Latest posts by Prashant Bajpai (see all)
- Unveiling the Synchronicity Singularity – Thank You Professors Wachowskis - June 23, 2016
- When the Levee Breaks – Before the 2016 Reality Reset - March 17, 2016
- How to Undo Intolerance By Detoxing Your Belief Systems - January 21, 2016
Dear Professor Carrey,
It’s that time of the year when time starts feeling like a supersonic supervillain blowing sand in our eyes — out of reach and out of tune with who we are. I know just as much about where time takes me as I know about who breathes life into time — nothing. People who talked smart sound suspicious; beloved belief systems are paraded in heels on cracking ice, and your dreams dissolve in the mad cackling laughter of your ambitions mocking you for your misplaced efforts.
Authoritarians warm you up to another seasonal cultural superhero to count on and remind you how meaningless your time is without them. But, you can’t help but scoff for you know time is just an instrument that comes alive only when someone else breathes perception and judgment into it.
Life is an endless game of hide and seek between the object and observer. There can’t be a winner unless you writer the rules of the reality in your heads.
There was a time when time felt timeless. Back when my feet kissed the ground, my mind had no strings, and tomorrow felt like nothing but a blissful basket of possibilities.
I was one with my experience and my experience was one with me. And believe it or not, there was no incentive that could buy me lunch and cart away my freewill.
After all, the incentive of centralized power to a child motivated by nothing but pure experience is a vague proposition. There is an ineffable awesomeness in innocent awareness. And believe me, my compass of compassion could point me to my happiness without seeking consultation from salesmen of discount contentment.
It was a time when I could flirt with harems of belief systems and colorful superstitions and sail away riding through perspective cleansing waves of dreamy possibilities.
My thoughts felt like strangers. I was happy to let my guard down as long as they stopped brainwashing my intentions into subscribing to a lifetime supply of non-harmonious limitations.
I felt pure — at least from my point of view — which seemed like the best I could do considering how invulnerable I felt measuring my self-worth served sunny side up to curb the appetite for quantum and cosmic addictions to harmless satisfactions.
This appetite for silently raging desire gave birth to a light-toed introvert who put himself through mazes with no exit signs just to meet the bleeding edge of expectations. I poured my heart even while I was shivering in cold frequencies of bone-chilling paralysis. But somehow, an overwhelming sense of warmth kept the fire of curiosity burning bright even when cold winds of conceit tried to knock me off balance.
Victories and losses came and faded from memory. And when they faded away, so did memory. Because when memory met the infinite, it knew — it had overstayed its welcome.
As a trapped teenager grew into an self-content adult misfit, ambitions raged bolder, but scars got older.
Things began to flow. Like water. Sometimes creeping like snakes on windowsills; sometimes tearing through your mental windows like raging rivers.
I began to test my theory of humanity being an alien race of exotic stardust swirling in the lightning storms brewing from the cosmic dance of Shiva. And when the fog of belief systems finally caught up to cloud my judgment, I had my first encounter with depression.
My inner monologues began to grow into a slow-motion train wreck of multiple existential crises.
I would scream at my inner voice in utter helplessness saying: “How dare the world plot against me for trying to do something nice for the world in a different way? Why did the world even need a revolutionary to teach them to binge on fear-infused confectionaries? Why am I condemned to a waiting room full of power brokers asking for my support to euthanize my dreams? Did I reincarnate as a fucking pinata?”
Who knew. I certainly didn’t. So I swallowed rebellion as my drug of choice to hollow my belief systems. Pity, mockery, and ignorance made their presence known as psychological tormentors by hollowing me inside out. And soon enough, the hollowness turned into a black hole of self-loathing that kept looking for another reason to feel numb.
That’s the problem with depression. It’s not a childish playground bully; it’s a clever deceiver that pretends to be our best friend in isolation and imitating the voice of pragmatism in our heads.
Video game glory holes became nightly mistresses and pornography gave me shallow solace in the knickers of bootylicious princesses. I was obsessed with the need to possess to confess that I’m blessed. And it all turned into a wild goose chase through uncharted dimensions until I drew one breath too much to accept a life running away from something instead of running towards something.
You never know when you’re satisfied or how far the self-loathing sorcerer of sarcasm possessing you may drive you away from your life purpose. You just want to take a break from playing the shadow stepbrother of hope waiting for his share of love and light while waiting….waiting tinted in the pain and immersed in the darkness.
