And the angels fought, they fought for god.
They fought for the ideals and the pureness they saw within themselves.
They fought for the goodness they sought to water the world with.
And the angels fought, they fought for god.
They fought for the ideals and the pureness they saw within themselves.
They fought for the goodness they sought to water the world with.
I once thought that to think that there was an intrinsic purpose to life was silly. I thought if one thought there was, one only got there by lying to themselves, deluding themselves in fear of death. I saw the world as just a place where things existed and everything happened purely by chance. Everyone and everything was here because of an uncountable number of chance happenings that lead to the universe, and to life. To me this suggested there lacked any purpose, for it to be chance instantly makes life arbitrary. The only conclusion I could come to was that our only purpose was to reproduce. That was it, like all other animals, we were here to live meaningless lives merely to create more meaningless lives.
What I now know is that my nihilism lead to, or in some way correlated with being hedonistic. I’m yet to work out, whether it is our nihilistic society that teaches hedonism, or if it is an evolution within the individual, perhaps a combination of the two. Whatever the cause, I lived my life for the moment, everything around me told me that this was the way to live. People, advertisements, magazines, TV, all said almost everything should be sacrificed to gain experiences and pleasures. Why? Because you might die tomorrow, because what else could you possibly do worth while in your life. More importantly because other people were doing it and posting it on their Facebook. Everything was about instant gratification, nothing could wait. If quality had to be sacrificed for time, I never thought twice. Now was all that mattered. Tomorrow doesn’t exist, the eternal now was all I had. Why should I make a sacrifice for what might not pay off, or that I might not be around to cash in.
The combination of these two philosophies were destructive. I made choices against my future for the benefit of the next five minutes. In the moment I could be satisfied, underneath, I was struggling. Life felt empty. I resented myself for not making better choices for the future I inevitably had to face. I needed to change, but I could not see how, or even why. I convinced myself I just needed more. More experiences. More stuff. Then I’d feel good. Then, I’d be happy.
So how did I escape the nihilism and hedonism which is so rampant in our western societies? Firstly I have to thank Jordan B. Peterson. It was not only by his word, but he is certainly the most influential of all. But to break it down, it was just a matter of learning. I found answers, I found that I was wrong. Now when I say wrong, I mean it in two ways. Technically, and pragmatically. Both are important in a journey in understanding your place in life. What saved me was my passion to learn and curiosity. My desire and interest in new ideas, slowly I found a path toward better ideas. These ideas were like pistachio nuts, each one you ate just makes you want another one.
We chase happiness as though it were air to breath. Like there was nothing more important or even anything else to consider. There are a few problems with this, firstly, happiness is fleeting even for those who lead the best lives (whatever that means). But really life is fundamentally suffering, you ignore this fact at your own peril. To do so will inevitably lead to frustration with life and resentment against whatever you come define as God, if you cannot conceptualise such a being, then the results are even worse. In this situation there is no one to blame or be angry at, the results of this can be as we see with mass shootings. Nihilists who wish to show the world just how resentful they are to the nature of being, hence why they always go for the most innocent victims available. I can’t help but believe that those who know that life is suffering are prepared and see no reason for resentment for their lot in life. It’s something to do with expectations, which are a real problem in our society. In the West today we raise children to be resentful. We instil in them a level of expectation that one could never hope to satisfy and philosophy destined to fail them.
There is a number of ways I believe we fail children, the first is this idea of inclusiveness, of removing the meritocracy. The first thing we do with children is tell them they can be anything the want, they just have to try. It sounds lovely and innocent but the effects have been shown to be quite the opposite. We continue to reinforce this belief when we give them medals for participation. We remove all capability of learning from failure, of learning perseverance. Next we remove their ability to push their own boundaries and learn what they are and are not capable of, everything, and everyone must be wrapped in bubble wrap. We don’t allow them to do anything that might be possible to hurt themselves, or others. In turn, this hurts our children and inevitably, our societies. Children no longer find and experience the limits and the boundaries, instead they are sheltered only to grow up to become adults who have failed to learn their own boundaries and limitations, they fail to learn about the world correctly.
The answer to nihilism isn’t simple or easy, or maybe it is. Maybe it is the logos. This is the spoken word, the truth. For me it all comes back to pragmatism. This ability we have, we must use to bring forth what helps us. If we continue to foster youth whom misunderstood the fundamentals of life then we are not achieving what we could. If we are here to do anything, then that is to make tomorrow better, not just for yourself, but for all.
Caffeine seeping into my veins, bringing with it the morning kick-start for the heart. Why am I drinking coffee? I don’t really require a rev up. Coffee fills the stomach, fending away tummy grumbles and the feeling of ’emptiness’. Practicing intermittent fasting does this to you. It continuously leaves you wondering whether you are or aren’t hungry. Is it hunger or just me thinking its hunger?
Today will be filled with contemplation. I will fill today with contemplation. Always too many things to ponder and consider, to keep one step ahead of the rest, one step ahead of myself. The internal battle between the expectations of my life and of life itself raging on. As if I am the clairvoyant of my own life, predicting what lies just past my own line of sight.
