What’s It Called When You’re So Disconnected From Reality That Cold Water Doesn’t Feel Like Anything

what’s it called when you’re so disconnected from reality that cold water doesn’t feel like anything and you can barely taste food anymore

More Posts from Evenmorelivesalmon and Others

3 months ago

There is a very simple secret to being happy. Just let go of your demand on this moment. Any time you have a demand on the moment to give you something or remove something, there is suffering. Your demands keep you chained to the dream state of conditioned mind. The problem is that when there is a demand, you completely miss what is now. Letting go applies to the highest sacred demand, and even to the demand for love. If you demand in some subtle way to be loved, even if you get love, it is never enough. In the next moment, the demand reasserts itself, and you need to be loved again. But as soon as you let go, there is knowing in that instant that there is love here already. The mind is afraid to let go of its demand because the mind thinks that if it lets go, it is not going to get what it wants - as if demanding works. This is not the way things work. Stop chasing peace and stop chasing love, and your heart becomes full. Stop trying to be a better person, and you are a better person. Stop trying to forgive, and forgiveness happens. Stop and be still.

Emptiness Dancing

Adyashanti

1 month ago

university is like a video game. you can pick up sidequests. Youre gonna neglect the main storyline. youre gonna end up in a guild of sorts. i just looted a bush on campus and found a sticker

1 month ago
Sophie Isabella FW25
Sophie Isabella FW25

Sophie Isabella FW25

1 month ago

Maybe this is all the kind of pedantic nerdery writers obsess about all the time, but I can't help but think of it now in the context of the killing fields, whose dead also belong to some other lineage. I think of the hundreds upon hundreds of pictures and videos of the mutilated, the starved, the dismembered, and I am reminded that all of this is functionally invisible to so many in the part of the world where I now live. That if it were presented to them, some would undoubtedly respond the way Barbara Bush once did when asked about

the Iraqi dead: "Why should we hear about body bags and deaths? It's not relevant. So why should I waste my beautiful mind on something like that?" But others, I think, would recoil in a different way. Stubborn as anything, I hang on to the hope that, presented with proof of injustice, the majority human reflex is to act against it. And then I think of a line that has always stayed with me, from Marwa Helal's "poem for brad who wants me to write about the pyramids”:

this is where the
poets will interject
they will say: show, don't tell
but that
assumes most people
can see.

It would be nice to go back to caring about the moon. So many of my favorite authors care about the moon. So much of my favorite literature orients in the direction of beauty. But surely any true appreciation of beauty would admit, exclaim even, that no description of the moon, no matter how stunning, how true, reflects as much beauty back into the world as a missile obliterating a family in their home takes out of it.
At the very least, one should not be able to have it both ways. One should not, with a modicum of self-respect, quote Morrison and Baldwin at every turn but then, faced with the sort of injustice with which so much of their work contends, suddenly retreat into descriptions of whatever it is the finches are doing.
What is this work we do? What are we good for?

The literary critic Northrop Frye once said all art is metaphor, and a metaphor is the grammatical definition of insanity. What art does is meet us at the site of our insanity, our derangement, the plainly irrational mechanics of what it means to be human. There comes from this, then, at least a working definition of a soul: one's capacity to sit with the mysteries of a thing that cannot in any rational way be understood-only felt, only moved through. And sometimes that thing is so grotesque -what we do to one another so grotesque-that sitting with it feels an affront to the notion of art as a conduit of beauty.
Still, sit. Sit.

from "One Day Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This" by Omar El Akkad

1 month ago
'sakura Rain' Make Up Details @ Robert Wun | Fall 2024
'sakura Rain' Make Up Details @ Robert Wun | Fall 2024

'sakura rain' make up details @ robert wun | fall 2024

3 days ago

" Northern Lights " // © Yelyzaveta Dmitrieva

5 months ago
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