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My Beloved Unpredictable Nature


Val is a life-long student of unexplored human potential and many challenges that self-honesty throws at us on that path.


A Gypsy Mentality

Why did I close my Hub Pages account over a month ago, just to start a new one now?

The answer is not to be found in some strong reasons, but rather in this spirit that thrives on change. Just like I never had a strong reason to emigrate from my beloved native country of Croatia to Canada. Or why a year after I moved to California, to Oregon, back to California, back to Canada.

What about those 19 or so addresses where I have lived at in the past 77 years -- not counting vacations or any nonexistent business trips; or that ridiculous diversity of jobs I have done.

Indeed, it's like I was born under a star that could never make up its mind to which constellation to belong in this vast universe.

Even my passionate search for the human truth couldn't stay at those first couple hundred books, but I had to go on and on in that quest of an intellectual vagabond, never happy with the answers which some other folks proudly saw as their mental achievement.

Like a bee collecting pollen from many different flowers to create its own honey, I digested some, and threw up some, not even sparing the Grand Poobah of psychoanalysis Sigmund Freud.

Well, this gypsy mentality is sometimes also called "peripatetic", whereas just calling it "unpredictable" would be good enough for me.

There are pieces of wisdom expressed briefly as maxims which I am relating to so well. Like that one:

"The only constant in this universe is change".

-- author unknown

Never could decide if the next one was saying it better: "We don't step twice in the same river".

It has been so true in my case, as I was just making sure that I wouldn't drown while exploring the depths of those many currents I stepped in with this ever studious, and at times insanely curious mind.

I shamelessly admit that many a time I felt like a soul from some other planet incarnated on the earth by some crazy fluke in the cosmic arrangements. For, so much of what is going on in this world I just can't match to otherwise high level of technology, art, philosophy, and anything else that's making these species so obviously proud.

Well, let's stay with that diagnosis of my "unpredictability", but not without mentioning how -- if this really were a disease -- I would never want to "get well".


No Authorities to Trust

As that fine scholar Dr. Joe Dispenza might put it -- I could never get myself stuck at ego's survival mode of functioning, it had to be a creative one, involving exploration of the darks of the unknown.

"Certainty" is not the word in my mental dictionary. Maybe that's why my "beliefs" always had a taste of the temporary, never strong enough not to be a subject to replacement.

So maybe that's why I could never belong to any of the organized religions, which to me felt like intellectual claustrophobia. And even less could I ever support any of the existing political ideologies. So I became a political cynic, seeing politicians as merely some power-hungry careerists who never really cared about the nation's welfare, just their own upper hand in the crazy circus of political outsmarting.

Then it spread over all other "authorities" -- medico-pharmaceutical, those running the multi-billion dollar enterprise of producing nutritional supplements, those gurus who look downright sick but preach about peace and harmony, and, of course, any version of a shrink.

In my freedom-oriented soul the whole damn cultural paradigm stinks. But it's the only one we have, so I might as well find some place in it.

So I write, and God Himself knows (it's a figure of speech), that I am simply having fun composing articles and poems, with no ambition involved in it whatsoever. Look, I lost thousands of views by closing the account, and there is no competitive bone in me, so I don't bother comparing my stuff with what others are writing.

As an individualist of my own design, I see all of us Hub Pages writers as very different people, no matter how much we may try to bridge those differences with our virtual friendships. And talking about "different", here is the mister oddball himself.

One thing may be quite hard to accept in all this -- and it's the truth that reading the other writers' stuff I may be that non-virtual, but true kind of friend, oftentimes empathizing deeply with the writer, just as if I was physically knowing them for many years.

Reading between lines often unfolds the whole glory of someone's soul that's trying hard to express one thing and hide the other. And those are moments when being a part of Hub Pages gets its full meaning for me.

But yes, as so many already remember -- I don't comment much.


Prose Turning Poetry

Some months prior to closing my HP account I deleted over hundred of my poems. Why? For the same reason why I emigrated to Canada -- because it seemed like the next thing to do.

Sometimes I lie about my "reasons" -- or better yet, I make them up, well, just to find myself on a common page with others.

Now, was it that my writer's opus seemed "crowded", or was it anything else worth guessing about. In any case, it was not because I didn't like my poetizing. Really, if I hadn't liked it, I wouldn't have produced that many, right?

My poetry insisted upon expressing some truisms about life or about human nature, not particularly caring much about its artistic value. Albeit, art, if anything else so much, is in the eye of beholder. On its own -- as a quantum enthusiast of my little caliber might say -- it's merely something like "another item in the infinite field of potentiality." Meaning that, no matter how good or bad you may be as a writer, some will admire your skill, and others will not read your stuff past the title.

And, oh yes, I also have this fixation on rhyming, because, in my opinion, poem without rhyme is just prose formed into a column.

Of course, I am probably wrong, but just for the hell of it, why not give you a little example of what I mean.

So, here I'll compose some prose in its usual form:

There is magic wherever I look, or is it just that I am a magician giving a suchness to it all? And what is a point of cursing and complaining, if it's just some perfect shit hitting the fan of my imperfections?

Now, look at the same, just in a different form:

There is magic wherever I look

or is it just that I am a magician

giving a suchness to it all?

And what's a point of cursing

and complaining

if it's just some perfect shit

hitting the fan of my imperfections?

VOILA! I'm a poet now! See what I mean? My "technology of thinking" is filled with this seeing a same thing in different ways -- never staying at the obvious.

So I write all my poems in rhymes -- simply because it seems like the good thing to do, not because I am counting on anyone's agreement. You'll see what I mean as I repost them.

I am even thinking of the first one that I will use, which will complement this article quite nicely.


Questions to Ponder Upon

In that ever luring darks of the unknown, I keep getting haunted by some eternal questions.

What else could I become if I stopped imitating the sameness of yesteryears?

What other emotional patterns could I produce that would mean creating, not replaying?

How to come from my platform of peace and freedom into games marinated with adrenaline that are prevailing in this world?

How to upregulate my genes so that their new expression would trigger an optimum health and vitality?

How to share happiness without making it look like advertisement of my advantages over others?

And many other questions I keep asking myself -- and to many of those that matter I have already found my answers long ago.

Ultimately, none of us can help being who we are, and at the end of the day, we all keep sending signals to others which are mostly misinterpreted. Partly because we are so selective at what we send, and partly because others have a limited antennas to process what they are receiving.

But we manage to call each other friends. And it's good that way. Oftentimes sufficient.

Having an unpredictable nature brings up the question of loyalty.

As an ex-emigrant, I can't lie about being loyal to my native country, as if "willing to share all good and bad that may befall my people". So, forget about "patriotism from 10,000 kilometers away".

But then, here I am married to the same woman of 56 years, whom I cherish and love to the point that I still bring her flowers with no occasion to explain it. And my kids, now grownup, call me their best friend that they ever did, or ever will, have.

We live in a same apartment building in our respective homes, hug every time we see each other, never argue -- and as another Christmas is just around the corner, none of those presents under the Tree will be a bigger one than what our being together will mean to each of us.

Well, so yes, some things will forever stay very predictable in my mostly unpredictable nature.

© 2021 Val Karas

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