I know it has been a while, and part of what has been going on is moving over to Tumblr ...
For future posts, and all things existential-phenomenological-spiritual, head over to:
http://existentialpants.tumblr.com/
Do it, because I'm still around.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
Thankful for the Accident
It is another Earth, not this one. It is some other dimension, not here. Dark and terrifying, the world operates solely upon greed and pleasure, wealth and power. With little toward which to live faithfully here, individuals sense a dearth of ambitions beyond comfort, materialistic wealth, and power. How did such a place come to be? The unthinkable (some might say 'the obvious') occurred: God, anyone's god, was revealed as false, a myth, a pacifying story. Somehow (and I have no clue as to how such would be scientifically possible), scientists reached the end of the universe, the terminus of space & time and found God's office empty, beholding a mere weathered note on the desk reading, "Gotcha!" Instead of divine inspiration, they found the makings of a mere cosmological accident (let us presently ignore from where this accident arose). In sum, this parallel world enters the anguishing times of a surely godless life. Hereupon resides the aforementioned nihilistic throws of pure hedonism presently consuming this world.
Somehow, you exist as one of the mere handful of those continuing to find meaning in personal morality, embracing compassion and love in spite of the absence of higher origins. Weathering this world into your older years, or until plagued by some unfortunate disease prior to "your time," you currently find yourself laying upon what is considered one's deathbed. Are you fearful of the certain nothingness to ensue? Are you glad to be rid of this body and meaningless world plagued by suffering? Difficult to say. What you do sense creeping over you, though, arises as significantly unexpected. Longingly viewing those around you through the blurred streaks of tears, you mournfully take in the presence of your children, dear friends, and even your loyal pet unwilling to be removed from the foot of the bed. Gently at first, then more akin to the rush of a potent drug, what you unmistakably experience is gratitude. Making no sense given your life was not 'presented' to you in a gift like fashion, you nonetheless embrace the spirited yearning into every nook and cranny of your being.
This unheard of and foreign reaction to your imminent nonbeing seemingly defies all logic. Not to worry, doctors and scientist will posthumously refute such nonsense as a mere rush of endorphins and dopamine, natural to the brain's preparation for death. "People do crazy things on their deathbed," they explain. "They will forgive others, bestow fortunes upon charity, and even confess to a life wasted and unlived in pleasure rather than meaning," they confidently finish, cleaning their hands of the matter. So, is it a neurological torrent of chemicals, seemingly unleashed in a last hoorah of chaos (and if so, why)? Or, in reflection and contemplation, does one perceive existence more lucidly than ever before, as one's final moments usher in thoughts of that which matters most?
And what about the anger commonly accompanying one's awareness of imminent mortality? Does the enragement at dying negate the gratitude experienced? Does this point to the senselessness of all of this? Or, on the other hand, does anger arise from the awareness that life was mostly just good, and to be thieved of this is just simply lousy? Seemingly, then, there is some logic to anger residing alongside gratitude. Perhaps, the two really point in the same direction.
What does this gratitude signify, then? Honestly, the more I contemplate this sense, the more I find the feeling-blessed-by-my-unexplainable-existence & existential accountability essentially analogous. Isn't to treat an element with thanks and appreciation to respect its worth and act accordingly? Isn't to not waste a finite life, due to its oddly blessed quality, exercising responsibility in the gift of existence? And to be thankful, to feel as though one's soul was gifted, does that imply a giver? What does it all mean? I just don't know.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
On finding the green pastures
As rocks scatter raucously into a wind-torn face, you reach for another foothold; The mountainous summit nears. Toiling and suffering through the grit of discomfort and pain, you sense in your heart-of-hearts that the destination is close at hand. Beyond the apex resides the lush, green valley of paradise. Following the constant burdens of life, the fearless and passionate labors in which you have endeavored, you shall finally obtain peace. Moreover, as the destination, this particular rest will endure, not tease as a fleeting moment in anticipation of more struggles and suffering.
