The night is quiet at two in the morning. A lone motorcycle in the distance can be heard. It is cold in my room, but I only have myself to blame for that because I’m laying here, without a blanket and wearing only a thin pair of pajamas and a t-shirt.
My thoughts turn to Leah, the woman that killed what was left of my faith in humanity. I think of making her a mix cd, but decide against it yet I still move songs around on the iPod, putting them in the best order I can. My intent is probably to create a listening experience to mirror the short time we spent together. To encapuslate it. A kind of audio photograph for lack of a better description.
A breath leaves my body, making me feel uncomfortable to be made aware of. It’s a strange sensation to notice, something that I do thousands of times each day, yet alien just the same.
I think of my soul. How corrupted it is. How.. dirty it is. Not to say that it has been marred by acts of immorality, although it has -- but the dirt, the dirt of a life lived in fear, doubt, mistrust, hopelessness. It stains me in a way that makes me ashamed to get up out of bed each morning, and hesitant to sleep, for fear that I will not awake if I do.
On my right hand, is a hairband that I have found years ago. One summer, I was seized by the inexplicable urge to collect stray hairbands whenever I would spot one laying on the ground. In my suitcase, there is a pocket containing dozens of these things. All shapes and sizes, from the smallest loop that barely would fit around two fingers, to ones that glitter in the sunlight. At the moment, I am wearing an inconspicuous black one that is partly frayed, I suspect it is only a matter of time before it snaps.
The sound of traffic reaches my ears once again. Penetrating through deaf ears that are rested upon pillows, oblivious to the world. Ears that laid alone, or with other ears, attached to bodies that pressed close against one another.
Ears, like mine, are destined to be forever alone.
But I shouldn’t think that. As haggard and frayed my soul is, much like the hairband, it still refuses to give up. It still believes in something greater than myself. Something more. Something I have yet to experience, but I know on an intuitive level that it is approaching. For a long time, I used to think that such a feeling could only be called hope.
After Leah, I am not quite sure if it is hope I’m experiencing.
Or a delusion of my own making.
The loneliness weighs heavily on me. My faith is wavering. My trust is gone. My words are empty and without meaning. Everything I see, hear and do, feels like an exercise in futility. Like I am miming or mimicking the correct way to behave, knowing that at the end of the day, I will be in bed, tired and alone.
Alone.
Typing the word scares me a little. “Alone.” I say it out loud, my voice carrying a tone of sincerity. I say it again and it almost seems like a shirt hanging on the rack at a clothing store that I am considering to try on. Alone. Alone. Alone. I repeat, wondering if it suits me.
It does not. It never has.
My biggest flaw, is that I tend to live for others and not for myself. I don’t generate my own happiness very well when I am without a relationship. I need a projection, a defined individual for me to live my life for. Someone that occupies my thoughts, and I in turn. I call it my biggest flaw, simply because it’s not the right way for a person to live. To live in service or worship of another. True happiness is entirely dependent on how an individual perceives their present state of being. If they are content, then happiness results. If they lack, then sadness.
Lack. I murmur the word, feeling my tongue touch the roof of my mouth, trying it on.
It suits me well.
But lack, that could be considered an expression of discontent. One does not truly lack, as long as air enters their lungs. One lacks only when the ego is simply saying: “I want more than this.”
The ego. My arch-nemesis. I am torn between the things that I want and the things that I think I would need.
And I wonder, do I truly need them? I would like to say yes, I do, but I can’t be sure if I would feel complete once I acquire them.
I am unsure if I would start to become whole.
Just because, what I want and what I need; are two different things. One, is what I consciously desire, the other only serves to confuse rather than illuminate my understanding, simply because I am unable to really know what it is I must need. Air, water, food, shelter, clothing. Those are the basics. Relationships, wealth, power, prestige. Those are harder to determine.
Many years ago, while working at a job I hated, I used to tell myself that the only way to get to Heaven was to go through Hell. It made sense at the time, because greater appreciation comes from being given what you once lacked. Or perceive as lacking. Appreciation is an expression of gratitude. It is a certain type of satisfaction that can only arise from the lack thereof. A million dollars is not appreciated nearly as much by one who has billions than it would be to a transient who is living homeless on the street. Contrast is how we define the things we appreciate and identify what we lack, or desire more of.
There can be no darkness, if there is always light. There can be no suffering, if there is only joy. There can be no cruelty if there is only compassion.
And so forth. The contrast has to be there before a distinction can be made and a judgement earned.
