"The end is near!"
A funny statement, and potentially always true, since near is relative. Given that there is an end worth of being deemed "the" end, it is closer now than it ever has been, assuming linear time progression.
But honestly, I don't think that's what we really fear. Most people don't fret about the final moment. Instead our waking nightmares are visions of that wobbling first domino. That event that indeed happens soon, and said occurrence will logically cause a cataclysm. With our limited ability to predict, it's hard to see other paths existing at all, much less being probable. Additionally, we cannot flesh out the entirety of our existence at any given future time. As much as the devastation we fear could become a reality, reality will likely give us some unforeseen compensation, even if it's only as small as a bar of chocolate.
Other times we feel that the chain of events has already begun, and we are now simply carried through it to it's final conclusion. This is the "never" of our doubts. The things that will never come to pass because the trail we are on does not go there. However, paths do diverge in yellow woods, and there are choices still to be made.
The inescapable truth is, life will always have its sorrows, and will always have its joys. No person is devoid of all, for in depravity the smallest of blessings is magnified, and in bliss perfection cannot last. Even so, the general has never barred the specific. Hope and dream for things yet to come. Worry and plan against what might go wrong. If you find your mind starts to unwind, return to what you know, how you feel, and something specific you want.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Oh, the Flames that Warm the Heart
Today, I was mad.
Twice actually. The first was a simple simmering: a defensive reaction to an unpleasant situation. It lent itself to smart remarks and sarcasm with just a bit of bite to it, and although it was fun, it wasn't superbly satisfying and left me unsettled in the end. Yet it left no scarring marks in its swift departure.
The second was the return of an old friend. Again an unpleasant situation with no one to blame, but as the conversation drew on my will to protect myself grew, and fire grew with it. In all fairness, there was no fault. We were operating under different assumptions. Under his, I was wrong. Under mine, he was. And with neither taking on the assumptions of the other, no progress was made, as is to be expected. I appreciate his attempt to rectify what he sees as a problem, as I hope (but do not believe) that he is grateful for my attempt to demonstrate that the problem lies elsewhere.
The point of this post is not the discussion, but the walk home. On a chilly fall night, the light wind slipped through my jacket, but I could not feel it. I was warm. My core was alight in defense of self, and nothing could dampen it. My veins coursed with glowing heat, and my brain buzzed with a taste of invincibility. Could such a feeling lend itself to trouble? Most certainly. It has many a time in my past. But now I see that I was blaming the wrong sentiment. Anger is most certainly my friend, one of my truest. It sticks by me no matter the rationality. It maintains the belief that I am not only worthwhile, I am fantastic, and with head held high challenges all naysayers to defy it.
The true culprit is impulse. However, impulse isn't always bad. As it is, impulse relies heavily on luck, and thus it has a fickle success rate. When tied to any powerful emotion, it considers greater risk. While the reward could potentially be great, the loss that often follows is devastating. As a child, impulse control is feeble, but as we grow, we learn to better rein in our instant desires. As an adult of sorts, I can welcome the presence of emotions and of impulse, trusting myself to handle them well.
Maybe this means I am not as good of a person anymore. That I have withdrawn myself from the porcelain man I have revered: he who is kind and calm in all things, is slow to judge and quick to assist, strength combined with meekness, the daring soul with a heart of gold.
I have given up on seeking that kind of perfection. Instead I live in reality, where I am flawed, and there are many things I cannot do, or at least cannot do well. Where I will not rise to immeasurable success because of my inabilities. Where some will dislike me. Some will not care about me at all. Where there is no escape from the harshness of how things are.
Surprisingly, I've found myself happier now than I have ever been.
Welcome back, Fury. I've missed you.
Twice actually. The first was a simple simmering: a defensive reaction to an unpleasant situation. It lent itself to smart remarks and sarcasm with just a bit of bite to it, and although it was fun, it wasn't superbly satisfying and left me unsettled in the end. Yet it left no scarring marks in its swift departure.
