ODAT talks about mental sobriety.
The problem ain't them.
The problem also ain't me.
It's the thinking I invite in.
Certain creatures, to cross the threshold, have to be invited.
If they're in the home, I invited them.
Thoughts likewise.
Thoughts are like drinking.
They're not the reality.
They're the fake joy, the constructed conviviality, the drug-induced miasma of the fantasy-world of the world.
Alcoholism, we're told, starts off fun.
Thinking, I know, started off fun.
I take the thoughts, make words, then spill them out everywhere, to create the space to think new thoughts and make new words..
It's a bit like the drunk throwing up to be able to drink more.
Drunk on my own thoughts, my own ideas, my own victimhood, my own narratives, my own views of myself, my own views of the situation.
The man takes the thought, the thought takes the thought, the thought takes the man.
It takes over to such an extent that the person is now shrunken, crushed, in the corner, while the narrative is still partying.
So, back to the point: the gift of mental sobriety.
To receive that gift, I have to be willing to detox off myself and my silly folly, the dégustation menu of my running commentary, the ticker running across the rolling news story of my life.