Twilight Anxiety

(Es Una Condición Imprescindible)

"...there is a twilight when everything remains seemingly unchanged. And it is in such a twilight that we all must be aware of change in the air—however slight—lest we become unwilling victims of the darkness." - William Douglas

I was sitting in the car under a stoplight. The street lamps were buzzing and struggling to turn on. When the light switched to green it caught my eyes and I was transfixed by it as we drove underneath. It swayed back and forth in the wind, and its background, the rest of the world, blended together. There is always a focal point in art, and in this case it was the bright light in the foreground. I stared at this long enough that I began to not see what it was, but what it was not. The light faded away and the background came into focus. The way everything was illuminated was perfect- dark but hazy from the last rays of light still trapped in the grey clouds. Everything seemed to appear in subdued tones, the sky was various shades of dull grey and all of the buildings were sepia. It is apparent to me now as to why any artistic reproduction which captured the Great Depression was always in these same tones. These subdued tones seemed to represent not just a time but an aura, a feeling. I felt that same feeling right then, a heavy feeling of anguish and depression.
I have a poetic way of thinking, and often interpret my environment metaphorically. The flashing light caught my attention because thats exactly what it was designed to do. I didn't notice everything else right away, even though it was the larger sum of the portrait, and I began to think about this. That stoplight was a distraction, and represented the many distractions that we plague ourselves with. We (as humans) design focal points in an attempt to impose order on chaos. We are organized because we stop and go when the light tells us to.
We are sensory beings so its easy to get lost in the manufactured sounds and sights. The sustenance of capitalism is through marketing and advertising, decadence and exaggeration- "All flash and no meaning" is its synopsis. We've decorated our world with sparkling lies, it looks beautiful from space. Capitalism- Is this why westerners are so materialistic? Art is being used for evil, its being manipulated through propaganda to show not reality or even an image of reality but generic images, with lying taglines. We're becoming blinded by the flash of pretty things and slipping more and more into denial. We accumulate possessions and give these objects sentimental value and we form vain attachments to them. There is no freedom in this, all attachments are futile- nothing can be eternally bonded; not your possessions, not your friends, family, lovers, not even your body-just your soul.
Focus, then, on what lies beyond these objects. Focus on not just what is, but what isn't. Existence is the constant struggle between opposites; black and white, joy and sorrow, pain and pleasure, love and hate, life and death. Existence isn't the goal. Existence is all ready happening. Putting your eyes into focus- that is the goal. Learning to stare through the distractions and see them as exactly that- that is the goal. Focusing on the background, focusing on reality- that is the goal. Focusing is the first step but interpretation is the next test. Is there any meaning to the background? What does it represent: Futility? Optimism? Hope? Nothing? Everything? Existence is where everything collides. Existence is that time of day when the dark fights the night.
Notice the painting at the top. Its been my favorite painting since the first time I saw it and it appears to be at this same time of day. The time of day when he is screaming.

Rapture

"and because you are

forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you"

-ee cummings

If I had the power of will I would will the fall of humanity.

I'd stand in the ruble of whats left- apathy, vanity, fear
gathering every flag and using them as the rags they are -
only with our fallen pride can we dry all these tears.
Out of the destruction and debris will rise up new beginnings,
I'd tell everyone not to worry because the battle wasn't worth winning.

We will be the new creator- fathers and mothers giving rebirth,
The musicians will sing the heavens, the artists will paint the earth.
The writers will write the script of the sea and a letter
to God telling him "not to worry either and that I'm sorry but we had a change of heart and that everything falls apart, eventually."

I will go door to door and tell everyone the bad news,
"I'm sorry but your religion did not survive, I regret to inform you that none were left alive,
fear and faith are dead, I'm sorry," I said...
"But there was one we managed to revive."

Only we can save the truth.

Now the book will be sold out and the preachers will have perished,
everything is gone, everything once cherished.

God's promise was an illusion- a trick of light.
He's sorry for the betrayal but he never expected this fight.

He was never to concerned, we always seemed to submit-
and he hates to admit it but he's surprised we never got it,
it was all a joke and we were the punchline,
We were always meant to be- failures by design.

Now its all irrelevant because we will resist and earn our keep,
We'll have taken back the world, a quiet one, in which so many are still asleep.
I'll gracefully kiss their foreheads and tell them to awaken.
They'll ask if I'm an angel and I'll tell them they're mistaken and that,
"It's true you almost died, but there is no more need to worry because you're finally alive.
We nearly destroyed ourselves but we've been fighting for our lives."

