I had apathy in recent days. It is possible to live, as it were, at the top of your being, as if in a mode of passive transcendence. Not to engage is easy: It pretty much defines psychological normality. To risk oneself is considered unnecessary by those who believe they have found their path in life. It’s not rational as it takes one off one’s path. Also it uses up energy, sometimes substantive amounts.
I realized, though, that I can’t seem to write anything anymore, which is not how it was during the time that I was risking myself. Normative states produce the opposite of the messianic tendency in that one has nothing to say anymore and doesn’t care who does or doesn’t hear it.
By contrast, all innovators are a little off-balance. By the same token, it seems one has to gamble with the possibility of losing one’s balance if one is to become inventive again.
Since I could not write and cannot write, I took the gamble of becoming more outspoken, even to the point of going to war if necessary. My goal was to become more aware of aspects of myself I had ceased to notice or that hadn’t been apparent before.
It worked — and in a way that is a little strange. I didn’t sleep so well last night as I had consumed a lot of green tea to try to settle my stomach, which had itself been afflicted by a strong coffee draught the day before. She swallowed the spider to catch the fly. As twilight states go, this state of being sleepy to the point of dreaming but still wide awake was remarkably gratifying. I managed to combine my deeper levels of emotion, which are normally repressed, with my more conventional state of being. This is a strengthening.
At he deeper level of my psyche there is a lot of violence born of war and a corresponding emotional numbing. To go deeply into this childhood state awakens the possibility that I may not feel, at all, what I am feeling — which is an alarming way to be. A dream makes feeling my thoughts and processing this state more effective and palatable.
I dreamed my father and I were walking idly along. I said to him, “Why must we take everything so seriously, rather than just enjoy ourselves as other people do?”
“How do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, when they grab another person under the elbow and do a take-down in martial arts, they just enjoy it.”
Well, apparently, I take things seriously, said my subconscious.
At the basic level of not being able to process emotions, I have to work through all things systematically. I take things very gravely, as if I were tasked with getting to the bottom of severe passions that I cannot fully understand.
If I don’t get to the bottom of them, I lose my soul, my sense of being. I must work hard to facilitate a dialectic between this basic, rigid state of being at war, and some lighter, more fleeting moment.
The alternative is that I am doomed — and the sense of doom is already palpable.
Last night I conquered apathy and forced a deeper integration. I do need to allow — and not deny — that I am warlike. This warlike conditioning was from the attitudes of people all around me.
To acknowledge this troublesome aspect of my psyche means that I can write again. Not to do so means living on the surface, feeling relatively happy but not achieving much, which leads to growing anguish and pain.