Common Crisis of Man

The great philosophers of old once asked themselves the most important philosophical question we can ask yourselves, "Is life worth living?"

Lately I have carried with me a constant confusion, and at times, a terror slightly beyond that of my consistent anxiety. This fear comes from a surmounting feeling of hopelessness- that perhaps everything that I had previously believed would make me happy, and have been conditioned to believe would make me happy, will not. And if these illusions of happiness will not make me happy, what will? Some would say that once the illusions are eliminated, all that can be left is truth. That may be a possibility, but is there happiness in that truth? Nevertheless what first proceeds this truth is an incredible state of confusion. And now that I find myself suddenly so confused, I worry. I worry because I see this procession of human thought as linear. It is linear because we are first raised with fantasies, and illusions, and conditioned to believe that these ideas presented are both what we need as well as what we want. It seems to me, that many people never abandon this state of mind; that their thinking never evolves into a state of inquisition because any questioning will upset the fragile balance of their happiness, even if it is an illusion. So now I have to ask myself what is more important? When I find myself deceiving myself, and choosing to believe not what I know to be true, but what I wish to believe is true- I do find myself happier. Oftentimes the truth is not pleasing. However, the illusions I create through denial are bound not to last, setting me back even further down the road, coming to the same conclusions I have all ready come to but chosen not to acknowledge.
This linear procession of human thought, operates on states of consciousness. We live in a world of varied consciousness. While some are awake, others are still asleep, and some are in this process of awakening. The state of sleep, in this metaphorical sense, is just the same as it is in it's physical sense. The thought process during sleep operates on dreams, illusions, fantasies- they are not what we would traditionally refer to as 'real'. Ralph Ellison does a good job describing these people in his story The Invisible Man. He says, "I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me...When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination-indeed everything and anything except me." These people he refers to are the sleepwalkers- those who have not yet awoke into a state of awareness. The sleepwalkers have poor vision, often bumping into him (who is awake) and he finds himself inadvertently pushing them back. He tells a story in which he near beat a man to death for bumping into him on the street and refusing to apologize. His excessive violence stemmed from the resentment he had acquired all this time of not being 'seen'. He resorted to violence in an attempt to demand that people recognize his existence. After near beating the man to death he looked down at him and suddenly realized that it was not his fault, he was a sleepwalker and he simply did not see him. After this discovery, Ellison now says, "I remember that I am invisible and walk softly so as not to awaken the sleeping ones. Sometimes it is best not to awaken them: there are few things in the world as dangerous as sleepwalkers."
What it is like to be awake on the other hand, I do not know. I imagine that it is a state of pure being, of actualization and awareness: A state of clear vision, where the truth can be seen, and differentiated from the falsities of this world. I do not know, because I have not experienced this. Instead, I find myself in that transition period. Stuck in not a state but a process. I'm not asleep, but not quite awake either. My confusion comes from when the dreams and the illusions that have not yet completely escaped my mind, are mixed with the authenticity (I would get in trouble for saying 'reality') of a conscious state of mind. So here I am, waking up, but not yet quite sure, not yet completely able to differentiate what is authentic, from what is an illusion. Or, then again, maybe I have. And I think that I have, merely because I find myself now suddenly more afraid than I have ever been. Or at least, I find myself suddenly courageous enough to admit these fears. Now this is where I have began to become worried. There are one of two things that can happen to me now. Because this process of awakening is linear, it is not a possibility for me to ever go back the way I came. Or I could go back, but in doing so I would be greatly betraying myself and others, and it would require much cowardice and lack of integrity to do so. So instead, I could become lost in my confusion, descending into hopelessness and meaninglessness, and never escaping from this state of mind, as though it were quicksand. This quicksand I suppose, is a sort of Nihilism, and it has not yet completely sucked me down because I have not abandoned the concepts of meaning and value- to me my existence still has both. However, in my struggle to let go of the illusions, I fear that there can be little happiness in my future. Now I find myself afraid that the things I find meaningful, or once found meaningful, were part of the illusion, and as they dissipate, so then does meaning.
Heidegger and Camus say that, "The only reality is 'anxiety' in the whole chain of beings. To the man lost in the world and its diversions this anxiety is a brief, fleeting fear. But if that fear becomes conscious of itself, it becomes anguish, the perpetual climate of the lucid man in whom existence is concentrated." These fears of my own have recently been outed, and acknowledged, and so I find myself a subtle step closer to solving this 'problem'. But then I worry again, because as I find myself in the exact state of mind that Heidegger and Camus explained, Heidegger says also that, "The world can no longer offer anything to the man filled with anguish." It is during this period, as Camus explains, that the question of suicide frequently becomes an issue and he asks, "Is one to die voluntarily or to hope in spite of everything?"
This anguish must be able to be defeated, as those who have awoke have overcome it before. As I dismantle the illusions, as everything I've been conditioned to believe in falls away, in order to not slip into a state of reckless abandon- is my only option to have hope? Is the only option to believe that after I recover from this transition that I can still find meaning in this world- "in spite of everything?"
Throughout my life I have found myself not so much unhappy, but even in happiness always possessing an underlying feeling of discontent. I do not mean discontent in the sense that I was unsatisfied with what I had, or was concerned in wanting. What I mean rather is that what I had been told and made to believe as 'truths' did not satisfy me. They were never enough to make me ever cease to stop asking questions. There were times when I was about nineteen or so, that I would stop at the state park on my way home from work. I got there around dawn and I would sit and watch the sun rise reflect over the lake, this was my favorite place to gather my thoughts. This was during a very happy period in my life, when my heart had felt lighter than it had in years. Sometimes I even had my guitar with me, and would sit and play and sing. What may seem strange and contrary to this memory however, is that this lake had a dam, which I use to sit on the ledge of and stare down below. Even in these most lucid moments of happiness, I would let my feet dangle over the ledge of this dam and found myself wondering how far down it was. I wondered if I were to leap from the edge what would happen. The water was shallow, but was the moss too soft? But more importantly, I thought of all the reasons why I should not choose to leap from the edge. It is strange though, that at a period when I know that I was so happy, when standing on the brink of death I still did not hesitate to contemplate. I wonder, if I were to go back to that spot, and throw my feet over the edge and stare into the ravine below, what conclusions would I come too? Perhaps that is the thing to do, maybe everything that is meaningful, that will transcend this period of confusion and hopelessness will make itself apparent. Maybe it won't. Either way I am determined to survive.