In my own life, in my friends' and family's lives, in the clinical setting, such narratives and portrayals of life abound. In remaining transparent, I experience such a feeling likely as much as anyone else, maybe more. "Once dissertation is done; once grad school is behind me; once I repay these confounded loans, life will find resolution. Worries and constant pain will subside. Life will finally be as it should: endlessly blissful and utterly comfortable. Simply, put this ends my encounter with suffering."
Existential philosophers, psychologists, and other theorists of sorts differ in their discussion and portrayal of suffering. Some fail to discuss it. Some skillfully intertwine it within certain existential givens, such as death & mortality. Brave others, however, posit suffering as an existential given in itself, meriting thoughtful respect and contemplation. In other words, suffering is irresolvable, a dilemma necessitating a living-into rather than a resolving or bypassing-of. What I am trying to say is , perhaps the green pasture of relaxation and paradise fails to exist, at least within this existence. More on that another time, though....
Therapeutically journeying-through this life-given becomes complex, as the pained individual longingly gazes your way through tear-welling eyes, silently asking for a cure, for relief. In this situation, empty hands of helplessness (particularly from she/he whom was hired to help) appear as especially foreboding. So, then, what do we do?
Albert Ellis, a therapist certainly not of the existential bent, offered the therapeutic statement, "I may not be able to change this particular thing, but I can still live a good life anyway." Incidentally, existential psychologists adopted this sort of attitude, as it does, indeed, provide a living-into in spite of natural limitations of an earthly existence.
I get it. Still, while this makes moderate therapeutic sense, one encounters a dilemma upon the utterance of "good life." Any good existential thinker should pause upon such an ambiguous, or even leading, phrase. What does one indicate by a "good life?" Joy and pleasure? Comfort and painlessness? Careful how you tread, for once you erect the walls of the "good life" in such a manner, yourself or the individual with which you sit suddenly becomes constricted and herded in a certain direction. "Is this author/blogger mad?" you understandably inquire of me. "Happiness and comfort as the goals of life is just plain common sense," you urge. Yes, I agree. But dismissing the idea of a Divine as superstitious is also "common sense," and I would never propose one abandon the possibility of heavenly other-ness.
In truth, "common sense" merely exists as a fancy and shaming translation for "socially popular." With an air of punitive authority, "common sense" orders us to fall back in line. As such, in aiming toward the "good life" in spite of suffering one encounters an aporia (an irresolvable philosophical dilemma, one without solution). Take the hypothetical client sitting across from you, enduring agonizing and relentless emotional suffering: you yearn to save them, ease them away from the pain, yes? Yet, as you allow their lived experience of existence to unfold, you find that it is precisely their absurd (as in, unexplainable and unearned) blessedness in life that invites torment. With financial security, relative health, and opportunity, this individual benefits from a seemingly bountiful life. However, in a world where animals are bred, within cages for the duration of their life, only to be butchered and served as a meal... this individual feels, in the most real sensation imaginable, undeserving of "the good life."
Well, Albert Ellis, what now? This individual is irrational, maybe even psychotic, not your problem? Or, on the contrary, does this individual experience reality and throwness with such heart that they cannot help but to care? So, then, what life are they to live now? What is "help" for this individual?
Throw in the idea of Divine creation, and we have a real pot-luck going. But alas, let us leave that for another time...
In my own life, in my friends' and family's lives, in the clinical setting, such narratives and portrayals of life abound. In remaining transparent, I experience such a feeling likely as much as anyone else, maybe more. "Once dissertation is done; once grad school is behind me; once I repay these confounded loans, life will find resolution. Worries and constant pain will subside. Life will finally be as it should: endlessly blissful and utterly comfortable. Simply, put this ends my encounter with suffering."
Existential philosophers, psychologists, and other theorists of sorts differ in their discussion and portrayal of suffering. Some fail to discuss it. Some skillfully intertwine it within certain existential givens, such as death & mortality. Brave others, however, posit suffering as an existential given in itself, meriting thoughtful respect and contemplation. In other words, suffering is irresolvable, a dilemma necessitating a living-into rather than a resolving or bypassing-of. What I am trying to say is , perhaps the green pasture of relaxation and paradise fails to exist, at least within this existence. More on that another time, though....
