Facebook asked me what I would want to do if I won the lottery. So, the odds of winning the lottery are 1 to 175 million, on average. Did you know, in order to be born, you were 1 of roughly 80 to 1800 million sperm? Your birth was quite literally winning the sperm lottery.
When depression starts whispering it’s crap in my ear, and I feel worthless, I’ve been reminding myself the odds of my existence.
When anxiety makes me question my reasons for existence, I’ve been questioning the probability of that coincidence. I’ve never believed in coincidence as it is. Out of millions and millions of sperm, here I am. There you are. It’s incredible, really.
You can look at the world and see shit, insanity, chaos, or you can see the opportunity, potential, and creation. Gardens grow in shit, right? In birth, you’ve won the lottery. This means every day, you can do whatever you want with your lottery winnings. This puts a smile on my face, and it makes it easier to put two feet on the ground.
Buddha is a title, not a name. It means “The Enlightened One”. I found myself drawn to philosophy when spirituality became too irrational. Buddhism is not a religion, nor is it spirituality. Realistically, it’s a study of yourself and not yourself. That sounds stupidly simplistic, but pondering sperm helps me get out of bed in the morning sometimes. Buddhism teaches me how to discipline my mind. I did not start on this journey – spirituality, whatever, for any auspicious reasons. I just wanted to shut my fucking brain up. They taught me to meditate in the mental hospital, flash forward 5 years, and I contemplate sperm. Well, I contemplate everything. I’m a Buddha.
Why do I write this? We are all Buddha’s. By that 1 in 175 million lottery win – the sperm lottery, we all begin journeys in the universe as parts of the universe. It doesn’t matter how you want to view the journey, as long as you know you’ve already won. But most of us don’t. Most of us carrot those winnings. Happiness exists just beyond our fingertips, and not at the moment when that winning sperm met that egg, and cells divided and we exited the womb and gasped and became us. Sentient. Here.
I believe mental illness is the suffering Lord Buddha was attempting to free us from in 600 B.C. We keep changing the names and get more technical about it, but it’s all the same. Buddhism teaches you how to discipline the thinking mind (Ego) to free yourself from suffering. Or, if you go to the mental hospital like me, you learn to meditate, get addicted to it, go into psychosis, and then properly learn about Buddhism. Whatever works.
Our first words are often considered “dada” but could they be “that”? “That” such that, that’s it. That, and that, and that, and that. There are thousands of that, in a world of one such. If that doesn’t make sense, it’s okay, because it’s not really supposed to. How can you take something that is not a concept and turn it into a concept? It’s like trying to store water in a sponge. As an infant, all we were was aware. As we grew, we learned to think. We were taught to think. Thinking, inherently, is not bad. Thinking is your ego, though. It is the I that you have been taught to identify by.
Your ego believes you need to win the lottery to be happy because your ego does not understand you already won the lottery with your first breath. Your ego was taught by everyone else to think otherwise. Your ego is a necessary part of life, yet not entirely. It’s pretty much like driving a car. You need it in some situations, but not to go to the bathroom. You need awareness to discern the true you, and your ego.
What is the true you? No one can answer that but you. Again, words and concepts need to be done away with here. So many have tried and failed. The true you is quite like the baby you were sucking on your toes. Yet, not really. The true you is you when you are mesmerized by beauty and words fail you. The true you is when you feel there is more to you then meets the eye. The true you is behind your eyeballs, where you cannot see, yet staring right back at you in the mirror.
Even if none of the metaphysics or philisophics interest you. Doesn’t it at least assuage your depression and anxiety to think, “What am I doing with my sperm lottery winnings today?” as opposed to any other rumination? It has to be a slightly new thought, albeit crude. What do you expect from a girl who writes about her itchy butt?
Namaste, bukake Buddhas