Upon Which I Connect The Dots
Written By: Jeff Behnke
You paint dots over the surface of reality using your memories, drawing pictures in the jumbled mess by tracing from one focal center of the past to the next, looking for a larger picture in it all that expresses something about the nature of what you have just been through, something that expresses “you”. That picture says “This is my life. This drawing I made which connects all these things that has happened, this is me, so this is how I should function in the future.” But that picture you just painted of yourself through those people, places, and things that have occurred to you in the past—that picture is no different than a face you have simply imagined into the clouds. Clouds shift. Things change.
Still, you choose those focal centers, but you could choose any of what has happened to you and concentrate on it to form a new "you" in it all. Logically, shit just happens as you tumble through the universe like a meteor, bouncing off of one planet to the next until eventually you hit your final destination--all those memories being little more than residue, caked on dirt over a shoe after a long trek through the mountains. Emotionally, however, there is nothing “random” about the tumble, because every time you smacked into something and it hurt, that pain formed a memory. Every time you brushed up against something and it felt good, that pleasure formed a memory. That applied emotion is your dot of focus that can show you what you “mean” and will always mean, what you look like, who you are. Looking back, some people focus on all that pain, and they say their lives have been miserable and will always be miserable until the day they die. Sometimes people focus on the pleasure, and they say their lives are beautiful, life is beautiful, and they love everyone like the sun—and will be back shortly after it’s all over.
But at the same time, you can choose to not remember any emotion that you might have felt, or you can, in hind-sight, change your emotion that you might have felt from the past. So not only can you choose to concentrate on the pleasure or the pain, but what gave you pleasure and pain itself can change, and if that’s the case, you can draw from anything in your memories that says, “This is me” or you can draw nothing at all by ignoring all those dots. Looking back through your memories, in other words, charts your path forward, but what you choose to remember and apply your intent to is completely and absolutely—fluid. Your intent of drawing a “you” lights up all that cold blackness of space, but you can make any element in all of it glow and burn as brightly or as dimly as you want it to burn, changing the whole landscape.
And you ask yourself--or whatever form your "self" may have on any given day--did God put that planet right there so I could hit it and feel like such a shit? Did God put that absolutely amazing set of Saturn rings right there so I can feel like pure heaven? Or am I in charge of it all and am just charting my path and deciding what to smash into or breeze through on my own? You can choose any explanation you want for this as well. The focal points aren’t “real” unless you make them that way, the path isn’t “real” unless you make it that way. Everything is fluid, interchangeable and ultimately, completely and absolutely connected. Just like this life is interconnected with all the various other lives you might have led, all feeding back into your oversoul.
So there is a very unusual and rich irony about drawing all those dots, day and night, day and night. Without “you” the dots wouldn’t glow. But you are inventing that “you” at the same time simply by choosing what to call out from your past and say it was important. So both the dots and “you” are being made up, your past and the future are being made up, the possible “future” memories you may have are also being made up—and all of it is occurring at once.
Here’s an example: I am currently intensely focusing upon how bipolar my emotions are every day. By focusing on them makes them more of a reality, makes my path more erratic, makes me snowball through time and space that much harder. Like a cat walking at a particular velocity could, in theory, take down a cement bridge through the application of consistent vibrations, my own consistent focus on my bipolar tendencies has taken down my life. I have furniture in the U.S., but no car. I have a car and two children in Australia, but no furniture. I have tons of friends in the U.S., and I know very few people here in Australia, yet I’m now trying to rebuild in Australia while my family in the U.S. wonders if they will ever see me again. I have no address, no phone for the most part, and work doesn’t know whether I’m staying or going. I have an amazing amount of potential, but all of it is being channeled into the fact that I can’t seem to find a level ‘plateau,’ and have difficulty finding an incentive to even want wake up in the morning and make money, because that would mean I would be stable, longer, and have to stay here, on earth, inside of this broken me, longer…when I just want to leave. All I’ve been thinking about is trying to get Nina into my life because she made me want to keep my particles the most--But look at the trail I left behind me as I pined for something I couldn’t have! It’s like I’ve been cutting through iron ferrite with a completely dulled drill bit. Look at what’s happened! But then again…
During this process of watching my life fall to pieces as everything around me was torn to shreds in my 33rd year, I’ve realized something—Nina tried to reawaken the part of me that had fallen asleep. The part of me that I let go to waste. That side of me which had been dulled after years of struggling to find any reason whatsoever to live…the unafraid side. It’s been re-awakened in the midst of it all as I have been forced by events beyond my control--to let go. My “life” is not what is a wreck anymore—the sensation of “not wanting to live life anymore because of fear” is a wreck. I lost my way. I lost my trail of dots that previously formed my way. I asked my oversoul for help, begged it for help, as it stared me in the eyes, every which way I looked. My oversoul didn’t answer--Nina did, as did all of you. The path that I have previously lived said, "Everything is my fault. I should thus be afraid of everyone and everything so I don’t stir up the waters." The path that I have been shown which is amazingly more beautiful, says "sometimes, despite all your efforts, the water, like me, has a mind of its own."
That semblance of life that I couldn’t stand anymore, it’s just completely gone. Everyone around me watched in horror and concern, saying, “Where did Jeff go? Where did he go? Where is he now? Is he alright?” Jeff wanted to get away from Jeff. And ultimately, Jeff did just that with the help of everyone else. Jeff was tired of being afraid. Where did he go? I don’t know. I don’t care. He jumped ship and the ship jumped him. Don’t you see? I can’t control everything anymore. I mean, geezus, I can’t control myself anymore. It’s not all up to me. It’s not.
Yes, big setback, but all my pencils can be resharpened, or I can get a new set of pencils altogether. I have someone else I want to "try" and draw back in to the fabric of space as I tumble through it, but this time, I’m gonna draw him in right next to all of you. Unafraid, standing there, holding hands. I have had trouble letting go of Jeff, but I assure you, I will not have trouble holding on to all of you. And I haven’t wanted to draw anything quite this badly in years.