Therapeutically journeying-through this life-given becomes complex, as the pained individual longingly gazes your way through tear-welling eyes, silently asking for a cure, for relief. In this situation, empty hands of helplessness (particularly from she/he whom was hired to help) appear as especially foreboding. So, then, what do we do?
Albert Ellis, a therapist certainly not of the existential bent, offered the therapeutic statement, "I may not be able to change this particular thing, but I can still live a good life anyway." Incidentally, existential psychologists adopted this sort of attitude, as it does, indeed, provide a living-into in spite of natural limitations of an earthly existence.
I get it. Still, while this makes moderate therapeutic sense, one encounters a dilemma upon the utterance of "good life." Any good existential thinker should pause upon such an ambiguous, or even leading, phrase. What does one indicate by a "good life?" Joy and pleasure? Comfort and painlessness? Careful how you tread, for once you erect the walls of the "good life" in such a manner, yourself or the individual with which you sit suddenly becomes constricted and herded in a certain direction. "Is this author/blogger mad?" you understandably inquire of me. "Happiness and comfort as the goals of life is just plain common sense," you urge. Yes, I agree. But dismissing the idea of a Divine as superstitious is also "common sense," and I would never propose one abandon the possibility of heavenly other-ness.
In truth, "common sense" merely exists as a fancy and shaming translation for "socially popular." With an air of punitive authority, "common sense" orders us to fall back in line. As such, in aiming toward the "good life" in spite of suffering one encounters an aporia (an irresolvable philosophical dilemma, one without solution). Take the hypothetical client sitting across from you, enduring agonizing and relentless emotional suffering: you yearn to save them, ease them away from the pain, yes? Yet, as you allow their lived experience of existence to unfold, you find that it is precisely their absurd (as in, unexplainable and unearned) blessedness in life that invites torment. With financial security, relative health, and opportunity, this individual benefits from a seemingly bountiful life. However, in a world where animals are bred, within cages for the duration of their life, only to be butchered and served as a meal... this individual feels, in the most real sensation imaginable, undeserving of "the good life."
Well, Albert Ellis, what now? This individual is irrational, maybe even psychotic, not your problem? Or, on the contrary, does this individual experience reality and throwness with such heart that they cannot help but to care? So, then, what life are they to live now? What is "help" for this individual?
Throw in the idea of Divine creation, and we have a real pot-luck going. But alas, let us leave that for another time...
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Deconstructing the 'Pathology' of Serious
Undeniably, the tired phrase had previously befallen my ears countless times. Still, scrolling the incessant facebook 'news feed,' I run across a 'friend's' deeply philosophical proclamation. Urging fellow humans to relax casually into the comforts of the world, he boldly asserts, "Don't take life so seriously; no one gets out alive anyway." Deep, I know. I may have, indeed, 'de-friended' this facebook connection that instant. In doing some pseudo-online-investigation, I located 2 highly unreliable sources indicating the source of said quote as one Frank Arduini, a name completely unfamiliar to myself. Essentially, the origin matters little (although the hermeneutical context could reveal so very much).
During my investigation, I happened upon many similar statements, frequently from historically famous literary voices. Apparently, Oscar Wilde quipped, "Life is too important to be taken seriously." While vacillating throughout his life, Mark Twain was also known to criticism the seriousness and striving toward transcendence in life.
Why has this banal phrase become so popular as a decry of the youth? Unearthing pain and failure, is engaging life in an attitude of fortitude and purpose, perhaps, too discomforting, too far from the comfortable couch of the suburban home and TiVo for most to justify? I wonder aloud, then, are you urging me toward relaxing-in-life due to your care for my wellbeing, or are you simply attempting to persuade yourself that your passive endurance of the mundane is how one should live? That is, does your neighbor's passionate striving and struggling through life discomfort you?