This gets me wondering. Suffering, joy, cruelty, compassion are elements of behaviour and emotion. Suffering, is to experience a profound sense of discomfort, physically, mentally or spiritually. Joy, is the antonym of suffering. Compassion is the act of bestowing sympathy without selfish intentions involved, otherwise it would then be called pity. Cruelty, is the direct or indirect act of behaving with maliciousness towards another person, it is the opposite of compassion. The reason why I mentioned indirect, is that cruelty has many facets, but it all comes down to what the intention behind the action is.
The more I think about such things, the more I begin to understand what evil truly is. It is not cruelty, maliciousness, hate, bigotry or selfishness; it is all and none of those things. When you distill evil and break it down to it’s very basic form, you end up with a surprising result.
Ignorance.
To be evil, is to be ignorant.
Deliberately ignorant. Even unintentional ignorance, could be construed as an evil way of being.
Ignorance and indifference. Both require a conscious decision to make. When one chooses to ignore the plight of another, it is a choice that is being made. This does not necessarily mean action must be taken. It does not require any effort to be compassionately complacent and to keep a clear conscience.
But it is a decision that I find I must make.
When my heart swells at the sight of a beggar and I do not give any aid or assistance, that is not indifference. Nor is it ignorance.
When another person wrinkles their nose in disgust, and produces some pocket change; that is ignorance and pity working in tandem.
The difference between the two appears clear. Both are decisions. They may not have been consciously decided upon, but they are choices nonetheless.
I have made the choice.
History is full of examples of people demonstrating that the things we presume that we need, are inessential. There is a curiosity aimed towards those who remain celibate for many years by choice, or go without eating meat, or are content to live in a cave. Examples abound of people living meaningful lives without having to need certain things.
So then, is it a choice? It is. So what causes us to feel lack? Our egos. Our assumptions that we need certain things. They are assumptions, make no mistake about it.
What is it that we truly need? Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs suggest the very basics:
Food, water, sex, breathing, excretion, homeostasis and sleep.
I do dispute listing sex as a basic need, however.
Up the level, once those needs are met, we then have the need for security. That we can be assured of our future survival. Our health, employment, food, wealth and so on. Reasonable.
Then comes friends, family and sexual intimacy. Very curious that Maslow would list sex again, as a third-level need.
Self esteem, confidence, respect of others and yourself. That’s the next level.
At the very top lies morality, creativity, spontaneity, problem solving, lack of prejudice and acceptance of facts. Again, those are apparently crucial needs.
What is interesting to me, is that Maslow has forgotten the most important need of all.
Purpose. We need to have direction in our lives. To go towards a goal. Whether it’s securing your property, or having sex; we all need to strive towards something. Purpose should be right at the bottom, alongside water and sleep. A life lived without purpose, is not a life at all.
The very top of this pyramid, listing morality and such, have to do with self-actualization. The fulfillment of your purpose. Or the expression thereof of striving towards it, so I suppose it is accounted for.
But what of those who have not discovered their purpose? How is one to achieve their fullest potential when they are unsure of what to do?
That’s the puzzle. You cannot be given purpose, you decide upon it. What prompts a decision to move towards a specific endeavour? Your personal sense of worth, your values, your interests, goals, notions of morality, values.. All of these add up.
Still, parlaying one’s potential into making a living is not an easy thing to achieve. Most people do not end up the way they’ve imagined themselves to. Dreams are dashed and many choose to accept something less in exchange for something more.
Usually, this comes in the form of security. A well paying job and a family to look after beats out deciding to become a writer, or a farmer. There are risks involved and for many, the less the better.
I’m not sure where this tangent will take me to, but it seems like I’m approaching some level of clarity in just typing this.
Maybe, it’s all about risk. How far are you willing to go, to achieve your dream? What would it take to get to where you want to be? And can you sacrifice everything in order to make it come true?
Maybe that’s the answer. Assuming you have a strong interest pointed in a specific direction...
A writer must write. Constantly. He must love language, stories and is able to feel passionate about what he does, when he does it. He must know the rules of writing, using correct grammar, punctuation, spelling, et cetera.
It all comes down to how determined you are. How many successful people exist who can claim that they didn’t really work hard to get to where they are at? I’m sure exceptions exist for those born with a silver spoon in their mouth, but for the most part, it truly is up to the individual to achieve their ends.
But.. How far is one willing to go? How much is one willing to sacrifice?
I think the answer is clear.
Everything.
