Friday, April 18, 2008

Diaspora

Go beyond the stream, Brahmin, go with all your soul: leave desire behind. When you have crossed the stream of Samsara, you will reach the land of Nirvana. When beyond meditation and contemplation a Brahmin has reached the other shore, then he attains the supreme vision and all his fetters are broken. He for whom there is neither this nor the further shore, nor both, who, beyond all fear, is free - him I call brahmin.

Descartes believed man's unhappiness was due to his being a child first. There is a certain disappointment in the slow realization that you will not always be protected, that with age comes insecurity, comes unwanted responsibility; the burden of hidden fears you never knew your parents bore. It may have been children Sartre had in mind when he said man is a useless passion. As to what or whom they care about, it is irrelevant, but to feel so strongly in youth's fleeting three-day weekend any available passion, this is the heart's learning how to anticipate the philosopher's pain. They send their hearts into the future, they place them on their youthful lovers so they can look back at themselves and feel feel valued, feel the excitement of the new, the expanding consciousness of a world they do not fear. Mental notes i write on the back of my brain as i ride home on the school bus. "Coach," she says to me, "that guy probably thought you were our dad." Children are heartless i think, but perhaps not in the way Barrie meant. Nostalgia, it is often the longing for a tangible past that never really existed, a homesickness for the idea of home more than the place itself. A place you felt protected and carefree, so certain in a world that was only as big as we could see. With age the rhythms of life accelerate at speeds not known to previous generations, the myth of progress is a centuries' neurosis that drives us to hold onto the past in photographs and souvenirs of the mundane. In missing the stability of our youth we develop a subtle fear of change, and ironically that which scares us the most is the idea of a life with no surprises left, such a life would allow us clear view to the end. In an existential angst we would be counting down the days till our death. I sometimes try to collect as many memories as possible to counteract the feeling of the future's gravity, an attempt to capture the present by swallowing it; by mentally absorbing as much of my surroundings as i can. But here too one cannot escape either past nor future as Annie Dillard relates about her youth "noticing and remembering everything would trap bright scenes to light and fill the blank and darkening past which was already pilling up behind me. The growing size of that blank and ever-darkening past frightened me; it loomed beside me like a hole in the air and battened on scraps of my life i failed to claim. If one day i forgot to notice my life, and be damned grateful for it, the great cave would suck me up entire." In response to a fading past we miss and impending future we are not ready to make past, we become too self aware, too conscious of our present. It is as if we are so consumed with extracting value out of each moment we fail to enjoy them as much as our recollections about them. Sometimes it's difficult to enjoy the places i love to be the most because i feel as though i am constantly bracing myself for the disappointment of leaving; time only haunts those who are aware of it. The only way to enjoy the bus ride home is to ignore it, to close my eyes to the shifting bodies and darkening skyline, to breath deep and exist in the space between my rumbling seat and the voices around my ears. In her book on the subject of nostalgia, Svetlana Boym concludes with simple paradox that as survivors of the twentieth century, "we are all nostalgic for a time when we were not nostalgic. But there seems to be no way back."

3 comments:

HSS said...

Forgive my lack of a sufficient response--it struck me though, that we are called to be children; perhaps this is part of the reason Paul tells us we have the spirit of adoption, not fear--so that we may know of the hope and future, the security and home of a father who transcends and controls the blink that we call time.

wait for it, there's a rebuttal, or at least a disclaimer, somewhere here. i'm working on it; i know i can't trust what i say. or at least, i can't trust that it's logical or true. maybe i shouldn't say anything...but it looks as though no one has been engaging your thoughts for a while, so i thought i'd drop in a bit of my own banality. don't let me get away with this--i'm lying the more i speak. your turn.

slightlee said...

Well, thanks for dropping in. My post was mostly a confluence of other people's words to make-up for my own lack. Spending time with kids continually reminds me of my own fading youth; past recollections pile up behind me as time seems to accelerate with the momentum of age. I feel as though the world i grew up in is not the one in which i live, but i do see how christians tend to live like children; they see the world they want to see.

Its better to think said...

Hello old comrade. Speaking of time going by, it has been some time since we last spoke. Forgive me for the abrupt withdrawal. As you can imagine life has changed a bit and I now have a very clear and present evidence that life is passing quickly! I have also had a lot to do with school.

Anyway, how have you been?