The question is "why not?", why not engage life in manner of sincerity and resolve? Rebutting with the wise words of, "because no one gets out alive" arises as a paradoxical fallacy. Whether through a Divine act of soul-on-earth or the absurd randomness of human's evolving from a mere accidental universe, one must recognize the blessedness shimmering through our unfathomable opportunity to live as humans, to simply be alive, a circumstance for which we have no answer. Simply, it is because we fail to attain immortality (at least here, in any form of which we know) that life surfaces as meaningful, as ultimately important.
Consider a scene from the gloriously existential program Six Feet Under: Making funeral preparations for a recently widowed women, Nate is posed a question of life-and-death. Wrought and void of meaning in life, the widow inquires, "Why does God make life so short?" Pausing momentarily, but surprisingly unnerved, Nate replies thoughtfully and brimming with sincerity, "I think, to make it special." That is, if immortal, one surrenders the urgency toward living. Forever possessing more time, one can always-and-ever "do it tomorrow." Mortality, as one of my mentors proclaimed, is God's greatest gift.
Contemplating in joy and wonder the vastness and possibility that is life , I readily acknowledge that there remains too much I wish to do given the brevity of life. So, then, I challenge you, why not take life seriously? Let us discontinue our pathologizing of individuals for being "stressed out" or "workaholics" or "never stopping to rest," if this is truly the manner in which they meaningfully wish to engage life. Why should I relax in life when there is so much to do? I respond, don't make me feel bad for engaging life just because you feel bad for disengaging from it, as it flies by your living room window with saddening rapidity. Take it seriously; go get it.
During my investigation, I happened upon many similar statements, frequently from historically famous literary voices. Apparently, Oscar Wilde quipped, "Life is too important to be taken seriously." While vacillating throughout his life, Mark Twain was also known to criticism the seriousness and striving toward transcendence in life.
Why has this banal phrase become so popular as a decry of the youth? Unearthing pain and failure, is engaging life in an attitude of fortitude and purpose, perhaps, too discomforting, too far from the comfortable couch of the suburban home and TiVo for most to justify? I wonder aloud, then, are you urging me toward relaxing-in-life due to your care for my wellbeing, or are you simply attempting to persuade yourself that your passive endurance of the mundane is how one should live? That is, does your neighbor's passionate striving and struggling through life discomfort you?
The question is "why not?", why not engage life in manner of sincerity and resolve? Rebutting with the wise words of, "because no one gets out alive" arises as a paradoxical fallacy. Whether through a Divine act of soul-on-earth or the absurd randomness of human's evolving from a mere accidental universe, one must recognize the blessedness shimmering through our unfathomable opportunity to live as humans, to simply be alive, a circumstance for which we have no answer. Simply, it is because we fail to attain immortality (at least here, in any form of which we know) that life surfaces as meaningful, as ultimately important.
Consider a scene from the gloriously existential program Six Feet Under: Making funeral preparations for a recently widowed women, Nate is posed a question of life-and-death. Wrought and void of meaning in life, the widow inquires, "Why does God make life so short?" Pausing momentarily, but surprisingly unnerved, Nate replies thoughtfully and brimming with sincerity, "I think, to make it special." That is, if immortal, one surrenders the urgency toward living. Forever possessing more time, one can always-and-ever "do it tomorrow." Mortality, as one of my mentors proclaimed, is God's greatest gift.
Contemplating in joy and wonder the vastness and possibility that is life , I readily acknowledge that there remains too much I wish to do given the brevity of life. So, then, I challenge you, why not take life seriously? Let us discontinue our pathologizing of individuals for being "stressed out" or "workaholics" or "never stopping to rest," if this is truly the manner in which they meaningfully wish to engage life. Why should I relax in life when there is so much to do? I respond, don't make me feel bad for engaging life just because you feel bad for disengaging from it, as it flies by your living room window with saddening rapidity. Take it seriously; go get it.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Nihilism vs. Meaning ... or ... Nihilism AND Meaning?