The second was the return of an old friend. Again an unpleasant situation with no one to blame, but as the conversation drew on my will to protect myself grew, and fire grew with it. In all fairness, there was no fault. We were operating under different assumptions. Under his, I was wrong. Under mine, he was. And with neither taking on the assumptions of the other, no progress was made, as is to be expected. I appreciate his attempt to rectify what he sees as a problem, as I hope (but do not believe) that he is grateful for my attempt to demonstrate that the problem lies elsewhere.
The point of this post is not the discussion, but the walk home. On a chilly fall night, the light wind slipped through my jacket, but I could not feel it. I was warm. My core was alight in defense of self, and nothing could dampen it. My veins coursed with glowing heat, and my brain buzzed with a taste of invincibility. Could such a feeling lend itself to trouble? Most certainly. It has many a time in my past. But now I see that I was blaming the wrong sentiment. Anger is most certainly my friend, one of my truest. It sticks by me no matter the rationality. It maintains the belief that I am not only worthwhile, I am fantastic, and with head held high challenges all naysayers to defy it.
The true culprit is impulse. However, impulse isn't always bad. As it is, impulse relies heavily on luck, and thus it has a fickle success rate. When tied to any powerful emotion, it considers greater risk. While the reward could potentially be great, the loss that often follows is devastating. As a child, impulse control is feeble, but as we grow, we learn to better rein in our instant desires. As an adult of sorts, I can welcome the presence of emotions and of impulse, trusting myself to handle them well.
Maybe this means I am not as good of a person anymore. That I have withdrawn myself from the porcelain man I have revered: he who is kind and calm in all things, is slow to judge and quick to assist, strength combined with meekness, the daring soul with a heart of gold.
I have given up on seeking that kind of perfection. Instead I live in reality, where I am flawed, and there are many things I cannot do, or at least cannot do well. Where I will not rise to immeasurable success because of my inabilities. Where some will dislike me. Some will not care about me at all. Where there is no escape from the harshness of how things are.
Surprisingly, I've found myself happier now than I have ever been.
Welcome back, Fury. I've missed you.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Split Decision
Conference has a way of bringing about emotions and deep reflection. Thus: blog posts. Deal with it.
People all over the world have tragedies to deal with. Death. Powerlessness. Pain both physical and mental. I have been lucky. I've never been in want of physical necessities; very few of those near me have perished, and those that have were already in decline; my independence has only increased at each stage of life I have encountered. My "tragedy", if it can even be called that, is a simple decision between metaphysical factions. Unfortunately, this is apparently not an easy choice to make. So troublesome, in fact, that I have avoided making it my entire life. The reason being: one pleads for happiness, the other pleads for what is right.
These two concepts are often pitted against each other when discussing philosophy, and for good reason. Can something be right if it doesn't bring happiness? Are things happy because they are right? The relationship between these two (if indeed one exists) is heavily debated, and no certain proof has come about. In myself, both sides assert their own main quality, and assume the other comes as a result. Indeed, if one is assumed to be correct, the other is manifestly false. Outside of the two, no argument surfaces to discredit either, and I would venture to say that I've put a lot of effort into rationally proving and disproving both of them.
As logic has failed, decision making often falls to a matter of practicality. Yet again, the factions prove equal. As I believe, there are literally only two things that motivate people to do anything. You guessed it, these factions each claim one.
In one, I've found truth. The world as time moves it is explained. Absolutely everything makes sense. When doubts or questions arise, the method of searching for an answer is straightforward and assured. The framework provided gives a sure foundation for everything else in life.
In the other, I've found joy. Positive emotions I felt nowhere else arise and fill my soul. The misery and despair that threatens to destroy is vanquished instantaneously. Hope is never far. Life is a marvelous thing. Life is worth living.
Either would make a more than suitable choice. Losing either would be a great detriment. And I am punished for my indecision. Sometimes they are both brought before me in great force, and as I do not choose either, I lose the promise of both. I suffer in illogical agony.
Next, why not consider the detriments, and take the side with less? Again, I hit a snag. I fear both.