My ex-girlfriend arrives back, walking back into my life with complexity. How do you sacrifice yourself for others? How do you allow yourself to wear masks, concealing your intentions from the ones you want to open up to most? How do you endlessly hurt yourself and close yourself off the way that you do?
King Louis XIV, the Sun King, was one emboldened, visionary man. Bending for others but never breaking. To live without judgement of circumstance is the true lesson he had to teach. How does the noblest of kings treat a peasant with the same sincerity and wholeheartedness as he does his courtiers? Did this empathetic nature make him he noblest of kings?
Are trees happier when they sway in the wind as opposed to standing cemented?
The Oracle in The Matrix, hands Neo a cookie after insinuating that a decision will be forced upon him. A situation will be imposed on him in which he will need to take action, to make a decision. A decision that will impact upon the outcome of this hero, the outcome of this hero’s world. A decision that extends so much further past the extent of the hero’s insecurities, vulnerabilities and misfortune. A decision that transcends the hero himself.
I sit watching birds fly around me. Contemplating what I’d use wings for if I had them.
Simply put, the hero sacrifices, the hero uses wings to fly towards his demons. Facing the mirror that reflects himself to himself, his purest of adversities and self-doubt. A hero attempts to save Morpheus, regardless of whether he understands and has learned all he could have about the Matrix beforehand.
A hero learns that he is required to act regardless of whether he has the understanding to do so.
A hero learns that understanding the repricussons of any action they take is out of their grasp. A hero learns that attempting to understand these repricussions leaves an individual hopeless, flailing in a dark void that can only imprison, serving to offer only endless questions to unsolved answers.
In order to live in reality, action needs to be taken. To dissolve fear Neo needed to risk losing against Agent Smith. One needs to risk losing and exposing oneself to further fear. The type of fear that can make you nauseous at the ponder of it. The type if fear that doesn’t ring the doorbell before entering.
Inevitably, there is always a Morpheus that needs to be saved, there are always fears to overcome. Use your wings for heroic purposes.
Faded birch deck. Boards bowing with age as if rejecting the life they were given. Nails protruding up, taking the boards attempt of as escape as a catalyst to their own.
The sun beams down, saturating an inescapable heat over weather boards with flaking white paint. Faded joinery only managing to hint at the once bold colour it once wore in youth. That colour today would be anyones guess.
Inside echoed the strange sounds of an empty house, each foot step a violent reminder of the has-beens that memories collected here had become. Michael stood at the window after walking the hallway to the end, past the kitchen and into the sun room which over looked the ocean.
Outside as the weak winter sun beat down, the wind was calm but the ocean was angry. Furious waves crashed in a messy action as if a toddler was throwing a tantrum in a bath. A storm had recently passed and the ocean was always the last to give up the game.
The view was calming for Michael, his fondest memories were of storms, the sound of the rough ocean would forever be linked to those times. They were welcome thoughts at this time, a time when happy thoughts were too few and far between.
This house once represented a home to Michael, a place where he would rest his battered mind, where he would watch the rain on the windows in winter, and where he would lie on the couch by the window in summer, a book in his hand.
These memories were rocks in his mind, a place to cling to when the current was too strong. This was one of those times.
He walked around the house, touching all the spots that triggered memories, the gash on the lounge doorframe, the chip on the benchtop corner and the faded circular patch of carpet in his old bedroom.
Each one he felt connected to, a soothing sensation followed each texture. Closing his eyes his imagination could take him back. The smells, the weight of the air, everything would rush back. Such action was addictive to Michael. He had been down this road before, being lost unto his mind, the real world became depressing in comparison. He was resolute in his mind not to return, but he didn’t really trust himself.
“I need this”, he whispered to himself, justifying his actions just as an alcoholic would.
Michael was all too aware of his actions and the rationale he adhered to them. It didn’t take long for his mind to over think it and he began to pace up and down the hallway.
Michael had a strange walk, his lanky features didn’t help the situation. It was as though he was an old man with worn slippers who had to walk a certain way to keep them from sliding off his feet, so when he walked his arms and legs would go first and his body would follow. As unusual as his gait was, Michael was a simple and gentle man, his world was self fulfilled. Taking his time, with each part of his life, he wasn’t a self described perfectionist but he knew how he wanted things. This was possibly what bothered him the most, as his life had failed to manifest the ideals he held dear in his mind. Although little of it was to do with his own actions, or lack of.
Two years ago he was in a very different place. His wife and his two young daughters were still alive, so were his parents. The pacing of the latter was what brought him to be in their old house again. He wasn’t sure why he had come back but he figured his unconscious mind knew better how to heal itself than his conscious mind did.
He was wearing a long grey overcoat in which his hands rested in the pockets as though both his arms had gone to sleep. He was hunched over as though he didn’t have the energy to stand up properly. The last two years had sucked the life out of Michael, his skin was devoid of colour and his hair had quickly began turning grey as if trying to blend with his complexion. Even with the great toll the accumulated events had taken on him he still remained quite functional, he was stuck in a sort of auto pilot. As though someone else had taken the controls and he was merely witnessing someone else’s life in first person.
