Chapter 2; Identity Crisis.
What are you born into?
Death, life, and resurrection.
Who do you think you are? Youme. That’s the point of an auto-biography, to tell you my personal
impersonal experiences. If you will, which I know you will. Take this as a bit of stream of consciousness
writing. I guess I should state my clear focus and purpose, which is the point, if I could figure out who
Youme is, and then maybe I can understand his purpose, even if it is a far cry outside of the indoctrinated
truth that this mad world dissipates.
Who is Youme? I may ramble at times like this, but if I do my thinking on paper right, write, then I will
have a stream pouring from one pool into the other cascading by into an extreme waterfall of insight. Or
just a bunch of words strung together without coherent context like you would hope to come to expect
from a college graduate, but English wasn’t my favorite. Everything is vying for my attention as we*
speak, or should I say, as I write. That’s the nature of the world, and of your attention that you can
willfully devote to a particular cause by choosing to do so, known as free will, and directing your intent
with your will power.
Now that that’s settled, on to the questions. I am already writing this with the intention of someone
other then myself reading this, which changes the whole nature, construct, and meaning of this paper. But
that’s okay, I still think I can get my point across to my self if I can focus on the real questions I have
for Youme.
(what are real questions?/what are the real answers?) for I heard that for every question there is an
answer and it is not the answers we must be seeking but the proper questions we must be asking.
Process; I go through thought worms that require me to write them down, lest I forget, then I can’t
recall. I don’t know how exactly to explain it, but when the words hit, I need a pen, and a piece of
paper, otherwise the thought is gone. (I am constantly taking notes including this one that I am interjecting
into the middle of this paragraph.) I can never really recall them the way they formed, which is pertinent.
This reminds me of building of towers with these thoughts. To look out over the vast sea of beliefs and
ideas that governs my life. But ultimately I am reminded that no matter how high I climb, I will never reach
the top, and if any level of my system is faulty, I am making presuppositions on false knowledge, but that's
okay, the writing continues. Partially because I feel now, at this moment that all my tower of ideas,
thoughts, and assumptions have been smashed by the divine wrecking ball of life that never ceases to
amaze me and turn me into a more humble being. Ready to ascertain more from life in this information age
and realizing unwittingly that this is merely another form of eloquent expressions. As the pen is indeed
mightier then the sword. I am a peaceful pacifist who, like many, I am a warrior for love, and am willing to
die for the truth. With that duly noted .. . . .
What are you born into?
Death, life, and resurrection.
Who do you think you are? Youme. That’s the point of an auto-biography, to tell you my personal
impersonal experiences. If you will, which I know you will. Take this as a bit of stream of consciousness
writing. I guess I should state my clear focus and purpose, which is the point, if I could figure out who
Youme is, and then maybe I can understand his purpose, even if it is a far cry outside of the indoctrinated
truth that this mad world dissipates.
Who is Youme? I may ramble at times like this, but if I do my thinking on paper right, write, then I will
have a stream pouring from one pool into the other cascading by into an extreme waterfall of insight. Or
just a bunch of words strung together without coherent context like you would hope to come to expect
from a college graduate, but English wasn’t my favorite. Everything is vying for my attention as we*
speak, or should I say, as I write. That’s the nature of the world, and of your attention that you can
willfully devote to a particular cause by choosing to do so, known as free will, and directing your intent
with your will power.
Now that that’s settled, on to the questions. I am already writing this with the intention of someone
other then myself reading this, which changes the whole nature, construct, and meaning of this paper. But
that’s okay, I still think I can get my point across to my self if I can focus on the real questions I have
for Youme.
(what are real questions?/what are the real answers?) for I heard that for every question there is an
answer and it is not the answers we must be seeking but the proper questions we must be asking.
Process; I go through thought worms that require me to write them down, lest I forget, then I can’t
recall. I don’t know how exactly to explain it, but when the words hit, I need a pen, and a piece of
paper, otherwise the thought is gone. (I am constantly taking notes including this one that I am interjecting
into the middle of this paragraph.) I can never really recall them the way they formed, which is pertinent.
This reminds me of building of towers with these thoughts. To look out over the vast sea of beliefs and
ideas that governs my life. But ultimately I am reminded that no matter how high I climb, I will never reach
the top, and if any level of my system is faulty, I am making presuppositions on false knowledge, but that's
okay, the writing continues. Partially because I feel now, at this moment that all my tower of ideas,
thoughts, and assumptions have been smashed by the divine wrecking ball of life that never ceases to
amaze me and turn me into a more humble being. Ready to ascertain more from life in this information age
and realizing unwittingly that this is merely another form of eloquent expressions. As the pen is indeed
mightier then the sword. I am a peaceful pacifist who, like many, I am a warrior for love, and am willing to
die for the truth. With that duly noted .. . . .
