me in the same way throughout the years.  Some hurt worse than others at different times.

I have no idea how to interpret this other than to store it here.

I also have no idea what to do with the sex dream where I was looking at internet porn  Not even real sex in my dreams?