We will have to start again because no savior will come to be,
and the end of the world it will come quite suddenly.
We'll descend from misconception and come to save ourselves,
within us we will delve and find what truth is left in the self-
It will be the new seed of our existence, it will be the purpose of our resistance.

Not quite victory.

I will sound as if we've won and I won't mean to mislead but
the blind have led the blind so long, there are still people to be freed.
"We must hurry I can hear their cries- they are so afraid to die
help everyone to run- stretching their arms towards the sky"
Their bones are tired from being caged but they are finally free,
They'll step into the sun, their eyes will adjust, and they will see-

That it is good.

Plight of the Ridiculous

A ridiculous, yet probably relative story. "I am a ridiculous person. Now they call me a madman. That would be a promotion if it were not that I remain as ridiculous in their eyes as before. But now I do not resent it, they are all dear to me now, even when they laugh at me - and, indeed, it is just then that they are particularly dear to me. I could join in their laughter - not exactly at myself, but through affection for them, if I did not feel so sad as I look at them. Sad because they do not know the truth and I do know it. Oh, how hard it is to be the only one who knows the truth! But they won't understand that. No, they won't understand it." - Dostoevsky from "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man"I've been called ridiculous, on more than one occasion, usually in a light hearted manner. I've never been offended; in fact I consider it quite amusing. What I wonder, does Dostoyevsky refer to when he says, "Sad because they do not know the truth and I do know it?" What is the truth that he is referring to? Do he and I share this truth as we share ridiculous tendencies? I want to know.There was a time, around the age of 8, when I changed my mind about who I was going to be. I was shy-horribly shy, and I can't imagine the extremity of what my social anxiety could have been if I would have remained so. Somehow, I managed to not only change, but to rebel in a way that was the complete opposite of who I was. Even at the age of 8 this was a conscious decision. I exploited myself for the purpose of humor. I was entertaining and lively. But no one wants to be a joker in the Queens court. I had turned into a dancer, an artist, an illusionist, and I could distract myself and others with colors, movement, and sounds. I could make them laugh when they should have cried, and I continued to do this because I could live through them and laugh myself.Somehow I could handle being center stage. I was light hearted and humorous, but unsure of myself. It was only in times of seriousness, that I often kept silent. There was a difference in the interaction of myself and others, when I was in control of the show. But when the moment demanded confrontation and the attitude was serious, I shied away- something I still struggle with to this day.
I wanted to be the Queen. But how awkward of a child I was- very tall and skinny, and I had big feet and was clumsy. My lack of physical grace had in turn manifested a lack of confidence. My social anxiety caused me to trip over my words. When I was about the age of 11 I had written in my diary once a “to do” list, and on it I had included 'practice walking and talking'. I laugh about it now, but in a way it still seems very sad to me. I had grasped the idea of social grace long before most, and I begin to instill it in myself during my youth. I did this for the wrong reasons; I wanted to create an illusion of what I was not. I was all ready denying my individuality.The reality of what was happening is best described by Kierkegaard, "I too have both the tragic and the comic in me: I am witty and the people laugh-but I cry." With time came resentment and I grew less focused on the exploitation of myself, but instead the exploitation of what was happening around me. I became sarcastic, witty, and increasingly cynical. I had begun to realize the power of my social grace and began to use it not for pleasing others, but instead for my own manipulative purposes. (I don't feel bad about this.) I was about 13 now, and I had done a complete 180 from where I had been. The year before I had entered junior high and struggled just as everyone else to make a name for myself. But now I was in the 7th grade, and my memory of this year is one of my favorites. I don't remember anything, anything except for my patterns of thought. I remember little because my memory of this time is so surreal. I can look back and see myself sitting in the cafeteria; everything is silent- even though I am surrounded by chattering girls. The reason I am so fond of this memory is because I couldn't hear them then either, often I chose not too. They were probably talking about boys, boobs, and brand name clothes- things that were of little interest to me at the time. I wore an over sized burgundy Old Navy sweatshirt with a rustic looking truck on it, cargo jeans, and my hair back in a bun, nearly every day. I don't even know how I managed to fit in with them, they were all growing up, concerned about 'older' things, and they were becoming sexualized. The only thing we had in common anymore was that fact that in one way or another, we had previously established our dominance through childhood. The reality of it then is pretty much the same as the reality of it now, we were cute kids. We were born noble because of this. That's it. But things were different now, with me anyway. I remember eating as the rest of the girls dipped their croutons in ranch because it was all they would eat when boys were watching. I didn't care about this. In fact, I doubted there was anyone watching anyway, and instead I sat with my chin in my hands staring at the people at other tables, searching their faces for a sign- wondering if they felt just as lost as I was.
There is another memory I have of my 13th year, and that is my memories of home. It’s safe to assume that things were bad, but I think that I've blocked most of it out. What I do remember is my room, dark and filled with candles. I'd sit in my room for hours, reading, writing, and usually contemplating my spirituality. I would become so confused that I would give up and cry. I had declared war on God, I had rejected everything I knew- authority, social construct, self restraint. I contemplated purpose, my own purpose, the purpose of others, and just an objective purpose in general.
