We are mostly invisible and no one knows it

A bit of 3 AM philosophy.

Most of me is invisible. Most of you is invisible.

I’m not talking about your internal organs or what’s covered by clothing. I mean that the essence of a person is someting that can be sensed but never seen. Our thoughts, feelings, knowledge base, intentions, and dreams form an invisible self in which we live, and that’s what defines us–far more than our physical presences in the experiential world. You can talk about someone’s aura, the personality, the soul, the energy presence, and so forth, and you’re talking about the invisible person. This is reality–not that consensus reality that we move through every day as if it were a virtual projection. Can we trust the input of our senses? Are we ignoring a couple of important senses?

People who have forgotten how to have any imagination and who deny themselves a creative outlet (“I’ve never been creative”) still have invisible selves, but they’re smaller. They can’t see or sense the invisible world. They’ve never believed in magic, or perhaps over time they’ve come to accept the Rational Knowledge of the parents that there is no magic, there is nothing but what can be seen and measured . . . or at least nothing IMPORTANT. They may project all their hopes onto someone else who has come to represent perfection or whom they think will fulfill their dreams, and pin everything on what this person does or promises to do (this explains the mass hysteria over a rock star, famous writer, or political candidate–but it’s also a form of the child’s worship of the all-powerful parent.) They lose sight of the essential reliance we must have on ourselves and on whatever guides us spiritually (internally) (a moral compass, if you like).

In this society, everything’s measured by material things and popular success (indicated by how many toys you have, how much “designer” stuff you have, how high you are on the rockstar ladder or the business bodypile, and so forth.) Little notice is taken of spiritual depth or artistic fullness . . . well, perhaps an isolated flash here and there, but mostly what you see talked about on the news and around the water cooler is the concrete stuff. Who won “American Graven Image,” who’s ahead in the polls, who’s gonna get a Slammy award, who’s the most popular girl in the class, who’s the richest person in the world, which oil company has the most derricks. That kind of rot. Certainly the creature comforts have their appeal, but they have nothing at all to do with what’s really important.

What is your passion? What are your true talents? Are you hiding them under a bushel? Are you letting them shine and getting mocked and kicked to the curb because of it? (If you draw cartoons and everyone else thinks they’re terrible, that doesn’t mean they ARE terrible.) Does it matter? Do you matter? Everyone is necessary. Everyone is important.

Everyone has a mission in life. You will not leave this world without accomplishing your mission in life (this is an important message that is found in a book by the same person who wrote _What Color Is Your Parachute?_, and can be a reassuring one or a confusing one.)

Magic and art deal directly with the invisible world. Art can work a type of magic. Magic is afoot for any artist–a writer, a musician, a cartoonist.

Take off the blindfold. See. Hear. Feel the essence of the invisible. Learn to understand the secret, hidden language of the insects, the birds, your own subconscious mind. Access the collective subconscious and understand the world through its archetypes. Pull back the curtain on the theater of the inner world. Don’t throw yourself away chasing the things of this world only. Be small. Be large. Store up your treasures where it really counts. Make your way through the unmapped territories. Don’t be so immersed in the here-and-now that you miss the small moments that actually constitute living.

What’s it like being you and experiencing this very moment through your own filters? Write about it. (It’s why people read, for vicarious experience as well as for information, guidance, and inspiration.) Put us into your mind through your prose. You have many hidden facets. You are more than a cog in a larger wheel. You are a pilgrim.

John Wayne: “What is it now, pilgrim… your conscience?”
“Well, don’t fret about that, pilgrim.”
“Whoa, take’er easy there, pilgrim.”
(all quotations from “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance”)

Pilgrimage: your sojourn through earthly life as distinguished from the life hereafter.
Pilgrim: one who travels; especially one who heads towards a holy place or shrine as a devotee. One who has a quest, an objective, a holy and significant thing to accomplish (such as self-expression or illumination of some aspect of the eternal human condition through art or crafts)
Pilgrim sign: a symbol or badge a pilgrim carries, such as the palm leaf, Catherine wheel, Canterbury bell; generally indicates the shrine sought. Thought to preserve a pilgrim against interference. A badge of honor. Wear it proudly.

What is your pilgrim sign? What is your pilgrimage about?

It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as you know what it is–and you do have one. Find your purpose and fulfill your higher destiny.

And leave behind a written record to illuminate the path for those who follow.

[TANGENTIALLY RELATED TOPIC EDIT: “Consumerism” is a more accurate term than “materialism” for what I meant. An interesting thread for those interested in materialism as a philosophy as opposed to idealism.]


Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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