Yet somehow, a cavernous lantern of wanderlust glittering that illuminated Mother Nature’s dancing footsteps led me to the indivisible. Somehow hope clung onto me even when I thought it slipped out of my hands; hope kept its grip tighter than a handshake with the devil. Somehow the devil’s eyes never appeared so hateful, his eyes were only meant to be a mirror.
Only those who hung onto belief systems tighter than unconditional love would be afraid of their image. And so the image that frightens the most fearful men is their own reflection. When I woke up, the first thing I did was disconnect the ticking time bomb of feeling like someone who could never relate to the world. I realized it was hollowing me inside out and is too much of a burden for me to carry. And I let the idea of “me, me, me” drift away gently, and emerged unscathed from the hallowed pits of shallow expectations.
The first thing I learned from you, Professor Carrey, was that you have to look ahead by being sincere to your experience and living your reality in your own tangy flavor. And when I heard you say: “My soul is not contained within the limits of my body, my body is contained within the limitlessness of my soul,” you upgraded me with a first class seat to lesson number 2:
I am the universe and the universe is who I am.
Surprisingly, sweet synchronicity struck once again, because the second lesson my inner self was awakened to through meditation seemed to agree with you: seek whatever you seek within yourself and you will never need to look anywhere else again.
You taught me that it’s more important to know your soul to know your role because we’re all bliss-soaked dew drops of alchemical singularities looking for a way to paint a pretty picture on this kind canvas of consciousness.
The only person we run into at the end is ourselves. And if we’ve made peace with our reflection, we can make our selves infinitely powerful by tying our egos to the ground and letting our spirits soar high above the clouds.
You helped me see that we are who we believe through your work — as a media brainwashed victim in Cable Guy, a slick lawyer but a deadbeat dad in Liar Liar, and a troubled loving soul in The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
I found parts of my personality patterns scattered across your filmography. There was something about your unbridled illuminating conviction in your actions that helped me cultivate a kind dedication to my own expression.
As a student whose self confidence was sliced and diced par repair (or so I thought) by age 8 through liberal use of the stick, I found it impossible to have faith on teachers for the rest of my schooling years. Nevertheless, my appetite for inspiration through information only seemed to grow bigger.
I had questions that needed answers and lessons to learn, but more importantly, I wanted to master the art of learning. And thus began my worldwide search for professors that could help me with the progression of my passions on the world wide web.
Letting go of spite and walking light always came natural to me. And when spiritual lightning electrocuted my ego out of its identity amnesia through the marvel of meditation, I became lighter than ether and fluid like water. My worrisome wrinkles left some space on my face for kinder curves of loving expression.
Expression that turned out to be weightless, unafraid of the devil in the details, and devoted to the fulfillment of the freewill that lit its icy fire. What once felt like a myth now melted away my belief systems and blind judgment protocols.
As I began to walk into the unifying light of self-realization, my vision cleared and all boundaries that once left me marooned in a prison of preconceived perception began to dissolve. into the omnipotent bosom of unadulterated consciousness.
In Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut writes about how God organizes the world into units which he calls a “karass.” A karass is a unit of incarnated beings whose job it is to bring into being one of God’s holy ideas.
Members of a karass all further the collective purpose seamlessly, though many never even know they are part of this karass. Members of the same karass are held to their purpose like electrons around a nucleus. Some live very close to the purpose. Some are further out. But all are held to the purpose by a spiritual magnetism that thrusts us into the unknown with incalculable grace.
Maybe we’ll starving in desolation tonight, or maybe we’ll be eating a breakfast for champions on cloud number nine tomorrow. Or maybe none of this is real to keep score of in legacy journals when there is no language to define the divine.
When I see your life, I see a man who treats advice as speculation. And advice is pretty pure in intent more often than not, but it is nothing but a clay castle to the creative innocence within you. The clay, much like my freewill, is mine alone to mold. What I create is what I behold when I allow my consciousness to unfold.
The moment I stopped trading today for tomorrow, the universe has felt like it’s expanding infinitely through the eye of my mind blinking to the vibrant visions and beats of new dimensions.
So what am I really trying to say? I guess it’s just to thank you for the inspiration that kept me strong through the highs and lows that made me who I am. Because no matter how hard the punches felt, or how tiring betrayals and stereotypes felt, I refused to subject my self to a life unfulfilled by soiling myself in the tar pit of toxic expectations.
Thank you for helping me celebrate each moment intentionally, from the heart, with grace, empathy, and love.