What draws the helpless addict to the internet?  The illusion of a world, input, output, putt putt, the illusion of an interactive world community.  Hindu and Buddhist texts refer to the world we perceive with our senses as Maya, the veil this hectic universe of noise, show and desire wears.  So the internet is a play within a play, carried out on the vast virtual stage of liquid cyberspace.   Every kid’s dreams can sail on that sea, take a step back, all the dreams together are less than the breath of a single ant.

“You are addicted to the internet,” says Sekhnet, not without some justification.   I look around at the available options and come running back here, where there is no demand on me but to focus my thoughts, if I like.   And to dial back my expectation of anyone actually giving a rat’s tutu.

In the real world you’d be well-advised to stay busy, bub.   That’s all I’m saying.  There’s a reason many people are workaholics, looking your own life in the face can be terrifying.   Could lead you to question things you’re better off not questioning, dwelling on things better left alone.  Such dwelling could lead to self-revelations that will cause major tremors in your life, could shake the whole structure of it to pieces.  Stay busy, my friends, that’s my advice.

“That’s not your advice,” a voice knowing better says.

My advice is don’t ask me for advice, is what I say.   My advice is to look at your fears and figure out something productive to do about them.  Which is very easy for me to say, wrestling with the lethargic anaconda of my own terrors.  If you’re getting your ass kicked, find a way to get out of the room, that’s all I’m saying.  Which is easy for me to say, no active monsters in my life at the moment, except for the fear of a difficult dream I’m trying to make real turning out to be another illusion, another dead end. 

I suppose anyone in a tough spot can rationalize their situation in a similar way: this difficult waking dream, OK,  this nightmare, can be turned around by a miracle.  Miracles happen every day.  The bad guy gets hit by lightning, the pure soul wins the lottery.  OK, if not by a miracle, by changing my view of it– making this alchemy part of my daily spiritual practice, let me say.  If I can change the way I view the battle I’m locked in I can turn it to my advantage, somehow, it becomes spiritual work, to accommodate myself to a merciless world of suffering and stop thinking about better and worse, stop heaping puny human value judgments on a situation that is not susceptible to such things.  And, anyway, is it not entirely possible that a bit of unexpected mercy will come my way, I’m not a bad person, there’s nothing bad about staying in a tough spot and …. what am I nattering about?

I can’t shake the damnable expectation that I am not the only one who gives a rat’s ass about any of this.