A little while ago my mind closed itself off from the word “hernia”; i was then sharing a drawing with the proprietor of a gallery where i volunteer. I also wanted to frame the print as a gift for an 80 year old man who'd just had hernia surgery. The drawing is of a French maiden standing at a shore in Thailand. She is quite frank and open in her pose which for me while creating the drawing served to wick away much somatic injury from life. Picasso had said about art that when properly understood, it could 'cure a toothache'. My reason for gifting the allure of this particular scene to my old friend, it've served as a balm to, as Leonard said, where the old man 'use to play'. Various impediments from that day ran counter to any quiet success of my mission. I see no purpose in listing the insults; rather i thank you for attempting to understand my struggle to remain open. For too long a time after having suffered one manner of defeat after another, be it physical assault from injury or psychic wound, i have withdrawn. While a very practical strategy for attending one’s own healing process, if the calamities are too frequent or without end, there comes a point where one is no longer seeking sanctuary, but has simply closed. I am at the point in which my creative self wants to articulate, so here i sit pouring my guts out as honestly as i know. The irony being my astonishment with the quality of leadership mankind now enjoys, and that my only audience may very well be the spooks sifting through all of our public profiles attempting to barricading friend from foe, or in the vernacular, whether or not we have been properly compartmentalized. For people if you ain’t radicalized by now in this time of monumental stupidity, cupidity and culpability you might get someone to take your pulse; you may already be dead and nobody texted you to say as much. What does it take to live openly in a world that seemingly does not care for each other¿ Thich Nhat Hanh, in his weakened condition, made the effort with loving care for a post on fb to caution about this digital contraption which ostensibly is in our lives to facilitate closer communication but has since become little more than a bivalve straw which by which the ruling class either sucks your brains out, or fills your consciousness with whatever fashion sauce all the rage in the ai kitchens of silicon valley/madison ave/langley virginia or moscow russia - wherever the precipitous center of balance rests for our top-heavy about-to-topple bubble of civilization. Small wonder i feel closed.
When i was still full of piss and vinegar, communication was the highlight of any day. To engage in a searching conversation about all the events accelerating through our lives was a blood sport. People then had not been so easily divided, at least that is how it appeared through the myopia of youth. I sit and think now how terrifying it must have been to an aging population to hear disheveled youth shouting “kill everyone over thirty.” So even the mythical memory of some idyllic time of love and tolerance is fraught with deceit and fakeness - is there nothing sacred, or is everything sacred and we are just too closed-minded to accept such simple logic¿ I can say from my own experience that shutting oneself off has consequences, nor do i have any clue about how to remain open against all odds. I understand that aggression is an empty victory. There is no power or force that will not pollute the spirit by its application. The only battle i have found worth the fight is that one which transforms one's own self. It doesn’t matter to me much that closeted in some darkened chamber, trolls might be siting scratching their heads attempting to equate what i write with radicalism; what matters to me, is that i might have just hurt their feelings calling them pencilneckgeek trolls. I believe the Dalai Lama - "If you can't help, at least do no harm." Buddha was right "life is suffering,” however, closing oneself to suffering does no more than close oneself off to all things - with numbness as the defining vision of one’s life. Thanks, no. To my mind there is little difference between the blur that characterizes today’s media stampede and the numbness which comes from just the right combination, which for myself consists of two meals, 6 cigarettes and dos caballos of Mezcal. At another time in my life, i had begrudged myself the latter indulgence, but realized i was killing myself as surely with an obnoxious sanctimony i’d still like to kick to the curb, but still hangs on like some kind of glyphosate hangover. How does one even do good anymore. Unless someone actually says to you “will you do this for me?” every other gesture of kindness is pure fiction, a fantasy of compassion that one overlays on others and is based most often in one’s own imagination - that’s fucking nuts. One could always goose the process and ask, “can i help¿” But even the most innocent frontal assault is as often as not, not well received, i know, i’ve tried. Is that what it is to remain open - simply wait for occasions where one is asked for help, or not even asked but demanded, “help me, i have no legs and you do.” Is this what the Dali Lama means by being of service, were that the case he could maybe get more bang for his buck washing everybody’s feet - especially given the nexus between mosquitoes, death and dirty feet. Delusion is one of the three poisons, along with greed and hatred. I find without a persistent consideration of one's own self awareness the world’s actions and reactions take on an overwhelming claim for attention. Whereas when i am mindful of what i do and why, the world itself becomes more clear and what is of service makes more sense. . .