In searching for truth, I will find falsehood. I must correct it and move on. The learning process is eternal, and thus I will never have all knowledge. Instead I have the promise of never being left wanting, for there is always more I can be taught. And the greatest fear is that it is all wrong. That my search for truth will lead me further into darkness.
In searching for happiness, I will find sorrow. No matter the circumstances, bad things will happen, and I cannot stop or mitigate them. This, too, is a continual process. Always working to gain more happiness, and to share it with others. To work through all the problems we have time for, growing after each one. And the greatest fear is that it's all hollow. That my search for happiness will leave me in despair.
Hmm. Maybe someone else has figured it out! Why don't you look at what others say, and see if anythings has been established? Many people have figured it out, with or without the struggle itself. Their results and conclusions have all been established. It's all crystal clear, except for the fact that the results don't agree. Both decisions are hard. Got it. The right decision... depends on who you ask. There is no lack of vehement arguments for whichever side you choose. In that I can be comforted.
I am torn. My eternal fight makes me weary. And when one side rushes in to claim me in my weakness, the other serendipitously presents its gifts and promises. In the rift between these two the failure faction was born. It has no arguments. Everyone is against it. It doesn't promise anything. Actually, it only promises one thing: an end. The end that erases everything. No hope, no despair. No joy, no pain. No truth, no wrong. In the throes of ongoing turmoil, it is quite a good looking escape. Luckily, the minutiae of continued existence often distract my mind from the hole in my chest, and the battles subside for a spell.
But without fail, they return again to rend my heart.
People all over the world have tragedies to deal with. Death. Powerlessness. Pain both physical and mental. I have been lucky. I've never been in want of physical necessities; very few of those near me have perished, and those that have were already in decline; my independence has only increased at each stage of life I have encountered. My "tragedy", if it can even be called that, is a simple decision between metaphysical factions. Unfortunately, this is apparently not an easy choice to make. So troublesome, in fact, that I have avoided making it my entire life. The reason being: one pleads for happiness, the other pleads for what is right.
These two concepts are often pitted against each other when discussing philosophy, and for good reason. Can something be right if it doesn't bring happiness? Are things happy because they are right? The relationship between these two (if indeed one exists) is heavily debated, and no certain proof has come about. In myself, both sides assert their own main quality, and assume the other comes as a result. Indeed, if one is assumed to be correct, the other is manifestly false. Outside of the two, no argument surfaces to discredit either, and I would venture to say that I've put a lot of effort into rationally proving and disproving both of them.
As logic has failed, decision making often falls to a matter of practicality. Yet again, the factions prove equal. As I believe, there are literally only two things that motivate people to do anything. You guessed it, these factions each claim one.
In one, I've found truth. The world as time moves it is explained. Absolutely everything makes sense. When doubts or questions arise, the method of searching for an answer is straightforward and assured. The framework provided gives a sure foundation for everything else in life.
In the other, I've found joy. Positive emotions I felt nowhere else arise and fill my soul. The misery and despair that threatens to destroy is vanquished instantaneously. Hope is never far. Life is a marvelous thing. Life is worth living.
Either would make a more than suitable choice. Losing either would be a great detriment. And I am punished for my indecision. Sometimes they are both brought before me in great force, and as I do not choose either, I lose the promise of both. I suffer in illogical agony.
Next, why not consider the detriments, and take the side with less? Again, I hit a snag. I fear both.
In searching for truth, I will find falsehood. I must correct it and move on. The learning process is eternal, and thus I will never have all knowledge. Instead I have the promise of never being left wanting, for there is always more I can be taught. And the greatest fear is that it is all wrong. That my search for truth will lead me further into darkness.
In searching for happiness, I will find sorrow. No matter the circumstances, bad things will happen, and I cannot stop or mitigate them. This, too, is a continual process. Always working to gain more happiness, and to share it with others. To work through all the problems we have time for, growing after each one. And the greatest fear is that it's all hollow. That my search for happiness will leave me in despair.