My parents and I did not get along. I had went from being a fun and outgoing child to a secluded and bitter teenager over night. I was slightly mischievous as a child and my parents over compensative view of discipline led me to be grounded the majority of my early teenage life. But now I had grounded myself, and instead of my parents trying to suppress me, they would beg me to go out, leave the house, socialize with people. My mother began to worry about me, she considered me depressed and she was right. Once she had cut a photo out of Time magazine and taped it to the wall by the stairwell leading to my room. I remember coming home from school and staring at it. It was a photo of a starving African boy in the desert, curled into a ball with his head in his hands. There was a vulture nearby, looking on, waiting for him to die. My mom did this to set my perspective straight. She wanted to teach me that it was unfair to come home bitter and angry at the world when I have so much more than most. Her heart was in the right place, and that picture is the basis of my entire perspective, and it’s in my mind forever. But what she failed to realize is what I was upset about in the first place, it wasn't trivial teenage anguish. It was exactly what was in that photo that I was worried about to begin with. It was times like this when I thought about the girls and their croutons, their refusal to eat because they were embarrassed to. I would look at that photo and just feel so angry. The child in that photo was probably all ready dead, he didn't starve himself- he didn't have a choice. Here I wasn't yet laughing at people thinking that I was ridiculous, I was angry. How, how was I possibly the ridiculous one? This is where I think that I began to see some of that truth that Dostoyevsky was talking about.
Later on this same year, my aunt and uncle had moved up here from Texas and had to temporarily live with us while they found a house. My uncle told me that I was the most jaded 13 year old he had ever met. I remember this because it surprised me that someone perceived me the way that I was in a positive light. My mother would drag me through years of counseling soon after, because she had concluded that I had no emotions, feeling, and was heartless. That was never the problem; in fact the problem was the opposite. I had a lot of feelings, a lot of intense feelings, which were only poorly displayed because of my confusion. I wanted to say or do something, but I felt helpless, like a slave to the futility of it all.
All through high school I remained the same- neutral, indifferent, apathetic. But it never kept me from being hopeful. Though I hated tended to despise the way humans acted, I always loved humanity. I was nice, but got close to few. These years were uneventful, somewhat boring, but I never sold myself out. I guess that’s more than most can say of high school.
The changes have been more predominant in recent years, though it was slow. I refrained from being involved in the traditional college environment for my first two years out of school. In fact, I had overcome a large feat of resentment and was the happiest I had ever been, though still not contented. I was less indifferent now, I was more empathetic. But it was when I did indulge in the college scene that things again changed for me. I became self destructive, and had returned to that power of social grace so that I could again manipulate people according to my own will. I do what I wanted, without inhibition. But because I was always acting, I exploited not myself, but others. My apathy was in full force this time, and it was dangerous. Though I'm speaking of this in past tense, it’s barely passed. I've only recently began to acknowledge it, though it brings a lot of anxiety, there are so many nihilistic tendencies that need to be destroyed. But on the contrary, my social abilities have blossomed in a way that I no longer fear other people, but welcome their difference. Not that I don't do this without skepticism- that will surely never change. But I find myself to be more accepting of others than most.
And though things have changed, back and forth and in many ways, nothing has. I'm a combination of all of these personas I mentioned. I'm still shy, I still manipulate through social grace, and I struggle between apathy and empathy. But what I find to be most important is that I've always preserved that same perspective. I've always asked questions, I do what I want to do (which I usually manage to do without hurting others) and I'm unconcerned with what they think of it. I gave up a long time ago with trying to mold myself to being something that I'm not. And though the reality of who I am is still diluted with elements of grace, I have not changed.
I've run into many people who I knew in school, and it is always interesting to talk to these people and see how they've changed. The fact that I'm happy to be talking to them at all shows me that I myself have changed. I'm far more welcoming. I've noticed a trend in these conversations, where people mention that they admire how I composed myself in high school. I always managed to stay on the surface of things, never getting bogged down by the mundane dramatics of adolescence. Many people tell me this because they feel that they can relate. They tell me this as if they seem to know now where I was coming from. A lot of them I know little but enough to know that they are in denial. They do see where I was coming from, and I think that some of them do finally see the futility of it. A lot of these people have been the same girls with the croutons back in the 7th grade. What I find sad, is that they, like most, have fought their individuality their entire lives.
Maybe at the time my lack of concern for social propriety, and intolerance for injustice made me seem a little ridiculous. But even though authenticity is so hard to come by, I know that everyone is ridiculous. And the extent of their ridiculousness is just muted by their own realization of it. I've become aware of my own ridiculousness. I chose to dwell in it rather than succumbing to self victimization and many other personality flaws. I feel like I'm glorifying myself here, and I don't mean to. But I am proud, and I am thankful that I was blessed with some sort of awareness at a young age. Such realizations tend to be far more difficult to come to terms with in later years. Now I see the humor in it all, practicing walking and talking, and the girls starving themselves out of shame. I could have become that, but I didn't. I wouldn't find conformity so amusing if I wouldn't have given up on it long ago. But that is just me, it is everyone else that I'm worried about now. All the other girls and people who have denied themselves of...themselves for so long, even if they see the futility of it, they've spent their entire lives living through it. Is it too late for them to break free?
Dostoyevsky's truth that I believe we share, lies in this line, "I could join in their laughter - not exactly at myself, but through affection for them, if I did not feel so sad as I look at them."

