My brain is set up like a Plinko game. I place one ping-pong ball, a thought or idea, into a random slot on the top of my head and let it ping down from one connection to the next until it rests in its arbitrary category. I have little control over where this thought ends up.
But what happens is, if all my balls end up in a negative category, my mood shifts to negative. And as my mood shifts to negative, my plinko game turns all it’s possible outcomes into disastrous categories. No matter where I insert the ball, it ends in calamity.
Sometimes life isn’t about how you play the game, it’s how you prime the board you’re playing on and for me, I play life on the stupidest game of chance, the beloved Plinko.
But lately, I’ve not been categorizing. It’s like I elongated my board into infinity. Balls keep pinging from one synapse to the next, but never settling.
I’m not fighting anything because I’m not ending anything.
People think you have to fight in order to stay alive, but with my new improved perspective it’s more like knowing that nothing ever ends. And if you have the perspective that nothing ever ends, there is no fight.
With that said, my balls get pretty banged up in the process. They become sore and dirty.
I carry with me, dented-in old dirty balls. Scoured with years of debris and accumulated filth. Smelly.
So what do I do with these balls? Throw them at other people to see if they stick. They really are quite sticky.
This is where I am right now. I want to create. I want to write, paint, play music……I want to rid myself of these sticky balls I carry.
I’m in the process of ridding myself of all selfish desire and in doing so, my world opened up. I mean, I’m no longer stressed out and running around from one errand to the next – I have my time back. What I mean by time, I mean my life and what I mean by life, I mean opportunity.
I don’t believe that wanting to throw my sticky balls at people a selfish desire, it’s more like a gift. The world has ruffled me, scorched my dreams, beat my heart into a bloody pulp – but I’m not done tumbling. These little nuggets that keep plinking on and on belong not to me, but to the world. It was the world that created these balls in the first place so it’s only right to send them back out into it. Of course, after I get my stank all over them.
I haven’t been negative lately. Not since ridding myself of selfish desire, but I’ve not been optimistic either. I have all these loose cannon idea’s that have no place, no flavor to suck on.
I guess if they were to have a flavor, it be vanilla. Instead of having a disgruntled knot in my head, cream has poured itself in its place.
Have I always been so creamy? So vanilla?