Hmm. Maybe someone else has figured it out! Why don't you look at what others say, and see if anythings has been established? Many people have figured it out, with or without the struggle itself. Their results and conclusions have all been established. It's all crystal clear, except for the fact that the results don't agree. Both decisions are hard. Got it. The right decision... depends on who you ask. There is no lack of vehement arguments for whichever side you choose. In that I can be comforted.
I am torn. My eternal fight makes me weary. And when one side rushes in to claim me in my weakness, the other serendipitously presents its gifts and promises. In the rift between these two the failure faction was born. It has no arguments. Everyone is against it. It doesn't promise anything. Actually, it only promises one thing: an end. The end that erases everything. No hope, no despair. No joy, no pain. No truth, no wrong. In the throes of ongoing turmoil, it is quite a good looking escape. Luckily, the minutiae of continued existence often distract my mind from the hole in my chest, and the battles subside for a spell.
But without fail, they return again to rend my heart.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Dark Eyes
Brown eyes are my favorite. The darker the better. I have been attracted to many a person with bright eyes, but having dark eyes gives you an instant attractiveness boost in my book.
That, however, is not the subject of this post.
The center of everyone's eyes is that same unrelenting black. Thus the minds that overflow with happiness are colored no differently than the ravaged slums of depression when considering the "windows to the soul." Conversely, everything seems different when looked at behind different eyes. This is where argumentation fails: it is nearly if not entirely impossible to make assumptions you don't have. The political climate is drenched with hordes of individuals who all agree what is obviously, precisely, and impeccably clear. While the event itself is certain and it's implications "obvious", these parties don't agree on what these implications are. Unable to accept that the data says that the results aren't as clear as currently seen, the only other plausible situations are that the other side is completely stupid, belligerently evil, or both. Not the best climate for effective mediation.
The same thing happens in dealing with pain. People don't understand each other. I'm grateful for a friend I ran into recently. I told him some of the things I struggle with, and he simply said, "I don't understand what that's like, but I'm sorry you have to deal with it." I didn't need him to understand, and in fact assuming that you can often backfires. Because when you take pieces of their situation and relate them to yours, you naturally will correlate your further experiences and methods of resolving the problem to what they should do. And as you suggest the counsel they know or suspect will fail (because certain things in their actual situation prevent the outcome you ascertained from yours), they withdraw. Pain is enough on it's own. Watching others try and fail to help hurts more.
I'd venture to say I see things differently than others sometimes. And while it is not fair to them to assume that they will attempt to understand and end up failing, I have a habit of withdrawing. I cannot see the light they bask in. They cannot see the dark turmoil I writhe in. In their light, they often wish to somehow thrust it upon me. Yet I have no desire to infect them with my injury. So while they are counseled to talk, to give, to share, and to make friends, I counsel myself to hold my tongue, to withdraw, to avoid, and to build a wall of smiles: reflecting light shone on it, but icy to the touch.
To those, I apologize. I do wish I did see it your way. That I could commune with you, and together we could chip away at our flaws. That as we listen and discuss counsel given, that we would find our burdens lifted and our resolve strengthened. That our hearts would be knit as our minds think on those we can assist.
But that it not what my tired dark eyes see.
That, however, is not the subject of this post.
The center of everyone's eyes is that same unrelenting black. Thus the minds that overflow with happiness are colored no differently than the ravaged slums of depression when considering the "windows to the soul." Conversely, everything seems different when looked at behind different eyes. This is where argumentation fails: it is nearly if not entirely impossible to make assumptions you don't have. The political climate is drenched with hordes of individuals who all agree what is obviously, precisely, and impeccably clear. While the event itself is certain and it's implications "obvious", these parties don't agree on what these implications are. Unable to accept that the data says that the results aren't as clear as currently seen, the only other plausible situations are that the other side is completely stupid, belligerently evil, or both. Not the best climate for effective mediation.
