The only "saving grace" for me that allows me to "press on" and live my life each day is that I believe that my life is meant to happen as it does and that my challenge and role is to glean or learn from it in order to become a "better person," obviously, to the world itself and not just me as an individual. What keeps my life in place is the "cement" of my responsibilities to others and even myself. Such responsibilities are the "blinders" this donkey wears so as to not stray from the "crooked and wide" road he is on. It is only my belief in the "good of fate" as a guide and teacher that keeps me moving in just this pragmatic and natural "faith." I profess a rather Daoistic view of life, which would seem at odds with my belief that "my life is meant to happen as it does." The Daoists would not say that it is "meant" but rather that it happens as it does because that's how it is, and that one must learn to be present and aware as much as possible in order to be as fully in and best responsive to the moment as possible. They do moralize things as "good" or "bad" though they do recognize responses as well as events that are "increasing" or "decreasing" to the integrity and reality of the moment. They also recognize the "habit" of responsive ritual that assists us in self-discipline and in otherwise "doing the right thing." I may be misinterpreting Daoism but I think I'm being pretty accurate.
All that is interesting, but, in the meantime, I have people who are close to me who suffer great physical pain and must live with it, and themselves deteriorating as each day comes and goes. I even happen to fit in that category. I overexert myself all the time and then suffer painful consequences. But I don't tend to further suffer in my mind over any of my physical suffering, whereas other people do. At times I may even be depressive but I'm not depressed; more of a tending to than an active state. But I am affected by the sorrow of people, of the "pain of the world," called weltschmerz by Schopenhauer. It is something I always want to somehow alleviate by bringing some kind of "understanding" or awareness to people. I realize that we all die, that death is imminent for all of us, that we do in fact fall apart in due time, and then vanish from the face of the earth. I find the last fact to be utterly amazing, for I find myself to be so identified, for instance, with this little book-lined office in which I word; I am literally surrounded by all this stuff on my desk and in front of me all these words I have written, seemingly endlessly. And when I am gone, the mess will be right here on my desk; my words and my books standing alone. But, in truth, no one hears them or reads them even now, in spite of any interesting, much less "valuable," things they may hold. Such is life and fate.
So I continue to take even this bodily and sometimes emotional and psychological pain with a certain kind of peace and acceptance; it is always life speaking to me. God or the gods don't tend to speak to me as such but life does. In other words, I speak to myself, often even as father to child, or as mother to child, for each speaks differently, and I do my best to hear this pain and suffering and lack of understanding that comes from the child. I actually have a black and white third-grade school photo of myself right next to my desk; it does speak volumes to me. My lips are set in a kind of grim smile. My eyes portray a pained anger behind the black-rimmed glasses that were broken in half and that I repaired myself with electrical tape after my father slapped me hard across the face, smashing my glasses against the wall, after I put my elbow on the dinner table. I let this little boy speak to me whenever he has the need or desire. I also hold him gently now, offering a bit of rather late consolation.
So, there is no escaping ourselves or our history. Telling our stories does help to free us of ourselves, even if told just to ourselves. Even if told to others, they are still just told to ourselves, for others are not ourselves; they are themselves. They have their own experience, as we have ours. In other words, it is we ourselves who must learn from life as it has come at us, while also realizing that, in many respects, it is we ourselves who have molded both our lives and ourselves to be as they are. Our reactions to what happens are all internal, all within us, right down to the pain we may feel in our bodies. I once meditated (zazen) to attain a semblance of peace but that gave way to trying to be able to see who I am and how I am, what I feel and how I think and vice-versa. Peace is somewhere in the mix but has been ruled out as a goal in itself. I believe we are here to make our own sense of both our lives and of existence in itself; we are not just here to "feel good," especially when the world itself does not. Rather, I believe we are here to help as best we can. Help who?, you may ask. Help ourselves, which is everyone.
All that is interesting, but, in the meantime, I have people who are close to me who suffer great physical pain and must live with it, and themselves deteriorating as each day comes and goes. I even happen to fit in that category. I overexert myself all the time and then suffer painful consequences. But I don't tend to further suffer in my mind over any of my physical suffering, whereas other people do. At times I may even be depressive but I'm not depressed; more of a tending to than an active state. But I am affected by the sorrow of people, of the "pain of the world," called weltschmerz by Schopenhauer. It is something I always want to somehow alleviate by bringing some kind of "understanding" or awareness to people. I realize that we all die, that death is imminent for all of us, that we do in fact fall apart in due time, and then vanish from the face of the earth. I find the last fact to be utterly amazing, for I find myself to be so identified, for instance, with this little book-lined office in which I word; I am literally surrounded by all this stuff on my desk and in front of me all these words I have written, seemingly endlessly. And when I am gone, the mess will be right here on my desk; my words and my books standing alone. But, in truth, no one hears them or reads them even now, in spite of any interesting, much less "valuable," things they may hold. Such is life and fate.
So I continue to take even this bodily and sometimes emotional and psychological pain with a certain kind of peace and acceptance; it is always life speaking to me. God or the gods don't tend to speak to me as such but life does. In other words, I speak to myself, often even as father to child, or as mother to child, for each speaks differently, and I do my best to hear this pain and suffering and lack of understanding that comes from the child. I actually have a black and white third-grade school photo of myself right next to my desk; it does speak volumes to me. My lips are set in a kind of grim smile. My eyes portray a pained anger behind the black-rimmed glasses that were broken in half and that I repaired myself with electrical tape after my father slapped me hard across the face, smashing my glasses against the wall, after I put my elbow on the dinner table. I let this little boy speak to me whenever he has the need or desire. I also hold him gently now, offering a bit of rather late consolation.
So, there is no escaping ourselves or our history. Telling our stories does help to free us of ourselves, even if told just to ourselves. Even if told to others, they are still just told to ourselves, for others are not ourselves; they are themselves. They have their own experience, as we have ours. In other words, it is we ourselves who must learn from life as it has come at us, while also realizing that, in many respects, it is we ourselves who have molded both our lives and ourselves to be as they are. Our reactions to what happens are all internal, all within us, right down to the pain we may feel in our bodies. I once meditated (zazen) to attain a semblance of peace but that gave way to trying to be able to see who I am and how I am, what I feel and how I think and vice-versa. Peace is somewhere in the mix but has been ruled out as a goal in itself. I believe we are here to make our own sense of both our lives and of existence in itself; we are not just here to "feel good," especially when the world itself does not. Rather, I believe we are here to help as best we can. Help who?, you may ask. Help ourselves, which is everyone.
No comments:
Post a Comment