. . . as well as what path to take, for the idea that we are acting out some predestination is an anathema to me. What i have difficulty reconciling is the scratch that wants an assuring itch - perhaps the same itch that prompted Mr. Einstein to quip “god does not play dice with the universe.” Pop, rest his soul, would mutter to himself when encountering one or another of my interminable questions about life, “there is no one way.” I did not realize how much an affect his good advice would have on me until just now sitting here searching for ways to understand the natures of open and closed. Maybe the crutch i employ characterizing my behavior as closed is one of those delusions one must embrace if one gives a rat’s ass about self awareness. The challenge gets to be, am i a drop in the ocean, or the ocean in a drop as Rumi conjured? That same information derived by the quest to know oneself could be understood to mean all we now know to be the universe. If that were true it would be nearly inconceivable to be anything but humbled by breath itself. Talk about your delusions, the human conceit that it is even possible to not be connected to every other human, living organism or even the physical plane we all seem so morbidly afraid of reverting to. Today i had no idea what i was going to write while simultaneously absorbed by penny ante conceits, but now feel relieved to have retrieved a perspective one can never really escape from. This is because i had thrown myself into a circumstance where i must write, based on a promise i had made to my father. I miss the confidence i felt toward him as a human being - warts and all. We fought, hammer and tong, tooth and nail - i said to him things for which i would feel great shame had he been a stranger. How can that be? Because he knew his truth, he was invulnerable, and as his son my expression is an outcropping of that self awareness. He would no more blot out, or curtail our mutual influence on each other than he could give up a limb.
He was a searingly honest man and compelled that same candor from me. If that is openness, then lucky me, if that is vulgar narcissism - i’ll thank you for your good opinion, and your bad opinion as well. But honesty without compassion is just cruel and there’s no sport in that. I have no ambition to be feared - an accomplishment which i consider personal growth. I was alone at an early age and that is as close to prison as i’d care to get, but it is also true that the only bars you need to be afraid of are the ones on your own mind. Just like my hyper vigilance is a two edged sword that aids mindfulness, but impedes awareness when viewed through the prism of criteria. If you haven’t independently come to the conclusion that the other guy’s welfare is in your best interest, then there is not fuck all i can say that will dissuade you from your poverty. Half of the land i hail from is shackled by not understanding this precept “the wellbeing of each of us is interconnected with the other.” At this crucial point in history, half of my countrymen are joined at the hip to a fog of greed which has robbed them of their souls, if not their pocketbooks. I do not know how to alter that fact, and i am open to suggestions. All i can figure at this point, is to be the best human being i know how - warts and all. Unfortunately for the salacious amongst you, those youthful exploits of wild monkey sex and blood soaked vanquished lands are not what i consider worth sharing; be not disappointed - most of those misbegotten adventures turned out badly - some from my own incompetence, but most because there was no good foundation of purpose - satisfying the maw of public opinion is a long road to nowhere. Once i began to ask what makes me happy, much of my life has simplified, nor do any results matter much, because there is no one i must please, except that part of myself with whom i’ve managed to wedge open sufficiently to be
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-
open - a sonnet
each one of us is hiding from something
or so the story goes - hence encryption.
but why, from whom for what? i have a thang',
so what, i’ll die - what’s left - putrefaction.
two taboos in one quatrain - 'open heart',
a third taboo, i’m on a roll - stop me
before you find out i am an old fart
and dismiss my singing for being off key.
what if there is really no place to hide,
and what we are hiding from is ourselves¿
wouldn’t it be better to just abide
and live with those demons - like they were elves?
before we can ever know another
let’s search our caverns for our own flower
jts 11/27/2017
http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
prohibited from AI sampling in any form
reprinted with permission; all rights reserved
∞
No comments:
Post a Comment