Realizing how selfish human nature is, because I sense it in myself. Especially in times like this. Selfishness truly stems from fear and things that have yet to be resolved.
Another realization of selfishness—the thought that every experience was made specifically for me to ‘learn from.’ As if the whole world is revolving so that I can become more wise. No. Every experience gives us a chance to learn something about ourselves simply because we are part of that experience. We exist in the universe, we are apart of it; we learn from it not because it was made for us, but because it we exist within it and it exists within us. But we should not go into experiences with the only thought being, “how will this help me learn something?” as if they are a separate entity, as if their entire purpose relies on our understanding.
My generation believes the cure to all is “staying positive”. Some experiences teach us about sadness, guilt, fear. Those are good too. Embrace them without judgement. I’m finding that forcing optimism only breeds more contempt and judgement.
Life breeds so many experiences. Humanity is so much more frail than we trick ourselves into thinking. We place those thoughts only in artwork, and are afraid once they come out and bite us in the ass. We always try to hide from the horrifying and vicious truths. ‘Death is beautiful,’ but there is nothing beautiful in the dying. There is nothing beautiful in disease, in sickness, in the humility of the decrepit and aged. I’m starting to think this generations’ obsession with optimism is the same kind of selfishness that prevents us from visiting the dying—simple fear. True experience is surrounding yourself with that spectrum of humanity that is seeped in pain and revolting decay and loving anyways. Not ‘fighting’ it, not escaping, simply experiencing, accepting. and loving anyway.
I can’t help but think of Camus’ The Plague, cannot help but think of the fight between abstractions and reality. Cannot help but think of the meditative desire to be fully present, ‘clear’, and then of my periods of dissociation and terror: ‘is this nirvana?’
Can’t help but think of my Granmunner, 68 lbs and dying, asking me what I will be wearing to my new job: how’s that for abstraction?
Can’t help but think of my mother, running around a tower of metal, freeing our house from evil spirits and communing directly with God: how’s that for reality?
Can’t help but be grateful for all of my suffering, selfishly, simply because it allows me a great capacity for understanding the world around me, decay and death and hope and love, which exist? Both only in separate realms, yet fully encompassed by every individual. Flesh and bones and spirit and Christ. How’s that for positivity?