It is late, as the light leaves the room and I step up and make my way to bed. My head is filled again with the crap that I just witnessed on the television screen. And I am bothered again by the nonsense that seems to be swirling this world to and fro. Why I should give a crap is beyond me, but I do. Most of my friends are either getting educations to get jobs, moving out of the house, or doing something productive in real life. Not me. I just seem to stay content, living at home with a bed on the floor of my brother’s room, making a living at Dominos down the street.

But I am far from content. I can’t seem to get myself to get up and do anything “productive” because I don’t know the meaning that others attach to the word. Productive? Productive in what? Numbing myself to a life of complete banality? Realizing that I have nothing special to give to the world and that I should just accept my station in life as measly, and that I am just one more cog in this giant wheel called corporate manipulation? No way!

I keep my mouth shut most of the time. I don’t think anybody out there has any interest at all besides shooting me up with drugs, listening to me talk about visions that I’ve had, or walks and talks I’ve had with the spiritual world and anything beyond this life. I go to church, but something there seems vapid. As if people go there because they like to take other people’s word for it. They never want to experience it on their own. I listen to the same jargon coming from the pulpit that I’ve heard since I was old enough to remember.

And I realize that I hate every minute of being here. The blank stares of every member of that congregation… and I know that some of them are outright liars. I watch one of the parishioners get up and deliver his testimony about the love and peace that the gospel of Jesus Christ brings. Is this the same man who abuses and cusses out his children at home? I can’t tell. I know he is a good man. He tries to be. I see it in his eyes. But he doesn’t seem to have the slightest clue as to what this is all about. This religion thing, I mean. This ‘love one another’ thing. It is a lot more than giving a plate of cookies to the recently baptized members of the ward. And it has nothing to do with sending over home teachers nearly once every month. I say nearly because I haven’t seen my home teacher for quite a long time. My dad goes fishing with him, but I have left that church and nobody seems to notice.

I used to go to school. I was very intelligent, but I lost all interest in academics when I was a boy. I dreamt of becoming the valedictorian and getting accepted into the local university. I wanted to play the violin around the world and become conductor of the state symphony. But school was idiotic. First, the teachers would just line you up into class and make sure you were there to begin with. Then they would assign you some meaningless task that is supposed to make you smarter. Okay, but these classes are built on a grade system. You don’t get in based on intelligence. You get in based on the grades you had in a previous class. That’s why it’s so dumb. If you don’t do your assignments they assume you are just lazy and stupid.

They don’t figure that we live in a world where bad things actually happen. What a concept! They don’t seem to figure that perhaps a student could be having troubles at home because his parents are straight from Mexico and don’t speak a word of English. And he’s trying to keep his grades up while struggling to counter his best friends who have all given up on college to sell drugs out of their homes. Beats working at McDonalds, doesn’t it? I did the best I could, but I failed as well. So now I was the one who was pushed back into the sidelines. Why shouldn’t I think of school as a big waste of time?

It gets really tricky from here because at one point I have come to convince myself that my tremendous spirituality was a joke after all. A very cruel joke played on me. I was never diagnosed with ADD. I was just too depressed to be that hyperactive. The first doctor claimed that I had an anxiety disorder. Sure, so I did. The second doc labeled me as schizophrenic.

So, which do I believe? I wanted to believe the second doctor. I had a fun time putting down all my most sacred spiritual experiences and my relationship with the divine because I wanted to move on with my life and seriously be cured of this malcontent with the world around me. I was tired of who I was and wanted to get out. I wanted to live the American dream. I wanted to marry a boring girl and get a boring job, making average pay until the day I died. Why couldn’t I just do that? I couldn’t. I never did know how to walk into the doctor’s office and say that I thought he was wrong in his diagnosis of me. Aside from my genetic problems of unsettled thoughts, that was purely genetics.

You can’t blame a gimp knee on being an indigo now, can you? But I felt that I was being labeled as hallucinatory because of the odd or eccentric things that I used to say or do. That is why my mother took me in to begin with. I wouldn’t leave the house and had lost yet another job. I was gaining more weight and spending most of my time on the internet, looking up reincarnation and spiritual websites. I sure wasn’t a typical person. It made me so angry that my mother would feel that there was something wrong with me. It is one thing to take anti-psychotics to reduce my anxiety. But to leave me hanging, convinced that most, if not all, of my metaphysical experiences were nothing more than a byproduct of insanity is just heartless.

The only thing that saves me in this world is the soul I feel inside each individual. Other than that, something about this world and this life feels quite alien to me. I never believed for one second that this was all there is. Becoming famous, being popular, being attractive, rich, stately, all amount to nothing because, to me, everyone smells, everyone gets old, everyone has flawed features. It is interesting, gaining weight and then losing it.

Somehow I feel as though it is not natural to lose any part of myself. And so my body seems manufactured in some way. Like someone out there got bored and decided to make a vehicle for a soul, and not a very good one, might I add. I mean, we get dirty, we get smelly, we get fat, we get tired, we obsess over looks, even when none of us are really that attractive. Frankly, nobody cares about what you look like or what you do in life or who you are. You do. And that counts most of all.

I think what I will be doing in life is playing music. I have had visions of myself in front of large groups of people, leading the newer generations of indigos on to internal and world-wide change. We are not going to sit back and allow these things and these policies to go on or to continue. I am a very loving person, but enough is enough. I’m not going to be scared by hellfire and damnation. I am not going to be scared by terms of imprisonment or execution. Because I know that God loves me and has forgiven me and will forgive everything I do, say, or think. And I know that death is not the end. So I know that all will be well, and in the end, I can quietly go back Home.

There is no way to know the whole of my mind. You’ll have to be happy with only a glimpse. And with that, God bless. Thank you.