Conscious, Unconscious, Preconscious, Subconscious?

I have a question for you, dear readers of my paltry little corner of the blogoverse.  And it doth be this:  how much of your decision-making would you say comes from a predominantly conscious and rational place?  When you decide to do something, how much of your decision is something that you could explain to yourself easily in five simple steps?

Because I would say that a lot of mine does lately.  Now, for whatever reason - insanity feels the likely suspect at the moment - I seem to have developed quite the art of knowing much of the time why I am deciding to do what I am deciding to do.  Sharing that knowledge is a different matter becasue ... well, quite simply because me (and you too, most likely) are not always shiny lovely people on the inside.  Our motives, if not despicable or illegal, can certainly be tinged with rust, or some other cruel metal.  We would like always to be the kinds of people who others admire, but quite often, if we care to admit it, our thoughts are limited, negative, fearful, disempowering, and our motives come out of the same space.

I just caught myself thinking before (which is a favourite pastime of mine and perhaps explains why the cobwebs are hanging in folds from the ceiling and last night's dishes are still not done) that I don't understand my motive for wanting to ditch one of my clients.  The desire has been going on for several weeks.  True, it's ramped up since I had cause for irritation at them for paying me very late, or not at all, for some invoices, so that I had to go and chase them up when my awful bookkeeping skills finally alerted me to the fact that they hadn't paid.   I'm not partial to grudge-holding so I don't think I would want to ditch them simply because of that.  I am partial to feeling extremely hurt at perceived slights, though, so perhaps that has added fuel to the fire.

But the feeling remains, that I should let them go.

Maybe it's to make way for something else.

I feel like I have lost a lot of the sense of mystery of life after having fallen into adrenally-fatigued fear vats a while ago.  There are rungs on the side of those vats which reach all the way to the top and over the other side,  and while I am climbing up the insides, can see and smell the top, I'm not there yet.  But as I climb up further, I can smell it - the smell of mystery.  The smell of doorways beyond doorways where you do things and make decisions and you're not quite sure why and where you feel your way to things rather than planning them out and strategising in your head which decision is the less scarey decision.

If mystery had a smell, it would be akin to the dank, deep, sexual sort of smell of beautifully rotting leaves on the forest floor.