Questions, Questions

Monday, February 15, 2011

Still so many unanswered questions.

Who am I? Where do I come from (before Earth birth)?

What was my intended mission, here? What have I already accomplished and what do I still have yet to do?

Why do I feel so out-of-place in this world? Why is it so difficult to find someone who understands me—and why is that even important in the first place?

Do ETs really exist? Do spirit guides exist or are they made up from the power of human thought? Why haven’t the ET civilizations shown themselves to people like me who would love to meet them?

What is the REAL history of the human race on Earth? Why was it hidden? Why do people lust for power, to the point of controlling the whole planet? What does that get them?

Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose?

Why is it so difficult to see the real answers? If “the answers are inside myself,” what does that mean? Do I need to meditate more? How does one look inside one’s self for answers? How can I tell the difference between my own thoughts, a spirit guide who is trying to help, and any malicious entity or force that would try to give me false answers?

Do other dimensions exist? Is time really an illusion?

How can I tell if I have good, pure intentions or if I’m just trying to trick myself into doing something to feed my ego?

Do I have to do this alone? Where can I find help? If I desire help, does that mean that I’m still trying to look for answers outside of myself? Supposedly, I am the only one who can tell me who I am, so shouldn’t it be easy? Why so difficult? Who the fuck am I?


I want to stop guessing at the answers. I want to know the answers, through and through. With no more doubt.

I must not be satisfied with the answers I’ve received so far, otherwise I would not feel this burning desire to ask again. No… the burning desire is to know the answer—I’m sick of asking.

I need a mirror, or something capable of reflecting accurately back to me who I am, and the other answers.

Other people are not reliable, because they see me through their own “tinted glasses.” But, likewise, I see the world through my tinted glasses.

So is that who I am? The world I see is a reflection of me? How is that even possible, when so many people are killing and murdering and giving in to greed and lust for power? I am not satisfied with that answer at all.

What am I looking for? A paragraph, in the English language text, that fully describes who I am? The English language seriously is lacking for words when it comes to topics such as this. Maybe I can be summed up in a feeling? Or both language AND feelings?

Bugger. This is difficult.

[More random complaints of a similar nature. More lists of plants to grow in the land outside.]


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