Brooding

The breaking point, everyone has one for whatever negative feeling/situation. Whatever the breaking point is I wonder if the symptoms are the same for all.

I wonder if when feeling that things are just "too much", others feel a maelstrom of activity inside their skulls, a frenetic mounting of energy, an increasing wall of internal noise that mutes the sound of the external world with its' volume, and muddled and confused colors and memories or thoughts winding around one another.

I wonder if when beginning to feel the descent into "moodiness" or "feeling down", others sense a slow sinking in their minds or perhaps it's an enveloping cloud, casting a shadow over their prior state of normalcy, or even happiness, with an almost imperceptible sloth like movement. Sinking in slow motion. The world turns a darker shade and unclear thoughts bubble to the surface - where the only clear "thought" might be a vague feeling of overwhelming sadness without a distinct point of origin. The internal world becomes heavy with the descent, the body ... the abstract body felt by the mind, wrapped and suffocating in a cocoon. The world begins to look grainy, somewhat unreal, as the mind is swallowed by the slide into the void.

Philosophy & The Good Life

This was a nice read with my morning tea:

The question of the good life, I imagine, was simple in the days before cities. It was having enough to eat, a place to sleep, clothing, tools, family and a tribal affiliation. So the good life was one of freedom from want and hardship. However, once the necessaries were provided, human beings wanted more out of life. Theories arose about how life ought to be lived.

Those who had the time and inclination to think more deeply about the good life for human beings were, first, the religious poets and prophets, and, then, the philosophers. Religion taught people to live a good life as defined by a religious teaching. Religion, as it were, does the thinking for the people who do not have time to think things through for themselves. Philosophy, however, asks people to think for themselves, to question doubtful premises and assumptions using reason, logic, and experience to provide the best arguments for their own position, while being able to put forward objections to rival arguments, and to answer objections to their own.

Every familiar religion embodies a code of conduct, notions of purity and impurity, moral standards, and a strong link with something considered Divine. In some forms of Christianity, for example, the good life is one that is lived in loving obedience to God’s commands and in the belief that Jesus is the personal savior of humankind. This is a life of self-renunciation, service to others and asceticism. We know of it because of Divine revelation. We accept it on faith as a dogma of the religion. Other religions have other dogmas.

The philosophers I respect proceed non-dogmatically. They want us to examine the views that have been advanced, compare them, and then decide which conclusion is supported by the best argument. Looking around, the early philosophers saw that people pursue different things in life depending upon their desires. Some pursue pleasure, others wealth, fame, or power over others. It is the same today.

It turns out, upon philosophical reflection, that the satisfaction of these desires does not, in the end, make people happy. Those who pursue pleasure become jaded. The wealthy become habituated to their luxurious lifestyle. Fame palls and one is forced to live in the gaze of others. The quest for power breeds fear and suspicion in the powerful and in their subordinates.

Finally, there are some people who appear to pursue truth and wisdom rather than pleasure, riches, fame or power. These, of course, are the philosophers. To be honest, when philosophers talk about the good life, they stack the deck in their own favor. Whenever they discuss it, the good life is the philosophical life. This does not mean that they are wrong, but we should be cautious how we receive their arguments. There is no such thing as the good life for everyone, and neither philosophers nor religious expositors have any right to lay down the law about it.

Nevertheless, with this caveat, there are a number of things that the philosophical life has to recommend it. As Aristotle tells us, it begins in wonder at the universe and the spectacle of life. It proceeds through the cultivation of learning and reason, through the dialectical give and take of discussion, through awareness of varying points of view, and through understanding the pertinent questions to ask. Philosophers use conversation as a means of investigating reality. It is an integral part of the philosophical life. The Socratic method of questioning is a perfect example. In fact, Socrates embodies a certain take on the philosophical life. It is one that includes having a good memory for what people say, inexhaustible curiosity, and a desire to get to the bottom of things. Another key element is Socratic ignorance. A keen sense of how little we know is a valued asset in the philosophical life, as is a skeptical attitude toward all dogmatic religious or philosophical speculations. Finally, the philosopher requires a kind of courage to pursue arguments to their conclusions, whether those conclusions are welcomed or not.

