dragslaye wrote: By this I mean that you need to become the kind of person that non absolutely none will care about, ..PeSla allow me to ask you why do we collect trophies, why went we go to vacation we take pictures, why do we keep our old love letters?
dragslaye, I get the impression this is not really a question but I will answer any way. I suppose this is like
A Christmas Carrol or
A Wonderful Life where we have to deal with the ghosts of xmas past, present, and future. Humbug! What does it matter, from one philosopher's view, that any such state of death while alive can be said to exist at some other time, or any such sleep able to care about the opinion and emotions of other or even oneself? Is the purpose of this question perhaps to bond people into a more noble and peaceful society and not something otherworldly? Maybe once a year we raise the issues of giving for the general good and curse the poverty and greed, (or whatever were the children of one of the ghosts)- collective and false guilt perhaps that ignores the rest of the year and the majority of the individuals that make up that society.
But love letters, that hits home also on the disparate hoarding of all and any of our moments of life or time that we have some sort of memory or history that in this sense at least:
We can take it with us as each moment vanishes. Or in our dedication to others we bring forth some repeal or promised land but cannot enter into it ourselves- that is we are bound to consider the future generations, and make a difference if we chose to- but we do not have to.
Loneliness is a certain alienation from sense and self and purposes. But Solitude can be home and not a prison of our circumstance and any form of slavery. We take pictures to ground things but this is also a picture of what is no longer there in memory at any time- it is a token but one that never reaches the ideal of belonging or being a part of others, a stance of consciousness to know at least another as you so in yourself isolate you sense of knowing oneself, at home with oneself- what of any such record is the purpose then- records like arbitrary rules and law merely ease the edge of the mental and physical violence, of revolution, of public outcry without weapons such that the species collectively compromise and are betrayed as if a gnat against an elephant or empire.
The issue is deeper than this, and the issue does seem to collective evolve and can be fate or chance of interconnections. That there is some integration of time as we go thru the melody to see a little more than the lower animals is the core realization that we cannot love another again if we kill love or the time of the lover of before- if we truly loved, if the break up did not effectively kills us or awakening us to some other love,
the second time around. We the masters of cliche fall for such promises and roses as always because we are young and the dice are caste fresh again- or we lose the need to dream too soon before our vanishing or being forgotten as if a rehearsal for that sort of death for which we in this life no longer can care, an object then in the nothingness absolute and made of nothingness. Even what is selfish in our pretenses of outrages that no one cares save maybe in hypocritical lip service- to give for example a social worker whose advice for B who wants some purpose to go to the fundie church of which he is a member- that is to bind B into the prison he finds himself in and should not give advice any more than he who in the need to belong asks for it from one who needs is so much more- for he does not feel the present memory and empathy with others and worse in his whole life does not even realize that his lot was one of isolation, self involvement, loneliness to which the message is lost that Ebenezer did not so love himself as he would need to do to love another.
We make trophies also of our wardrobe and idols to which we bond to as our leaders even when we should know his feet of clay does not learn in the present day from the past of forgiving those who have betrayed and will betray the people. If, in our imperfections and abandonment and losses of what truly counts to make this world a better place you want to know yourself- sooner or later in this disoriented but persisting center of your soul you will find the haunting ghosts in the middle of the night and shed a tear, a living tear, for the hope and promise you once were- that you so can cry for another. And when, beyond the courage it takes to do so, and beyond the forgiveness itself- you may find that to which your own heart is a trophy to endure whatever real or imagined binds you- you will find that
it does not matter. But if we forgive and weep with hope, heroic against the deep tragic inevitable fall of Love, then we will find our transcendent center at home in the world- and then so understand in the joy of life and its success no matter how dark and shallow, that we can then know how to shed a tear for others- even those who may have been should the world have been in this world a much better place.
There is some great point missing in all this commentary, some key, some reason to exist other than the shear stubbornness or curiosity- some need to which we at any age in the flesh and time of that age or not- all share universally and recognize in the need to allow the privacy of our wounds to which no comfort can be had or the theater of tears shed in a great and seemingly historical moment of change and happiness that may take this time against the germs of evil for this is in our hearts too- and like with the path to enlightenment or death- this too is where wisdom has to stand alone. Can one really take a vacation from his fellows and himself?
But I am not in the best frame of mind, of hopes, of purposes, and understanding- of the new- homeless but not in danger of some prison- and as I walk with but the herd to hide within or the wide sea of open space I can only limit by circumnavigating the whole world or my imagination, that space still wide enough for frontiers where one may choose to live off the grid- I still am not alone as I am weeping not as much for my sins, but the burdens of others- I used to be stronger to weep before the fact of our involvement for others and the that it makes a difference. Not my failure, not my blindness, but a deep and ongoing failure of us nevertheless.
Thus it is that our instinct, intellect, intuition or whatever churns the higher tides of thought and dreams remains in the end connected to at least the confession in faith or false hopes that good days for us all, surely they shall come. I alone human, have seen what evil in this world smiles at my stupidity of delusion- that I have done the best I can for myself and fellow man. I have known love and we are the only record as firm as it is- yet that record is the most enduring of all the grounds we have- and it defines the human spirit and is a measure of its success.
Posted: November 4th, 2008, 10:12 pm