Dreamily and lyrically, Hermann Hesse crafted a tale so plagued with unanswerable questions and challenges that many-a-caring high school English & Literature teacher insisted that the developing adolescent mind be exposed to such. In concert with phenomenological thought, I am certain that each teacher possesses utterly unique reasons for engaging young minds with such a text, whether it be to illustrate to the (perhaps banal portrayal of) the 'all-knowing' teen that the universe possesses innumerable unknowns, or whether it be to illustrate that sometimes 'maturity' simply means following one's sometimes irrational heartfelt longings, even if that means brashly not following that which is popular and willfully outcasting oneself from acceptable society. I don't know, maybe I'm being too optimistic that there are such existentially-aiming or existentially-attuned high school literature professors (or maybe I am not giving enough credit to the moving endeavors of early educators...likely this much of the time). I will discuss at a later time the idea if one can ever be existentially-uninformed and, thus, not be existentially-aimed in their own unique manner. Again, another time...
In any case, the poetic Hesse offers a powerfully grave pondering through his protagonist, the spiritually wandering/seeking/questing Siddhartha:
"He saw merchants doing business, princes leaving for the hunt [...] and none of it was worth the trouble of his glance, it was all a lie, it all stank, it all stank of lies, it all gave the illusion of meaning and happiness and beauty, and it was all acknowledged decay. The world had a bitter taste. Life was torment" (Hesse, 1999, p. 7)
In a paradoxical amalgamation of concurrence and aversion, I encountered an unnerving and existentially-unraveling identification with Siddhartha. I vividly recall a placement in life where ambitions to "things," financial gains, and general comfort life seemed a worthy and reasonable goal, if not the goal of humankind. Viewing the life endeavors surrounding me, such consumeristic approaches to existence abounded. I believe that I, too, succumbed to Heidegger's 'The They' or Kierkegaard's 'The Crowd' ... the fallacy that if "all" seemingly find meaning in life in a similarly conforming manner, you too must 'fall into line,' for obviously this must be the meaning of life. Enter: "The American Dream." Clinically, this is where one may encounter an individual enveloped by the luxuries of materialistic life: 6-figure salary, large suburban mansion, SUV's, exotic vacations, and countless technological toys. Why, then, would such an individual who 'has it all' present for therapy? Because, underlying the societally-lauded 'success' remains an existential void, that all one does is mundane. One feels no desire to continue such a path. Befuddled themselves on how they can 'have it all' and still experience anxiety and discontent, they ask 'why am I not happy like everyone else?' (As a relevant aside - they frequently inquire why they can't be 'happy like everyone else' ... when, in fact, others feel the same ... also pointing to this particular client as 'happy' while they are not).
Ultimately, given this hypothetical individual is actually wrestling with the above, he/she may approach a horrifying and conclusion that, to life there exists no purpose & no meaning. Bestowed upon them as children and teens and maybe college students, the promise that things and status and comforts will satisfy the soul gradually (or abruptly and unexpectedly) deteriorates, rendering one groundless in life. Suddenly, existence reveals itself as a cruel accident (or divine joke...which makes little theological sense to me).
For Siddhartha, it was not really (at least, in my reading of it) that he was experiencing such a falling-out of the meaning of life. Rather, he appeared sickened by those deluding themselves into that concept that 'things' will satisfy the spirit. In that particular moment, he declared the human existence as and endless cycle of purposeless living; there existed no meaning to life. Saddened by such a mundane and absurd world, his answer was to depart, to spiritually flee the nihilistic cycle of life.
And here, in this nihilistic proclamation, I also encountered a dissonance with his 'answer' to a mundane and purposelessness existence. I will openly admit that an element in this diversion may be a fear of his terrifyingly accurate depiction of existence. I do conceding that living creatures (not solely humans, I maintain) are born into - 'thrown into' - a existence lacking an inherent meaning of life, hence the struggle with the belief that life is without purpose. However, resigning oneself to having to endure a meaningless life, and escape it for this reason like Siddhartha, neglects the wondrous freedom to shape one's ownmost meaning in life. The beauty, or perhaps Divine grace, is the allowance, the liberation to cultivate the life-purpose calling from within the heart of one's being. Random or Divine, I experience life as a blessing of which I am unworthy and fail to truly comprehend, not as a place to escape because we aren't externally bestowed with meaning.