As to the way philosophers should live, Aristotle puts it well in his Golden Mean: All things in moderation; nothing to excess. And we may add: Eat right, exercise and acquire habits of feeling, thought and action that lead to moral and intellectual excellence. The good life is a life devoted to the discovery and communication of truth within a community of like-minded people possessing moral integrity and a genuine desire to learn.

link to philosophy blog

The Wind

This is the desert I missed and remembered. High, cold winds that cut through flesh and bone, that shake leaves ferociously from their winter dried branches, that steal the moisture from unprotected lips, and breath from unsuspecting lungs.

It screams its' existence as it rushes, eddies, slam dances through the city and unpopulated desert alike.

It moves the heavy smog out of the basin, away from the mountain ranges, carrying it somewhere ... any where ... else.

It gives birth to sand storms that can deceive at night with the look of fog and uses individual grains of sand like tiny blow darts, aimed for bared skin and unprotected eyes.

The Rainy Day

I don't think it's raining here in the desert yet. My blinds are still shut against the world. I see, though, that the light, sneaking past the faux wooden white blinds, is pale, weak ... grey. I haven't gone outside to collect the morning paper so I don't know if the smell of rain is in the air. There is a scent of musk, sage, dirt and sand that hangs in the air when rain is near. It's carried by the sharp claws of the cutting winter wind - it's carried from places where the rain has already started, touched earth and released these scents into the air.

Estate sale

Is this all there is? When all is said and done, the body in a box due for the hungry fire or the hungry earth (except, these days, it doesn't really go to ground unless one specifies a green kind of funeral, does it? Usually the body just turns into human soup and bones stew bubbling in its' own gases in the fancy sealed against moisture rectangular pot).

After the body has gone or, really, the being, what is left? Boxes of clothes, paperwork, medicines, jewelry, hair products ... toilet paper? Maybe perfume on a scarf or a lingering scent on a pillow case? All those nameless items are sorted through, some bound for the goodwill, some bound for the dump, some becoming a keepsake, a family heirloom - hopefully with a story.

...but what is left of the being? The memories? Yes, in a way but those memories exist from others and only include the face or facet of the deceased, of the actions this person took or didn't take, an auditory memory of a laugh or sob. But of the being? The thoughts and feelings that no one had ever witnessed. The core of a body (or the core that is separate from the body) that no other body ever sees despite some of the romantics who insist that they "know" their soul mate/child/sibling/parent/friend. The core. The essence is gone.

So what is left?

Some believe the energy or soul ascends into another plane or being upon this place, that that is what is left - this immortality painted in abstract colors, this painting that helps those on the brink of nothing go into the void as well as those left behind, peering over the edge.

Riding the notes

Oftentimes I am unable to sleep despite the lateness of the hour or, rather, I have fought sleep until I finally lay in bed and then become unable to sleep. My mind, as many others, cannot stop its' constant whirring. The thoughts that float through are concentrated on items that range from daily issues to more larger issues outside my minuscule place in the vast universe, both of which can induce anxiety or panic.

The only effective way I've found to quell the endless stream of thoughts that cannot be solved or action taken at the bedtime hour is to let music soothe the savage mind. Anything with lyrics or modern only causes my mind to whir at greater speed. The only music that can lull me to the land of Morpheus is classical. It doesn't matter what period.

It isn't the case that classical music is so boring that it puts me to sleep because it is anything but that. The notes, the arrangements are very exciting, leading a body on a roller coaster of emotion, freeing the mind to fly with the thrill leaving self induced insomnia behind.

I can't help but to ride the music, like a surfer on the waves. The compositions, familiar or not, have the ability to just "take me away". No matter how much I might try to resist, the music lures my mind into a seat, allowing me to just ride along, spinning in loops, ascending and descending. My thoughts have no chance against this ride, I think, because I find myself waiting to see what is around the next corner, the next ridge, the anticipation does not allow my own thoughts to dominate.

Of course, thoughts still drift through my head but they are more nonsensical, produced by the music, they aren't necessarily mine and the destination is a thrill ride into dreamland, into the subconscious.