Relative Consciousness

Sleep, they say, is the cousin of death. And sleep, most would assume, is far more pleasant an acquaintance than death. The encounters between sleep and I are rare but agreeable. I dream lucidly, and by this I mean far more lucidly than I could ever hope to live. And so rather than the cousin of death, I see sleep as the cousin of life. A dream versus a waking dream. A vision versus reality. But who is to say who wins this battle? Why is it that reality is the presumed victor by default? Now if my encounters with sleep were to be a little more frequent than my encounters with waking life, what makes my dreams any less real than my worldly 'reality'? Denial? It is possible. The only differentiation between the two is physicality and perhaps you could say third-party affirmation. It is a debate of authentic living versus a state of being. Nonetheless, whether real or unreal- Sleep is my only worldly savior.

And as for this cousin, Death, we have never met. However I'm sure that we've come close, possibly grazing past each other on the street, standing next to each other in line at the bank, or maybe sitting next to each other on a plane. I'll never know for certain how close we have come to meeting, or how frequent these encounters were. What I do know is that the terror of Death's reputation exceeds the reality of its existence. I've got a date with Death, as we've all got a date with Death- at an undisclosed time, at an undisclosed place- a blind date to its fullest definition. Death will come dressed suavely in darkness, with a hand full of blood red roses to affirm my greatest fears. Embracing me sternly yet sympathetically as I get lost in its darkness and descend into the unknown. Though abrupt, though often uninvited, the embrace is relieving, thoughtful, complete- Death is my eternal savior.

Far worse than those who have fallen into the arms of Death are those who are plagued with Heartbreak. Armed and dangerous is this Heartbreak, a black plague who creeps up on you- numbing your senses and dulling your value. This menace, this tormentor, far more dangerous than death, wraps its cold hands around your heart, threatening to strangle you of whats left of life. It seeps into your brain weaving black lies into your thoughts, until you nearly believe that there really is nothing left. It paralyzes you with despair, beckoning, willing you to give in. It asks you to recall a time when you have ever felt more pain. It asks you to recall a time when you have ever felt more hopelessness. It asks you to recall a time when you have ever felt more lost, more alone. It smothers you with anxiety, it robs you of your certainty. There is no comfort here, no, Heartbreak drags you down to a far colder place. The chill in the air is unfathomable. Slowly you begin to grow colder, more hardened, your heart turning to an icy frosted glass. It's pretty, but untouchable, and far more fragile than ever before. The battle against it can be won but its a long and enduring battle, a battle which can only be won by great strength, endurance, and resilience. The fight against Heartbreak is essential to Life, or it will kill us, poisoning us slowly with its parasitic kiss. Heartbreak is the destructor, the villain, the father of Resentment, Paranoia, and Fear. Heartbreak is the evil twin of Death, robbing us of more life than death could ever imagine...

