Inquiries About Finality

Moirai Mimicry, Atropos Acts by Me

How do you know it's the end? How do you know when to end it? How can you tell when something has run its course? This kind of arbitration plagues me in so much of what I do. I've never initiated the dissolution of any relationship I've been in. If you read my blog you might be able to tell that most of my posts end somewhat disjointedly. I'm not a finisher. But pruning is necessary for any worthwhile growth, right? And I specify pruning, not the brutally destructive flames of burning bridges. How do you know when a branch is no longer beneficial to growth?

Having never learned these things I've developed a sort of hoarder mentality in aspects of my life. I sentimentally retain the useless wrappers from the new thing I buy. I keep facebook friends that I haven't spoken to in years and don't expect to in the distant future. I saved the page of that one thing you posted that I thought you were amazing for. I hold out hope that memorial refuse will be relevant again. I end up holding onto the memory of something that was never really there. I think I'm afraid of acknowledging that.

Maybe this sentimental debris is one of things holding me back. It's strangely paradoxical; admitting that I don't truly have something is preventing me from gaining something new. Then again, my sentimentality is what keeps this blog alive. I started it at a time when peers typically started blogs and abandoned them when that shine wears off, when the engagement desists and their wealth of brownnose peers get tired of giving them social proof. Deleting them or leaving the derelict memories in a corner of a server somewhere. But I keep it up when only a couple of people ever let me know they've even once looked forward to this edited thought vomit.

After I made the first draft of this post, having trouble finishing yet another thing, I came across some advice from Dr. John Gottman on the Four Horsmen of the Apocalypse [of a relationship]. It isn't the definitive guide to telling when something will end or how to end it but I think it's a good start. It's one step on that journey.

That step, however, is in the direction of another goal and another question. Once one knows how and when to end things, how do you begin?

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. 

TS (Thomas Stearns) Eliot, "Four Quartets"




Now Playing 'Yes, We're Sinking' by eaneikciv

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does anybody read these?

Boy, Aeternus and Dreams

"Do not wait; the time will never be just right. Start where you stand, and work with whatever tools you may have at your command, and better tools will be found as you go along." 

Napoleon Hill

Puer Aeternus: The young god, eternal youth, a sickness. I may not fall under Jung's classification of the man who refuses to grow up but I see parallels which I don't like. Much like a horoscope, I cherry picked whatever I think applied to me. I too avoid doing what I need to unless I'm enthusiastic about it. There's also the the pride, depression and waiting for the world empathetically reform itself so I can pursue my dreams. My subconscious is wiser than my conscious psyche and probably already connected these and other dots.

I had a dream recently. I was hanging around on a street vaguely like one near my house with a few faceless but strangely familiar friends. It was late evening, getting dark but still with decent visibility. Like someone put some cheap UV40 sunglasses on the sky. It was without the orange and purple blends of the sunsets I know. I was being my usual wallflower self, hearing but not quite listening to the indecipherable dialogue. Generally content.

For whatever reason, I decided to take a walk back to the previously non existent house. As I walked, I remembered the house and the house became. It was her house. I realized we were hanging by her house. As I remembered who she was, I was in her house and there she was. The familiar house in retrospect was my own. I don't know why my subconscious gave it to her. It just did.

I liked her. Everything about her. But she wasn't actually anyone I knew. If you've watched 'A Scanner Darkly' you'd be familiar with the scramble suit which hid agents' identities but to us, the audience, was a rapidly changing and sometimes mixed image of  persons. That's who she was. Every woman I'm attracted to right now. All at the same time.

In my-her house there was Mix Girl's parents and a few more faceless friends by the kitchen. Probably eating and drinking. My subconscious considered it unimportant. I exchanged some mute words with her father for a little until he left with his wife to another section of the house. The room we were in was both living room and kitchen/dining room arranged side in the halves of one big rectangle. The living room was closer to the front door with chairs arranged all about. The sofa, which in waking reality is a love seat, faces the door. Now, I don't have 'game'. This would be very atypical of an introvert. But now me and Mix Girl were on that sofa and we were about to talk.

