There are certain specific moments in life where, albeit our assurance of where we stand and where we are heading, we find ourselves entwined in circumstances which reveal, continuously, more and more information, as if a ripple made in a pond, resonating ripples until the vibration is heard and the message is received.
If though we hear the message and choose to put it aside, knowing (assuming even) that we can absorb and cope with it this way, then we are simply trying to fool our own self. Naturally, the body, having been imprinted with all the memories of feelings concerning a situation, biologically knows the Truth. So does the soul, since we yet have not found a way to lie to our subconscious unconscious and thus the only actor here is the conscious mind, a fool amongst the sages.. Although difficult and demanding, the way to go.. the way to be.. is One. Being true to your gut feeling. This has always been the best-functioning compass which seldom fails to judge correctly.
Hence.. it is a waste of time to simply wander around. We wander until target is seen. When target is visible, then it should be met. When avoided, it leads to a circular road, that magic roundabout which – like a carousel – goes round and round a certain center, until the child is ready to get off the ride (probably because it’s grown since last time and is now too old for this kind of ride which is just not thrilling nor fulfilling anymore.) It’s evolutionary Law to develop. Why resist or pretend blindness? Psychological maturity comes to a human like flavor comes to vintage wine. It’s time to go on the other rides for older children. It’s time to be brave enough and stand by one’s decisions driven by inner instinct, whether the subsequent track is lonesome or twined.
This is a time of growth, undoubtedly. Always has been. It is time to grow. To develop. To evolve in even the slightest of ways. Occurrence of those minor changes within, via the assistance of the butterfly effect, great change is stirred up.
Forget being independent. Forget standing on your own two feet. Let’s fly.
There must be a good reason why certain cities, certain places, inspire such loathing and dread. There must be some kind of perpetual murder going on in these places. The people are of the same race as you, they go about their business as people do anywhere, they build the same sort of house, no better, no worse, they have the same system of education, the same currency, the same newspapers – and yet, they are absolutely different from the other people you know and the whole atmosphere is different. It’s almost like looking at yourself in another incarnation. You know, with a most disturbing certitude, that what governs life is not money, not politics, not religion, not training, not race, not language, not customs, but something else. Something you are trying to throttle all the time and which is really throttling you, because otherwise you wouldn’t be terrified all of a sudden and wonder how you were going to escape.
Tropic of Capricorn by Henry Miller.
Tropic of Capricorn is a semi-autobiographical novel by Henry Miller, first published in Paris in 1938.
The novel was subsequently banned in the United States until a 1961 Justice Department ruling declared that its contents were not obscene.
Some time ago I made the conscious choice of moving out of cities and into the country. An island, to be more specific. It seems that life has become increasingly tougher. The fear factor amongst humans is growing and people from all over the world are manically trying to stretch under the same blanket. Practically living on top of one another. There is no space, no free air, no spare jobs, no time. How can we not have things that can not be owned? How can we give up freedom of speech in return for acceptance? Why have we chosen to create a society which stuffs us, instead of having set it up differently in the first place?
I can not change the mind of others, that is a completely personal journey I do not dare interfere with. It would be false if imposed. Ought to be a process. A personal process. A choice. What I can do is choose, to abide under my own self control, voluntarily. I can not control chance but I can choose the circumstances. The circumference. And so.. I teach. Kids. Kids are pure. Fuck International Economics and screw BAs. There’s no point really.