An Undefined Problem

Version 1.1 of 13/1/2011-11:42 a.m.

There comes a time when you are given a chance to recollect your thoughts and reply as to whether you are content, happy, joyous, sad or complacent. Most people fall into three categories:

1) Those who want more
2) Those who are happy with what they have
3) Those who don't know what they want

I find myself being asked by the 'senate of the 12' and i usually fall under the second category. They will ask specific questions, like, "did you like x or y?" and i would respond in a positive way, making them bend over their notebooks and revise 'the plan' so as to make it more practical.

Sometimes they will even go to such lengths as to explain to the subjects why some things are necessary. They will, for example, point out gross errors that lie with ones decision making. In fact, some of the consequences can be pointed out this way, as the subject is be unable to correct them by itself.

They seem to be very keen in having the ability to sustain an operational reality, with several bonuses, such as allowing windows for certain reality edge points to be marginally explored. Not that they will let you peek for a long time, but you may be in a favorable position to understand some of the underlying knowledge with their permission.

They do not favor asking for permission to do certain things, either. They have this really innate craving to watch us make decisions, not unlike rats that make decisions in a large experimental maze. After which, they can investigate the consequences for years and years, scratching their heads and researching the subject of potential consequences.

Anyway, my description does not pertain to them, i have pretty much managed to place myself at peace with their endeavors. The subject that concerns me is that they have figured that something is missing, and they are still asking me to describe it.

As i said. I am pretty much a content person. But there is, in fact something missing from my life, which i cannot make heads or tails what it is. It is not a twelve foot Steinway to play Bach's fugues on, neither is it a 400 Mhz Mac that would allow my programs to run faster. It is not a 40 inch reflector telescope, nor is it a 1,000,000 power spectrograph. It is not the smartest and prettiest woman in the world, either. Nor is it someone accepting some of my paintings for publication.

So, they keep asking me: What is the problem?

I can only give them glimpses of what it feels like, not specific tangible evidence. It is a longing for something, but i don't know what it is. It is as if i have been made aware of a horrible truth, somewhere, back in my subconscious, and they have low-level formatted my brain as to forget it, so i can be functional. It is as though i have 'met' something or someone, and then was programmed to forget it/him, so i can go on and live like a normal human being.

It is mostly a sad longing. Not that it affects this reality very much so as to make me dysfunctional. No, not at all. In fact, this longing, comes only after i engage in my most pleasant activities, in a natural and profound way. This longing seems to point out, that some of those activities have to stop, because they have managed to recover the bits of the information from my brain sectors, *even* after a low level format.

This longing is for something that cannot be clearly defined. Some bits and pieces that point towards it, are evident in music. Sometimes, when i play the lute prelude BWV 999, i hear a beautiful, probably female voice, singing along my notes. But not always. Only when i play the damn piece, or any such, perfectly. This wondrous moment, when the hands become the sounds, the voice sings along, by contrasting the piece notes in perfect harmony and counterpoint. There is a split second delay, between me recognizing the sing along, and suddenly feeling like i am dying.

It just is not of this world, and i can understand this, because the moment i realize it, i am overcome by a very intense feeling to go there. Except that i have no idea *where* to go, or *what* it is, that sings along while i play.

When that happens, i cannot help it but stop and start crying. It is as if someone or something, is trying to make me remember. It is so ironic, because my memory is so well kept, and despite my two packs a day, it still is excellent...

Other times again, it takes the form of sounds or sights from other people. It is not unusual for me to hear messages from that being, relayed to me through various sources. It is a calling of sorts. Except that i cannot figure out what *kind* of calling it is. And for what.

It is a gentle calling, almost adoring, and very tempting. It fills you with a sense of sweet abandonment, and the desire to go seek something like the primordial seed of your soul. Except that all paths that seek, prove to be fruitless.

You can be the busiest person in the world, trying to find the truth in human made endeavors. Yet this longing, is forever indeterminate. It is forever ahead, and forever unreachable.

However, despite its lack of definition, there is clearly succinct knowledge in one that provides for a 'reference' to it, albeit undetermined.

It is a sensation, that once there, it never goes away. It is something like the need to complete oneself. Well, maybe it is carnal complement, you say. Note quite. It is more than that. It is like having been vested the power to know something truly horrible-or wonderful, i don't know which- and then having been made to forget it. It is like the vague realization that you are cheated, somehow of something that rightfully belongs to you.

Then, it all seems like a cycle of forgetfulness and remembrance. Yet, while the remembrance part of the cycle instills the desire and the longing, the cause and the correct path are missing.

I wonder who or what would play such a trick on us, and why. Maybe the committee of the 12? Who knows? They seem to be as much awe struck by this realization as I am. I think they are trying to figure it out as well.

They say that one will not find the truth outside oneself. True, but one does not find the truth inside oneself either. I have often introspect, and quite frankly, inside me, i see only a big black void waiting to devour me. Perhaps this indeterminate longing IS that void, after all, seeking its rightful subjects back to where they originally belonged. I don't know if it's called the Tao, or Bach, or God, or whatever have you. The point is that this something is gnawing at my soul day by day. Am i complaining? No. Pain is part of life. But this longing is so much worse than any pain on this Earth...

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