Noise outside interrupted us before we even began and I got up to investigate. The friends from the street had just carried someone who was having some type of breathing problems and laid her near the door. She was an old classmate. The only person I clearly recognized in the dream. She was already feeling better, luckily, and I stayed by her for a bit.

We talked a little about how our peers have been changing. Some of us are getting married, having kids and a few are about to add a 'Doctor' to their names. We built good rapport. But just as I seem to do with anyone I unintentionally start getting close to, I essentially run away. I wished her well and headed back inside.

The last thing I remember was stepping inside and seeing Mix Girl still sitting alone. The moment I stepped in,  my point of view switched to behind the sofa, seeing the back of her head and I saw myself, standing at the door, looking at her. Then I woke up.

The reason I managed to remember all this is because, as I woke up that morning and tried to recall the dream, one thing really struck me. I remembered the classmate I spoke to passed away 3 years ago. The images of the dream were more cemented when I retold it to my friend who always gets everything. I started to realize how strange it felt that when I try to explain something I previously said to her, she not only understood but had already given a thoughtful response. Strange in a good way of course.

I'm not sure what it means seeing my deceased friend but what I took from the rest of the dream was the need for me to not only take action, but to put some effort into it. I haven't seen many of my friends in a long time but it's within my power to change that. There are things that I probably thought would fall into place with time but I can't rely on that. The cure that Carl Jung suggested for the puer aeternus is work.

“Work is the one disagreeable word which no puer aeternus likes to hear, and Dr. Jung came to the conclusion that it was the right answer.”

My own mind has been telling me this and it's way past time I listened. I've taken steps. I'm still far from what I wanted but now I can see the next step in my path. I'm stepping out of a haze, I'm more determined to work than I have in as long as I can recall. For that I am happy

Now Playing: Frank Ocean - 'Wiseman'

  

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work harder

Firefly

photo by David Backes

There was a firefly in my room for some months. I mentioned it on twitter the first time I saw it, of course. Interestingly, I only really notice it when I'm at my weariest. Once, I tried leaving my bedroom door open in the hopes that it would find its way out. If not back to nature, at least out of my domain. I still saw it a few times after that and only when my room was at its darkest and still when my body is at its weakest.

On the early, after midnight - pre-sunrise, morning of January 2 2013, I was ready to descend into a glorious food coma when I saw the bug flashing again. It seemed more pathetic this time. Isolation wasn't doing it any favours. It drifted across my line of sight to the bare wall in my room opposite my single window and blinked a bit in the corner near the door.

I rushed to turn on my bedside/desk lamp mock-up in the hopes of catching the thing to free it. By the time I was standing where I last saw it, it disappeared. I stood there for a little while, just staring in the corner thinking: "Is this schizophrenia? Is this firefly a symptom of some kind of psychosis I've developed?"

As I was turning around to head back to bed I spotted the firefly further along the wall, closer to the opposite corner. It was a bit small so I was worried I might crush it if I tried to hold it directly. I rummaged through the junk in my room and found a small plastic container to coax it into. Capping the container with one hand then picking up my keys with the other, I walked triumphantly to the front door.

Outside I gave the container a shake but I could still see that black spot in the container's white lining so I moved closer to the potted flowers on the veranda for another, harder shake. At first I didn't see any sign of it, which at least that meant it definitely wasn't in the container anymore. As I was turning to go back in I briefly glanced some rapid flashing in a flower pot.

It was free! I was free. I felt truly, and to me, strangely happy for this simple thing and I actually pulled off a smile. For an instant, again I thought: "Is this schizophrenia? Is this firefly a symptom of some kind of psychosis I've developed?" but then I wondered if maybe this experience was supposed to have some deeper more positive meaning.

Silly thoughts and unimportant experiences maybe, but 20-baker's dozen might just turn out to be something special. Let's hope.

Now Playing: Ed Sheeran 'Firefly'

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Hey, you,.I probably want you to do a guest post