Thursday, May 1, 2014

I'm sorry

I have lived in my own head for most of my life.  After all that time, you would expect either insanity or insight.  Neither has occurred.  I have discovered nothing.  My grasp of reality has remained intact.

What I have found not by introspection but by interaction is that I am a coward.  I shy away from this truth.  Having little care for personal safety blinded me to this.  People associate cowardice with threat of physical injury.  Injuries happen.  Death happens.  Being afraid of these things has lead us to valuing a heartbeat rather than life.

No, my cowardice is much more sinister.  You just read an example of it.  When real emotion rises to the surface, when actual conversation may take place, I add a layer of abstraction.  It is not conscious.  It is not intended.  I cannot ever really say how the defense mechanism developed.  I have my theories, but I honestly don't know and I will not blame some event or non-event from the last century for my current behavior.

I cut myself off.  This was not something done to me.  I find myself unable to be angry.  I can't even make comments about "letting my guard down" as I don't know how many layers there are.  I don't trust my own feelings.  I have spent years wondering if my feelings are genuine.

I am broken.  That phrase may not sit well with everyone.  It is mine.  I guess it implies a finality to people.  But broken things can be repaired.  They aren't the same when repaired, but that's why I choose broken rather than bent.  I don't want to return to some earlier state.  I don't know where the cracks are.  That is as far as I'm going to take that analogy.

I may very well write less going forward.  One of the beauties of abstracts is that they don't require sharing.  Reading these blog posts will tell you very little about me and the people I care about.  As I have said often, there are stories that aren't mine to tell or at least not mine alone.  I have no right to share the lives of others with the world and sharing my own life without including them would be a very poor narrative indeed.

Now if you'll excuse me, I will dive into music.  It is the one opening I've always left myself.  It often brings tears.  It can bring joy.  It is something I let wash over me.  If I allow that level of abstraction to come between it and me, its beauty is lost.  It will not forgive the intrusion.  The beat is lost... you can't force the dance.  The lyrics touch nothing.  But close your eyes and just let it be and it will change you.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

The words that stay...

I sometimes forget the power of the written word.  The power it has on me.  Human interaction is amazing but there are many people we simply cannot interact with.  The written word allows us to transcend time and space.

I cannot say that other forms of art don't have a similar effect, yet I find the lyrics and the screenplay move evocative then the melody or performance.  As with all art, appreciation and interpretation is personal.  However, the written word has a clarity I do not find in other media.  Its creator can limit the interpretation.  The writer uses one of humanities most powerful tools and so can often deliver their thoughts more directly.  Yet the nuance of language, its fluidity, allows great depth to be captured.

The words that stay have had several forms from the engraved, to the penned, to the inked, to the alignment of bits.  But I do believe that the form is of no consequence.

The experiences of a work's original readers may vary greatly from the experience of its latest.  However, the written word binds its readers.  It allows experience and context to be explained.  The author to describe as much or as little of their circumstances as they choose.  It may not translate in all cases, but that simply limits its audience and in some cases encourages further inquiry.

But the written word has a power greater than all other forms of art.  It expands upon the power of its older sibling the spoken word.  It can relate fact as well as fancy.  Obviously a collection of dates and statistics lacks artistry, but facts need not be so dry.  Accounts of the lives of our predecessors can both educate and inspire.  Thoreau's most recognized works were not fiction.  As with other art, investigation can yield other data.  We learn of techniques, processes, and can gain historical insight from frescoes as well as novels.

The written word also has some of the immediacy of its older sibling.  Inspiring oratory has had a dramatic effect on our civilization as have inspiring essays.  In some cases, the two are distinguished only by audience as evidenced by the great speeches.  Some of their evocative power cannot be captured in ink, but much of it can.

Mass communication now allows the spoken word to be experienced by billions but it remains ephemeral.  This is changing and so the spoken word may soon be on equal footing with the written word.  I believe the written word will still remain the most powerful tool we have for expression.

But then again, I'm hardly objective.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

They were never demons...

I have referred in the past to demons.  I have used the phrase to refer to aspects of my personality.  I now consider that a poor choice.  Externalizing aspects of your personality can seem advantageous but the idea is flawed.  Personalities are not divisible with some rare exceptions.  We are integrated beings with an integrated consciousness.

There are no demons.  There are neurochemical imbalances.  There are neuroses.  There are parts of our psyche that are considered outside the norm.  There is illness.  There is disease.  If these effect the brain, then they are still illness and disease.

But "the norm" has become too narrow and we have allowed ourselves to blur the line between illness, disease, and simple variation.  The human brain has proven again and again that our measurements will not give adequate data.  It is the secret to our adaptation.  My ancestors and I could not change our physical structure, but we can change the control mechanism instantaneously.  Unlike their fellow physicians, psychiatrists and psychologists have a moving target.

I spent many years considering some of my own thoughts as coming from somewhere else.  A portion of myself as distinct and walled off by will.  That explanation does not quite serve.  I have known the thoughts to be my own.  I simply denied them validity.

But self-loathing is part of what I am.  It is part of the balance.  It is simply a manifestation of self-doubt.  All beliefs must be able to stand up to criticism including the belief in ourselves.  Perhaps others do not encounter such things.  It is not my place to ask.  It is simply my place to accept these things about myself.  I have not truly done so.

Stories about a scared little boy...  Visualizing my younger self as something that was overcome is denying a part of myself.  That scared little boy did not fight some demons and get replaced.  I am that scared little boy.  To refer to myself in the third person just leads to confusion.  I have changed.  All humans change.  A lot of the things I feared I simply don't fear any more.  I confronted those fears.  That thought is empowering.  The thought that I had to loose part of myself to get here is not.  I have changed.  I will continue to change. The changes have been an improvement.  I will continue to improve.  Not all changes are improvements; but as long as I draw breath, I can improve.

If you'll excuse me, I have to go have a talk with somebody... me