In Siddhartha's defense (even though he is a fictional character), he was approaching the world from a Buddhist framework, rather than a philosophically existential modality (aren't we all existential, though?). Nevertheless, the fact remains that he was, his life meaning was a devotion to this quest of discovering another plane of existence, a spiritual transcendence in service. This all seem like existential meaning to me: motivating forces driving him into passionate living.
cultivating his ownmost meaning. Relinquishing comforts and accepting suffering was undeniably meaningful. Further, while looking to escape in manner
Moreover, I was in awe of his abandonment of possessions and comforts, while concurrently questioning if my comforts and possessions were a superficial manner of living? Granted, I no longer desire the multiple houses, countless amenities and toys. Still, I possess things I enjoy. I own a number of expensive musical instruments and recording equipment, and I find my meaning in moving others through song, or writing this pondering on a Mac computer. Nevertheless, in Siddhartha's ability to embrace suffering and minimize his own 'suffering footprint' on the rest of the world...I experience guilt. It is difficult reconcile, perhaps impossible.
But if I am truly being existential, banishing the idea of a 'correct' manner in living and existing, can I say that these people with ambitions in materials and comforts as 'incorrect?' Or is this my own religious coloring to existence? Or is it that I suspect that these individuals, if allowing such deep and unutterable acknowledgments to surface - that at their core being they feel absolutely void and empty - they would find 'things' as lacking any fulfillment of the soul? I must strive to be fair and respect all individuals' unique life purposes, however much they rub against my own. Oh, but it is so difficult sometimes.
In any case, the poetic Hesse offers a powerfully grave pondering through his protagonist, the spiritually wandering/seeking/questing Siddhartha:
"He saw merchants doing business, princes leaving for the hunt [...] and none of it was worth the trouble of his glance, it was all a lie, it all stank, it all stank of lies, it all gave the illusion of meaning and happiness and beauty, and it was all acknowledged decay. The world had a bitter taste. Life was torment" (Hesse, 1999, p. 7)
In a paradoxical amalgamation of concurrence and aversion, I encountered an unnerving and existentially-unraveling identification with Siddhartha. I vividly recall a placement in life where ambitions to "things," financial gains, and general comfort life seemed a worthy and reasonable goal, if not the goal of humankind. Viewing the life endeavors surrounding me, such consumeristic approaches to existence abounded. I believe that I, too, succumbed to Heidegger's 'The They' or Kierkegaard's 'The Crowd' ... the fallacy that if "all" seemingly find meaning in life in a similarly conforming manner, you too must 'fall into line,' for obviously this must be the meaning of life. Enter: "The American Dream." Clinically, this is where one may encounter an individual enveloped by the luxuries of materialistic life: 6-figure salary, large suburban mansion, SUV's, exotic vacations, and countless technological toys. Why, then, would such an individual who 'has it all' present for therapy? Because, underlying the societally-lauded 'success' remains an existential void, that all one does is mundane. One feels no desire to continue such a path. Befuddled themselves on how they can 'have it all' and still experience anxiety and discontent, they ask 'why am I not happy like everyone else?' (As a relevant aside - they frequently inquire why they can't be 'happy like everyone else' ... when, in fact, others feel the same ... also pointing to this particular client as 'happy' while they are not).
Ultimately, given this hypothetical individual is actually wrestling with the above, he/she may approach a horrifying and conclusion that, to life there exists no purpose & no meaning. Bestowed upon them as children and teens and maybe college students, the promise that things and status and comforts will satisfy the soul gradually (or abruptly and unexpectedly) deteriorates, rendering one groundless in life. Suddenly, existence reveals itself as a cruel accident (or divine joke...which makes little theological sense to me).
For Siddhartha, it was not really (at least, in my reading of it) that he was experiencing such a falling-out of the meaning of life. Rather, he appeared sickened by those deluding themselves into that concept that 'things' will satisfy the spirit. In that particular moment, he declared the human existence as and endless cycle of purposeless living; there existed no meaning to life. Saddened by such a mundane and absurd world, his answer was to depart, to spiritually flee the nihilistic cycle of life.