Analyzation of Allegory of the Cave

Symbolism

The Cave- Confinement, prison, ignorance
The Light- Knowledge, wisdom, awareness
The Chains- Forms, sensory perception, language, confinement, ignorance
The Puppets- "Realities"
The Fire- Aides in the portrayal of illusions, ignorance
The Shadows- illusions
The Puppeteers- Manipulation, misrepresentation
The Painful Glare- The harshness of reality, the painful truth, the dizziness of freedom
The Echoes- The echoes are the same as the prisoners interpretations, only a replica of what really is, the manifestation of ignorance.
The Sun- Pure truth

Realm of Forms

"Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave?"
(Everything is Relative)

"And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them?"
(Language, communication, the expression of ideas and opinions, and ignorance)

"And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow?"
(Misinterpretation, limited perception)

To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images. (Fallacy, presumed truth, limited truth, illusionment)

"And now look again, and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error (Freedom). At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, (The dizziness of Freedom) and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; (The result of conditioning, denial) and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision,(Atonement, Self Actualization) -what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them, -- will he not be perplexed (differentiation)? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?

And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away (The harshness of reality) to take and take in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him? (Safety in collective thinking)

And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he 's forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities. (The Struggle)

He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world (coming to terms with reality). And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, (Illusions) and then the objects themselves;...

“And if they could talk to one another, don’t you think they’d suppose that the names they used applied to the things they see passing before them?” (They have given it a name but have not yet found the meaning)

If a prisoner says “That’s a book” he thinks that the word “book” refers to the very thing he is looking at. But he would be wrong. He’s only looking at a shadow. The real referent of the word “book” he cannot see. To see it, he would have to turn his head around. (Curiosity)

Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is. (Existential Awareness)

He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold? (...relevance of fire and light?)

Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness? (There is no turning back)

And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? (Misinterpretation, He would be disregarded, not taken seriously)Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; ( The comic playwright Aristophanes had mocked Socrates by portraying Plato's master, Socrates, as a foolish intellectual with his head in the clouds- Ignorance is Bliss.) and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death. (Seeing Wisdom as ignorance, condemning it- as the Athenians did Socrates)

Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted. (The Elite)

Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light. (Understanding)

Whereas, our argument shows that the power and capacity of learning exists in the soul already; and that just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole body, so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being, and of the brightest and best of being, or in other words, of the good. (True wisdom and awareness can only be chosen in entirety)

And whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to be akin to bodily qualities, for even when they are not originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and exercise, the of wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which always remains, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or, on the other hand, hurtful and useless. Did you never observe the narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue --how eager he is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he is the reverse of blind, but his keen eyesight is forced into the service of evil, and he is mischievous in proportion to his cleverness. (misappropriation of intelligence, Hitler, for example)

I mean that they remain in the upper world: but this must not be allowed; they must be made to descend again among the prisoners in the cave, and partake of their labors and honors, whether they are worth having or not. (We are all essentially dragged back into the realm of human drama, we must play the game)





The quest to help others in pursuit of enlightenment is often futile.

Likewise, we may acquire concepts by our perceptual experience of physical objects. But we would be mistaken if we thought that the concepts that we grasp were on the same level as the things we perceive.



Kierkegaards three speheres of existence