Just as we come to believe that things will be okay, as the aspects and circumstances of our lives come to a point from which a positive outcome seems quite certain, almost inevitably do the trappings of our own self-begotten tragedies catch up with us, binding us to the intricacies and complexities of our own innermost psychological complexes.
And from these complexes arise a veritable arsenal of ammunition with which we shoot down our opportunities to emerge from the cesspool of severity and isolation in which we insist on wallowing.
Were we to take a step back and begin to assess our assets, to truly view the undeniability of our value, might we then revise our errant self-perceptions, allowing instead for the possibility of progress and a potential for internal and ideally irreversible improvement??
Or would we simply slough off the unsatisfactory feelings of pride and worth, replacing them with the much more acknowledged and fallaciously lauded countenance of negativity and commiseration??
And for What?
What do we gain, aside from the comfort of our sympathy-infused existence, the coup de grace of our convoluted complacency?
Naught, though we hardly seem to care.
As creatures of habit, this is what we know, and if the old adage 'knowledge is power' holds true, then this existence grants us the power to continue on in a semi-stasis of comfortable and familiar emotion.
Why, pray tell, oh why must we live this way?
Love,
~Codaniel Von Johnson~
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because we are afraid to be unique?--- we are afraid to accept the frightening thought that we are the only ones who can have an honest attempt at understanding ourselves. That, as Rilke said, "Ultimately, and precisely in the deepest and most important matters, we are unspeakably alone; and many things must happen, many things must go right, a whole constellation of events must be fulfilled, for one human being to successfully advise or help another."? We are these odd little creatures who have just enough understanding and knowledge to be terrified, to ponder our existence and wonder why we are as we are, but not enough understanding to make it make sense. And each of us is utterly different. We each have a million competing factors that make us who we are, and we cannot get to, or even start to change, the core of our being, the part of ourselves that is who we are. our individual essence-- that which allows self-identity. We cannot quiet our own inner voices, there is no off-switch on the soundtrack created by the demons that lurk inside our hollow heads. And we cannot get any confirmation that we are okay-- that the core of who we each are is acceptable to anyone else, let alone our self-loathing selves. Why can't we be robotic, mass-produced, soul-less? Then,couldn't we at least attempt to dissolve that fear, quiet those thoughts? At least we couldn't worry that we are alone, created by error, full of mistakes. But, then, not only would it be meaningless, it would be cloying and exhausting, no chance at creating anything that could truly make us our own. I guess I have no idea how any of it works, fits together, falls apart. I am tired and sick, but you struck a nerve. There is no escape from ourselves. Our messy messy selves.
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