Meditations On the Affliction of Man.

Updated: Aug 18, 2020

Chronic is my disease of thought, though underlying all that is good. A conscience is a fierce and unforgiving friend; while the temptation of numb existence is softer than a woman's touch. Indeed forgiveness is perhaps the greatest wall of thought to climb over, especially forgiveness of oneself. As I sit here, alone and sweating, I dream of the self, despite knowledge of the fact there is no self to behold. Knowledge? Self? All are concepts and constructs, idols of the religion of ego. There is only ............ the marvelous silence I listen to when I hear music, or the void I see into when I am paying attention, not awake, not asleep. Perhaps it is a fall once again into decadent tendencies; or perhaps my friend of conscience is to well aware of my shortcomings. There will be no blind forgiveness of the self from me however, only acceptance of what I am, and of what I could be. Walls and fools is all the world, and I stand in my way, ever rolling forward. Still, yet moving, dreaming, yet awake. Living. How funny it is to see the fool in me balance the ego with light hearted cynicism; he is indeed a funny fellow.

Art and prose, song and dance; all I have begun to see are the greatest evolution of the Universe, even since before the stars were born. Work with passion, strife with whole hearted anger, be sad with a ripe and bellyful tears, for these are the greatest gifts of consciousnesses. Not the ability for cold reason, no, for in the eyes of a snake there lies the coldest of rationalism. Pent up and overflowing, thus is the way of the seeker, and thus is the way all must travel should they wish to meet their own fool. Cryptic prose and mythical language give birth to the greatest of rational thought; for should one assemble the plot and story line of his thoughts correctly, he shall become great, even if he is no more than a rational fool.

What is it that makes getting lost in the illusion so enjoyable? Is it the tantalizing touch of another through the glowing screen of an image? Or perhaps the possessions of pleasure that once attained, brings no real pleasure at all?Is it the touch of a lover who is afraid to love? Is it the great golden goodie at the end of the line that we can never have? Perhaps it's the fucking great big stone we've all placed in our way? What pleasure is there but to know that the sweat of one's brow, and the thunder in one's veins is the whole world? So as I write alone, in an incredible hot and sweaty room I ask: Who is it that's you?

Where is the you that is asking the question? I realized the other day that the most wonderful example of this sort of thinking is seen in young children. When I was young I went to Catholic school, and one day I asked the teacher a rather uncomfortable question. "If God made everything in the Universe, and he's in everything, then who created God?" The teacher, flustered in not having an answer (because there isn't one) said (quite reflectively of the modern attitude to debate): "You must respect everyone's opinion, just like I respect yours!" I puzzled at such a avoiding comment, and decided tolerant and spiritual one-upmanship was the best course of action. "Of course, I accept everyone's beliefs equally!" And what would have been a theological debate with a ten year old, was avoided. Looking back, I saw the light in my classmates' eyes when I posed this question, they wondered who were God's parents too. The wisdom of children indeed. So, in much the same way, when one finds himself asking "Who am I?" One should immediately picture a marvelously bearded and wise man asking in response "Who's asking?" Now, this question has no real answer, at least, not one that can be expressed in thought or words; it leads only along a path beset by beasts and cyclical thinking. It is my belief that one must travel down this path should they hope to realize their true human nature. Cyclical thinking will bring one so close to the hearth of hell that one realizes there is no escape, and jumps in head first. A wise friend once said, "I think humans are like swords, we are all tempered in flame." And despite the cliche imagery, he is astoundingly correct. Human nature is a sword that remains sheathed most of the time, but has been tempered by the flames of hell, and strengthened because of it, should there be a need for a fight. So how does one become a sword? Well, the forge must be hellishly hot, and the blacksmith nothing but the inexperienced and naively wise soul. Only then can a man's heart; his sword, be strong enough to contend with the devil.


On Evil:

Evil is characteristically human. I would even go so far as to say that the capacity for evil is what defines humanity. The evil of the world is human, because the evil of the world is a concept of human construction. Evil comes in so many shapes and disguises, but one thing is clear: there is nothing that rests outside of the human created domain that is evil. It is only the malevolence of the human soul that is evil; and there is potential for it in every man woman and child on this planet. Now, despite this I think it is for the best. Why? The potential of evil, by nature, allocates for the potential of what is good. Do we know fully well what is good and what is evil? To my knowledge, the boundaries for evil have been set, though transient and movable like all else. The good though, is much harder to notice. Attention is drawn naturally to that which is evil in one's own life; so it becomes increasingly difficult to let go and "smell the roses" so to speak. If all the world understood the evil in themselves as much as they understood their own illusory virtue, and understood what that evil means, then we would be overcome with peace (mostly). But then we would find the next greatest evil we could, and seek to destroy that as well; creating yet another cycle of ideological explosion, followed by horror and destitution, followed by overcoming and acceptance. We as a global community are amidst one of these cycle right now. Did I not say the path of cyclical thinking was beset on all sides by beasts? Ideologies, with their arrogant and overly simplistic view of life are these beasts, and many side with them out of fear of the beasts they detest. Ideologies become a necessary evil for the cowardly soul. How wonderfully lost we are indeed. Mistake not my criticism of the human race for contempt; for I love us with all my heart. See it instead as thus: I love to play the game and watch it be played over and over, on and on. I love that I am a part of it and because of this I try not to take it to seriously. And because stupidity is the most amusing thing there is man is by far the funniest species, though by far the most interesting.

And I suppose that is really the root of the human affliction: One's own utter fascination with the idea of oneself. A gift and a curse, the burden of knowing that you know that you know..... is the most blessed stone we could possibly have in our own way. Despite the fact we are all vicious bastards, it is our capacity to know we are bastards that can help us to be a little less vicious.

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