The same thing happens in dealing with pain. People don't understand each other. I'm grateful for a friend I ran into recently. I told him some of the things I struggle with, and he simply said, "I don't understand what that's like, but I'm sorry you have to deal with it." I didn't need him to understand, and in fact assuming that you can often backfires. Because when you take pieces of their situation and relate them to yours, you naturally will correlate your further experiences and methods of resolving the problem to what they should do. And as you suggest the counsel they know or suspect will fail (because certain things in their actual situation prevent the outcome you ascertained from yours), they withdraw. Pain is enough on it's own. Watching others try and fail to help hurts more.
I'd venture to say I see things differently than others sometimes. And while it is not fair to them to assume that they will attempt to understand and end up failing, I have a habit of withdrawing. I cannot see the light they bask in. They cannot see the dark turmoil I writhe in. In their light, they often wish to somehow thrust it upon me. Yet I have no desire to infect them with my injury. So while they are counseled to talk, to give, to share, and to make friends, I counsel myself to hold my tongue, to withdraw, to avoid, and to build a wall of smiles: reflecting light shone on it, but icy to the touch.
To those, I apologize. I do wish I did see it your way. That I could commune with you, and together we could chip away at our flaws. That as we listen and discuss counsel given, that we would find our burdens lifted and our resolve strengthened. That our hearts would be knit as our minds think on those we can assist.
But that it not what my tired dark eyes see.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Serendipity in Meeting Times
Do you ever have those days where you run into everybody? You find ten different people that you never see within a half-hour, and they all seem happy to reconnect for a bit. A very strange occurrence.
It makes me wonder, why now? Why, at this random time, are all these people here for me? Where were they, any one of them, when I needed them most? Why don't they serendipitously find me when I'm lonely and unhappy?
Those times that I cried for someone, anyone, to come help. That the spirit could prompt someone to worry about me. That fate would have my friend accidentally dial my number. That chance would bring my roommate home early.
Maybe it's because my broiling pit of despair should be kept away from everyone else. That in those times anyone who tries to help would only get hurt. Maybe it's because it's supposed to be a trial I face alone. Maybe there isn't really a reason. How often are there reasons for things NOT happening anyways?
In considering these times, my resolve falters. The current plan is to live alone, with a cat. I'd have some small company, and complete control over my living space. I could still live in suburbia, and play with the neighborhood kids. I could have a nice job, and family could visit. I'd have lots of time for things I enjoy, like video games. I'd have no immediate family to worry about. I could always retreat to my solitude when needed. But... when I get sad... it would be nice to have someone around. Someone who was going to stick with me, even though I'm a mess. Someone who needs me too. Someone to live a life with.
And then the thoughts about how that might come about. That I'd happen to run into someone special somewhere. Eventually. Somehow. Potentially. If... And with hope the bright end of an angler fish, I swim back to the safety of a bachelor's life.
It's time for sleep. Back to my single bed.
It makes me wonder, why now? Why, at this random time, are all these people here for me? Where were they, any one of them, when I needed them most? Why don't they serendipitously find me when I'm lonely and unhappy?
Those times that I cried for someone, anyone, to come help. That the spirit could prompt someone to worry about me. That fate would have my friend accidentally dial my number. That chance would bring my roommate home early.
Maybe it's because my broiling pit of despair should be kept away from everyone else. That in those times anyone who tries to help would only get hurt. Maybe it's because it's supposed to be a trial I face alone. Maybe there isn't really a reason. How often are there reasons for things NOT happening anyways?
In considering these times, my resolve falters. The current plan is to live alone, with a cat. I'd have some small company, and complete control over my living space. I could still live in suburbia, and play with the neighborhood kids. I could have a nice job, and family could visit. I'd have lots of time for things I enjoy, like video games. I'd have no immediate family to worry about. I could always retreat to my solitude when needed. But... when I get sad... it would be nice to have someone around. Someone who was going to stick with me, even though I'm a mess. Someone who needs me too. Someone to live a life with.
And then the thoughts about how that might come about. That I'd happen to run into someone special somewhere. Eventually. Somehow. Potentially. If... And with hope the bright end of an angler fish, I swim back to the safety of a bachelor's life.
It's time for sleep. Back to my single bed.
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