And here, in this nihilistic proclamation, I also encountered a dissonance with his 'answer' to a mundane and purposelessness existence. I will openly admit that an element in this diversion may be a fear of his terrifyingly accurate depiction of existence. I do conceding that living creatures (not solely humans, I maintain) are born into - 'thrown into' - a existence lacking an inherent meaning of life, hence the struggle with the belief that life is without purpose. However, resigning oneself to having to endure a meaningless life, and escape it for this reason like Siddhartha, neglects the wondrous freedom to shape one's ownmost meaning in life. The beauty, or perhaps Divine grace, is the allowance, the liberation to cultivate the life-purpose calling from within the heart of one's being. Random or Divine, I experience life as a blessing of which I am unworthy and fail to truly comprehend, not as a place to escape because we aren't externally bestowed with meaning.
In Siddhartha's defense (even though he is a fictional character), he was approaching the world from a Buddhist framework, rather than a philosophically existential modality (aren't we all existential, though?). Nevertheless, the fact remains that he was, his life meaning was a devotion to this quest of discovering another plane of existence, a spiritual transcendence in service. This all seem like existential meaning to me: motivating forces driving him into passionate living.
cultivating his ownmost meaning. Relinquishing comforts and accepting suffering was undeniably meaningful. Further, while looking to escape in manner
Moreover, I was in awe of his abandonment of possessions and comforts, while concurrently questioning if my comforts and possessions were a superficial manner of living? Granted, I no longer desire the multiple houses, countless amenities and toys. Still, I possess things I enjoy. I own a number of expensive musical instruments and recording equipment, and I find my meaning in moving others through song, or writing this pondering on a Mac computer. Nevertheless, in Siddhartha's ability to embrace suffering and minimize his own 'suffering footprint' on the rest of the world...I experience guilt. It is difficult reconcile, perhaps impossible.
But if I am truly being existential, banishing the idea of a 'correct' manner in living and existing, can I say that these people with ambitions in materials and comforts as 'incorrect?' Or is this my own religious coloring to existence? Or is it that I suspect that these individuals, if allowing such deep and unutterable acknowledgments to surface - that at their core being they feel absolutely void and empty - they would find 'things' as lacking any fulfillment of the soul? I must strive to be fair and respect all individuals' unique life purposes, however much they rub against my own. Oh, but it is so difficult sometimes.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
On the completion of Life
What is the problem? The problem is, remains, always-and-already one of time. The problem is, I have so much I wish to do, craving in a fervent spirit to engage the world in endlessly flourishing ways. Of course, I hope to record the album that perhaps touches a soul or two. I would like to eventually write something toward the existential, perhaps a formal book, perhaps a novel, perhaps both. I yearn to spend my days simply walking through the days of Autumn, crunching the dry leaves and watching the excitement of another school year in some small town in which I now reside. I hope to find God, maybe have a heart-to-heart with Him.
In my golden years, withered and wise, will I collapse into an old rocking chair with a sigh, relieved but exhausted to finally have completed life's rich endeavors? I doubt it! Will a time surface when life has been "finished" and the lush valley of "relaxing" can begin? Unlikely. The problem remains, always-and-already, that life is incomplete by nature. The difficulty is living into this, in spite of this. Then again, is this really the "problem" of life? Or, rather, is it that incompleteness which gives life, makes it full? Is being incomplete and finite a cosmic curse, or is it a Divine blessing?
In my golden years, withered and wise, will I collapse into an old rocking chair with a sigh, relieved but exhausted to finally have completed life's rich endeavors? I doubt it! Will a time surface when life has been "finished" and the lush valley of "relaxing" can begin? Unlikely. The problem remains, always-and-already, that life is incomplete by nature. The difficulty is living into this, in spite of this. Then again, is this really the "problem" of life? Or, rather, is it that incompleteness which gives life, makes it full? Is being incomplete and finite a cosmic curse, or is it a Divine blessing?
Thursday, November 11, 2010
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