It was all rather surreal when he pondered it, but even thinking had a disconnected feeling to it. At times he would pinch his arm with his fingernails so hard he would bleed, as though the act might kick him out of the seeming other dimension he was trapped within.
In the sun room a large cane chair still remained, he studied it for a moment before deciding to sit in it. He was unsure why it remained when every other piece of furniture was gone. Considering this fact he couldn’t but help but look at it as though it was alien to him. Sitting in the chair wasn’t a comfortable experience, the cushions were gone and the cane had broken in places making parts stick out and stab into him as he applied his weight. He didn’t mind this much, in some sense he found pleasure in it as it reminded him of the age of the chair. He pondered if he had become a little masochistic, but the thought disappeared quickly.
Sitting in the chair and looking outside into the haze of sea spray he drifted into the haziness of his own mind. He thought about the expectation of life, of the human expectation of fairness, of what had been, and of what it had become. It didn’t take him long to realise he related to this chair more than any other human being alive. What he valued in life had been washed away, eroded and faded by time. A line of events that had been, and events which had not yet happened. Everything that he had been was gone, the real Michael laid somewhere in the past. What existed now was the chair. Everything with which he had purpose for was now gone. He no longer served the world in the way he once had, he was broken and parts were sticking out. He was now quasi-real, he quasi-existed. He now knew why the chair remained when everything else was gone, he just hadn’t been taken away yet.
Pain leaps, for joy – for sorrow. It dances upon your grave. What is it to you. This, this that is you. Do you hold and grip, dry are the hands that never close, slippery are the ones that remain closed. You should run. But you shouldn’t. Is the answer right, little does it matter what your mother thought. There are ones who tell you what is so. Denied, but the truth is somewhere down there.
Somewhere a piano plays. Melodies, are they sad or gay. Do you shrink or do you rise. This is not for you to choose, although you must decide. Choice is a bit like never being asked. What is will. You walk alone, a poorly lit street, the bewitching hour has past. Noises, foreign, threatening. Is it sodden mud under foot. Is there a welcoming inn up the street. Does the end of the street meet the end of the road. Does a stone have your last sight written upon it.
Memories. Are they what they appear. If you ponder upon them. Do they become clearer. The path behind more certain. Does the sky change colour. Is there red, is there blue. Are you sure. If you’re not, what will you do about it. Did you wake just now, or do you still sleep. Was that emotion. That lantern, hanging above your row boat. Does it guide your way on the misty lake. Does it’s light shine toward surer water. Does it hide things in shadows. Is this a corner of your mind. The undusted. Is the cutlery blunt. Is this house your own. Do the doors stay open. Or do you close them behind you. Do you check your keys. Is there more than you expected. Are the unknown large or small. Do they jingle a soft tone. Do they make you cringe when they rattle.
If you point. What do you point at. Is that it. Are you sure. Have you checked. You probably should. When you walk. What plays. The violin. The cello. When you fly. Do you fly with birds. Do you fly with beetles. Birds can be vultures. Choices are never what they seem. Cracks and seams. So much darkness can be hidden. It sneaks. It creeps. It stays hidden so you cannot see the light. Contrasts. Distinctions. Names. The separation of the chaos from the order.
Do you know where your foot stands. Does chaos melt your soul. Does order chill your bones. The balance of Yin. Of Yang. Where are your feet. I bet you’re not even sure without careful reflection. Unless they’re both in chaos. Then you know. You know all too well. Bring back something worthy. Don’t waste your chaos. Your life will be spent dancing round it. Make it count when you fall in.
All working relationships require one party who takes up the position of sun, the other of moon. These two functions serve as the ebb and flow within a long-term shared relationship dynamic.
The yin: the anchor and prime source of stability to the relationship during the calm swells, thunderous storms and all moments in between. To an overlooker peering up to the sky, the moon offers the only direction and reference amongst the vastness of black unknowing. The moon is the introspection and calm, the reflection and procedure. The escape from the abyss.
The yang: the harborer of action and familiarity, spreading the light and warmth to the world. The sun provides the light, allowing for one to see. The winds that flutter cherry blossoms and assists birds in gliding high. Offering the world with energy to grow into a stronger, more dependable and supportive version of itself. The light that blinds when looking at it.
Relationships can be thought of as intercontinental ocean voyages. Regardless of the particular boat, the size of your sails or whether you are Christopher Columbus or not, without the sun there is no wind. A force that can redirect itself or cease to blow at any moment. The moon within the relationship uses their knowledge of sailing to put the sun’s wind to best use.
Relationships in time, build up high like skyscrapers in the Manhattan skyline. Simply put, without the moon, these buildings would succumb due to poor foundations. Essential design elements would not be accounted for, the structure would not be lightening resistant nor earthquake proof without the moon’s canny. The sun within the relationship can build the skyscraper of their dreams, bringing vision to reality, with methodology brought forward by the moon.
Simply put, people who emanate the sun’s energy produce and source the cards of life from themselves, for themselves and those they love. While those who ground themselves in the moon’s energy, patiently glue new components from the outside world into their lives.
Each can stockpile or hoard their resources. But only after forming union, can they creatively construct and upgrade a house of cards together, that when super-glued will not fall down like the rest.