This morning I read that smokers wish to die at least as much as they wish to live.
I wonder about that as I sit alone in my dingy hotel room inhaling the warm rancid smoke of my cigarette. Several times this week I have woken up and gone into work and looked around at the dangers that surrounded me and thought, “today I think I will be killed, the best and the worst I can hope for is that my body will merely be broken and agonizing pain will be my life.” I see it all happen in my mind. I see myself rejecting peoples sympathies and thinking myself some kind of hero. As I work around high pressure gas lines, I see the news paper headlines announcing that a son was killed by an exploding gas line the same as the father. I see people thinking about this strange coincidence and friends, especially those few who know my father, talking about it with others and holding onto the story and treasuring it as if it were their own.
On Thursday, we were fixing a water leak. It was a wet muddy hell of a hole. The banks were crumbling everywhere. Our feet were most often stuck where we placed them until we could dig them out. I was shoveling that shit with Charlie when out of the blue he very slowly calmly said me name, “Mike.” I didn’t look. I didn’t say anything. I just slowly and calmly stepped to the side just in time for several thousands of pounds of clay to fall into the place where I was standing. I didn’t even look to watch it fall, I merely went back to shoveling as if it was routine. And guess it is.
I wonder sometimes if my embrace of life’s dangers has any connection to Freud’s “death wish”?
Broken hearts and broken dreams
loves lost and loves caused
Suffering and suffering and suffering in the hearts and minds and bodies of all
The pain we feel and the remedies we find
The guilt of happiness and the heroism we feel for all that we know
for all that ties us, one to the other
Our separate lives…. entwined…..burdened by our bonds
How is it that we cannot see that the joys and sufferings of others are really our own?
The expanse of loneliness vs the compression of love
When you love everyone, there is no place for the love of just one
When you feel the joy and suffering all, there is no distinguishing the suffering of one
When all is lost, everything is there to be found
This is the expanse of loneliness and the compression of love
Philosophy makes a wise person foolish. Beware to those who pursue it for wisdom, beware to those who love knowledge, beware. Truth, for those who desire it, should be pursued in life, and not in study. Only through ignorance is truth possible, for all knowledge reveals is untruth. By parting the drapes of the mind and stepping into the light of the universe, truth’s imperfections become obvious, the paradoxes become impossible, and the impossible becomes the only possibility. A philosopher might think she has gained a new insight and reached new ground and figured out the point or meaning or essence of life when all she has done is amuse her self with mind games and lay the foundation for more questions. Upon commencing the undertaking of philosophy, knowledge appears to be not only possible, but as a nugget of truth and beauty enveloped in mystery. With continued study, there comes more mystery. Before long, a philosopher will look back on her life and studies and realize that all that is left is the mystery. Truth, beauty, knowledge: all of it will be gone and she will realize that foolish people also make philosophy.