Ouroboros
Where does a snake go to shed its skin? The sly snake seeks out inhospitable places full of jutting peaks, rough surfaces, sharp rocks. To say that it is an ordeal for the snake is an understatement. All living things find comfort in simple pleasures- a full belly, a good night’s sleep, an orgasm. These easy rewards are hard-wired and leave our slithering friend blissful. Then once upon a time, the snake feels something amiss. It can’t place why it feels off, only that some power that it scarcely comprehends, demands that it abandon simple pleasures to solve the riddle of why it is no longer content with eating, sleeping, fucking. The snake becomes restless, looking for clues in places it has never thought to visit. It notices that it seems to be unraveling in a sense, dragging pieces of itself along rougher terrains that it is accustomed. Our friend feels helpless in a process that was preordained while it gestated in a warm, leathery egg.
The process of transformation demands discomfort. The universe didn’t evolve soul-less automatons that thrive on consistency. The primordial soup from which we sprung provided for our needs until one intrepid explorer felt an unexplainable pull. The same pull that 21st century homo sapiens feels when they are stuck in traffic gazing longingly at a beautiful, sunny day that would be best spent reading under a tree instead of cooped in a cubicle staring listlessly at a screen. But conditioning demands that we seek safety in capitalism. A vicious concept that glorifies money as the most basic and important human need. To search and connect with what feeds our soul- music, art, poetry, the act of creating something inspired by our own experiences, barely registers on our hierarchy of needs.
There are no easy avenues to shedding your skin. In this particular sense, the skin that should be universally shed is who society told you that you needed to be and what best to do to meet that end. Most of us are too asleep to realize that most human interactions result in being handed a mask to wear. The people who raised you told you to be quiet, don’t make a mess, go to school to learn how to be a good member of society. Your religious leader told you don’t be gay, don’t masturbate, don’t hand money to panhandlers- the godless heathens will only buy booze with it. Your government tells you to work 60 hours a week so you can afford the “American Dream”. It’s all significantly flawed because we self-medicate to escape our tragic realities with a myriad of vices whether we realize it or not (Hello, doom-scrolling)
In summary, I know that you feel a call that you don’t quite understand. I know in some small way, even if it isn’t said aloud, you have wondered- there has to be more than this. That voice that questions the validity of existence is your real voice. The voice you had before it was told to be someone else. If you are open to the discomfort of listening to the part of you that feels illogical, you may find yourself at a threshold.
