The End of Their Story
Things are getting fascinating and a bit heavy on this end in the process of detoxing my Self from a dependance on the never-ending supply of dopamine provided by modern communicative devices. Last week, I had woken up to the idea of tracking my minutes and unlocks in order to grasp the time committed to The Scroll. The month of November proved that my impulses are far more powerful than any rational ration of time spent using a tool. My iPhone is not like any other tool. My iPhone has the capability, if I am the one to initiate it in this way, to serve as a mirror of my internal world in the external and very public sphere. I am sure, with the right combination of apps and permissions granted, that I could mistake who I Truly Am with the translation of Self provided by Apple and Co.
36 hours a month on my phone is absolutely unacceptable for someone who is dropped in to the temporality and impermanence of this existence and who wishes to capitalize on the opportunity to breathe. Keeping tabs on the time spent scrolling this month did allow me to minimize the time exponentially; albeit still craving the glow and the stream of information.
I had a moment one afternoon where I was sitting in the sunlight with a cup of coffee enjoying the dark roast when, without even thinking about it, my right arm swooshed to grab my phone sitting all the way on the opposite arm of my couch. Having begun this practice of intensive purging of that exact behavior, I was fascinated by that subconscious need. I held my phone in my hands without unlocking it. I laughed at my Self and then put it down; disgusted.
I don’t wish to miss out on the stories of the age. I want to know about all of the happenings and controversies. I want to see pictures of the bombs that have gone off and watch protests and clashes with the police happen in real time. I want to watch the war! I love the celebrity drama and the rap fueds. Divorce! Adultery! Death! In a way, I love the endless wars! Obviously!
I wouldn’t have a valid argument to prove otherwise given the fact that I read morsels of the news daily with eyes wide open with excitement.
These are not my stories. I am not dropping the bombs. I am not clashing with the police. I no longer feel as though it is essential to read “the news.” That’s right. I would much rather remain ignorant to it and focus on becoming a more complete person so that I can more completely serve my fellow Human in the world. I do not wish to behave based on “information” served to me for purposes that I am not entirely privy to. I no longer wish to be emotionally enslaved to propaganda and division.
I Am One.
This week, I will practice letting go of the stories that aren’t mine. I am sure I will keep up with some, and why not! Entertainment is essential! But I will not keep up with all of them every day of my life. I need time to learn, and to feel, and to LIVE!
Do you have stories that you would like to let go of?
Book I’m reading now : Down Girl by Kate Manne