May 2006

...I also had a conversation that was the most interesting because for the first time today I found myself crying. Because he was forcing me to see reality, not only that, but he reminded me a lot of someone else I know. He reminded me a lot of me.
Tonight was one of those chilly rainy nights. I got back inside from being on the front porch for a few hours. I sat in a swing wrapped in a big comforter, watching the blinking lights, (Since it's all I can really see anyway) and listening to the rain.
I started to do a lot of thinking.
I thought for one how my grandma would kill me if she saw me smoking, and then I thought about my grandpa sitting next to me, and I figured he would understand.
Then I laughed because I thought of how against it I used to be...but I suddenly found it in this moment to be therapeutic. I calmed down a lot.
So then I thought about change. Not if I like change, or if I don't like it, but that life forces you to appreciate it. I got in touch with myself tonight. I felt a lot like the old me. But at the same time, I've been through so much since then, I really felt like a new me.
I've met a lot of fascinating people in my life, and they have come and gone but always left an impression, and that is what's important. You are fascinating. You left an impression on me. You've came, you're not quite gone, but whatever happens isn't important. What's important is what I've learned along the way.
I realize now that I've changed a lot in the past weeks, and I've been in denial because I don't particularly like how I've changed. I realized this the other night when I found myself completely smashed but telling people that I'm really a smart girl. I had to tell them because I didn't feel like who I was, I felt like I was being an idiot. I don't like that.
You may have changed in your own way, we all do. And I appreciate that as well. Someone mentioned tonight that I have a lot of hope, and I do, which is why I told him I am trying so hard not to fight. When we feel like we have nothing else, we have to have hope. And perhaps I have hope that you'll change you're mind, you'll see things differently, maybe you'll see me how you use to again. But I told him there is one thing more important to me right now, and that is to respect your wishes. He surprisingly said that I have to fight, you have to fight for what you love, that's life. Even so, I said no, because it's not about me. It's about me really wanting you to be happy, whether I'm what makes you happy or not. And I realized then, I thought about all the times I wondered if I was really in love with someone- it occurred to me that I fought back then, I fought for my pride, I fought for comfort, I fought for what I thought I wanted....but I didn't think about what was best for him. I was selfish.
So I realized tonight sitting on my porch thinking back through what I said. I've learned something surprisingly important. I've learned what love really is. It's when you can finally have the courage to be completely selfless, because you care enough about someone else more than yourself. And the fact that I made the decision to let you do what you need to do to make you happy.
I've won something better than I would have if I would have chose to fight this. I won respect for myself, because I've finally answered my question as to what it really means to truly love someone. It means let them go if they want to go, let them live their life how they want- it means to set them free.
So in the end, I don't know if I'm quite happy, but I'm content. And I'm happy with myself.

I painted an angel tonight.

It was a blue angel, shades of blue. And it had its head in its hands crying. I didn't even feel sad then, I just painted what I didn't know was in my heart. I called it my "angel of anxiety"...

I find it ironic, because a few hours later I found myself next door. Conveniently there is a church next door, clinging to a set of black rosary beads and leaning against the church door in the rain, crying and praying because I don't know what else to do. I suppose I fabricated my own broken angel.

I'm not even Catholic, I guess the beads were just me clinging to hope.

When you feel empty, when you feel hopeless, when you feel alone, where else do you turn?

There are only a few times in my life where I abandon my usual stubborn pride and find myself asking God for help, admitting that I can't get by on my own, admitting that I don't have all the answers, admitting that I need him.

I always said that you know where your heart really lies in your darkest hours. When you have no where else to turn.

I wish I would learn to remember that always.

And that rain, it's been raining for five days. I know the last time I was in this position, it rained for seven days. Liz said it wouldn't stop raining because I was so sad.

It's suppose to rain all week.

Convenient.

I know more than anyone that you cannot change fate. Fate is what it is.

I can lie on the floor, I can cry, I can sleep to avoid the pain I feel, all things things I want to do. But I'm not going to.
Because tomorrow, the sun will rise.
Tomorrow other people will need my prayers more than I do.

Tonight I'll pray but not just for me, for once I won't be selfish.
I'll pray for those I've hurt, for those who've hurt me, and for those who need it most.

Life goes on, but not alone.

----------------

Impending sense of doom

or....impending sense of entrapment.

I was talking about trust the other night, and I've realized there is only one person I've ever met in my life that I completely trusted...and under the circumstances, I'm not sure why...

I had an interesting relationship a while back, of which I've thought a lot about lately.

A lot of good things came out of that relationship.
Conversation
Inspiration
Encouragement
Philosophy...

It's not that I miss this specific relationship...but I miss these things.

I seem to have found a dire need for conversation lately...not just casual conversation...there are just some things you want to talk about, because you have to, because you need to in order to realize who you are...but unfortunately I've come to accept, that receptors for this sort of thing are lacking....and I am craving it.

I write letters instead. Letters to add to the many other letters unsent. Letters I've never had any intentions of sending...letters I've written since my preteen years...journal pages filled, but everyone addressed....to the people I love, to my father, to God....Letters filled with questions that I ask, knowing I will receive no answers. No answers from the person I'm writing, since they will never read it. But at the same time, this is exactly how I find those answers...

Back in my days filled with chemical imbalance, I went through a lot of counseling. Not because there was anything wrong with me...I was just a young girl to curious and to...discontent with what I knew. Or to discontent with what I wanted to know. I wouldn't say I was pessimistic, just uneasy with living life in blind happiness when there was so much sadness in the world. I felt guilty for every smile.

That wasn't the point. The point is that I like to learn...and I had all ready pre-read my aunts book titled "The Art of Counseling". One of the key things I remembered that I always found ironic was when the book explained that one of the keys to effective counseling, is silence. I remember sitting in the dim office of my first counselor....while he asked me one single question and just listened to me talk. When I was done talking we'd just sit there, and he would look at me without saying a word. I guess if you've never been lucky enough to enjoy the experience of counseling....you would expect questions, why's, and what's...who's...But that's not how it works.
During one of these moments of silence I started smirking, and I told him that I knew what he was doing...he asked me to explain...

"The key to counseling is silence, you let a person talk and when they're done you say nothing, because this gives them the opportunity to delve into their inner thoughts and in turn solve their own problems."

He was impressed, but what a waste of money.

So that's it, that right there is the point to the letters. I write, as if I were talking to someone else...but then I just read over them...and I realize what I'm actually saying. I realize what I want to hear. I find answers to my own questions.

But I'm bored...for the sake of expanding philosophy I need someone for discussion. I miss that.

I find that you can spend (or waste) a lot of time trying to impress people. I know I've had a habit of selling myself. It was like a sales pitch when I'd meet someone, I had to convince them of my talents, or my finer points. It really took me awhile to realize it was sad and a waste of time. I stopped selling myself to people...eventually they are going to find out who I am, what I'm about, my strong points, my weak points...everything. I can try to pitch anything I want, if it's not me...they are going to find out....if it is me, why bother....if they are important they will be around long enough to find out anyway.

This is where encouragement collides with inspiration...

There are a lot of things I know, or can do...that others can't. But then again, a lot of others can also do those same things better than me. I suppose it's just how you choose to live your life. Either backing down and saying well I'm not the best, so why bother? Then sometimes all it takes is one person in your life to encourage you....to say why don't you do this, try this, do it....do it...do it. They make it sound like there are so many opportunities out there...all you have to do is have the courage to make it happen. The person who has encouraged me the most is also a person that I once said couldn't face reality....he was to busy living in a world he created, that he couldn't keep his feet on the ground. Maybe that's one way to look at it....but then again there are other times where I see what he's doing and I am a little jealous....but really proud. That person is a rolling stone...he was born to be, and he won't die happy unless he goes out and sees the world and exercises his talents to their fullest potential. Those are the kinds of people we need....they come, they go...they roll right through your life, but somehow they manage to leave an impact on you that you will never forget, even if it was there for the briefest of moments.

I guess tonight was one of those nights where I was feeling kind of lonely...craving conversation, and these other things I miss. But I remember all my old conversations, and I remember someone telling me to get out of here, that I don't belong here....that I'm meant to go out and see the world and learn as much as I can and write about it and meet new people, and learn, and teach, and live.

Sometimes I feel like I'm wasting my time here.

Then I know that tomorrow morning I will wake up and my day will consist of laughter, it will consist of smiles, it will consist of many moments of happiness, just like all of my days. I need to start somewhere, and I suppose that there is no point in being discontent with where you are. There are a lot of people here to meet, with a lot of stories to tell. So despite the fact that I may feel a little left behind, that I'm behind in school because of my timing and general aggravation and disinterest...I am content.

My grandma told me that God never gives us more than we can handle...

Let's plunge ourselves into the roar of time, the whirl of accident; may pain and pleasure, success and failure, shift as they will -- it's only action that can make a man.

GOETHE