Sometimes it might be just as well to blog when I could write to each person I know and say the same thing. At least to blog is to have a statement on official public record. So what was it I wanted to put on official public record? What should be self-evident. That my life is about as bad as anyone whose greatest accomplishment is their almost totally ignored blog. I’m not sure whether the reader is better off rejoicing in their own lot which must be greater than mine or in finding some way to deny my thought. Those who prefer denial will probably shy away from my blog anyway.
I do not think this statement is the result of a bad mood. Aside from considerations of the personal impact knowing me has had on people I’ve met, this is my greatest accomplishment. As far as those considerations, I know that knowing me has had some significant effects. I’m not discounting those effects. The distance in both time and space between myself and those people I’ve affected creates a kind of empty space which dims my enthusiasm for life as I now lead it.
Now how would I lead it any other way? This is the question of great moment. I can readily tell you I don’t know the answer. I think might best find a monastery, retreat center, camp, organic farm, or some other program which in many ways rescues lost spirits like myself. Not that I can even affirm that I am a lost spirit, mind you. While it seems doubtful, I’m not opposed to the notion that my current habits are the best way to live. But right now, the thought that my current life is the best one possible, that typing a post for you, my dear readers, whoever you are, is my best life… I don’t know. It appears doubtful on its face.
It appears doubtful on its face, but why should I stop merely at the examination of the surface? An issue so momentous demands more scrutiny. If we believe in an all-powerful God, then we know for a fact that the life I live is the only one I can live.
But to be overwhelmed by thoughts of an all-powerful God dampens our possibility of imagining a future better than our present. Therefore, what future is better than my present situation typing this blog entry? I shall have to identify the organs of my desire, or suffer being powerlessly vague in describing it.
The pleasure of writing, that is, the pleasure of determining the best configuration of words to convey one’s thought, must be accounted for. Writing is not all pleasure, but there is pleasure both with arriving at a well-phrased sentence, and with the sense that one will please the audience with one’s constructions. But this second sense is certainly not pleasure derived from the writing process itself, but from the anticipation of praise and approval. This second sense makes evaluating writing a blog difficult, since I have no sense of how many or how few will ever actually read it. Oftentimes, for example, a writer who appears to take pleasure in his work really takes pleasure in anticipating how he shall wow his audience with his skill. This writer places a high value on the response of the audience, and comforts himself with the conceit that he knows them and what they will like. I do not deny that I experience this kind of desire, and that I wish to be acknowledged just like anybody else. Clearly, then, a second pleasure must be distinguished from the original pleasure of pleasing oneself with one’s writing — that of pleasing the audience.
I am trying to present an anatomy of my desires. Thus starting with the pleasure of writing I move to the rest. I wish to be enchanted by the presence of Femininity. I want to state this grandly, and then get to the details. In no way is Darwin’s theory of evolution more obviously on display than in the lust Men have for women, which is of two orders, lust for the body and lust for the soul. Whenever I am around one or more beautiful women I experience powerful lust for their bodies. I don’t do it crudely, or with some kind of animal method, mind you. But this is a difficult topic to raise, and I expect that I won’t finish with it until I am completely honest.
So as to the matter of women’s bodies. Let us speak of how lust for bodies varies according to the bodies themselves. Each woman’s body will rank upon a basic scale of attractiveness, with higher ranks of attractiveness producing more lust. Three categories shall suffice to describe what matters here, Beautiful Woman, Plain Woman, and Old Woman. I raise none of these categories to be mean, but to be honest. Strangely, honesty seems so rare around these matters, yet seems so important all the same. If I could have an honest conversation about any of this and feel secure that all people could cope satisfactorily with the truths I’m discussing, I would not bring any of them up here. Now, Beautiful Woman and Plain Woman are categories rather obvious enough, and each type must cope with her lot. Plain Woman must of course take consciousness of what she lacks so that she can respond and adapt to the truth of her condition, which is that she will attract fewer and less commitment from men. Sometimes she is actually the best conversation, however, because she will often allow more idiosyncrasy, more divergence from the norm, more strangeness, in her conversation partner because of her own familiarity with these domains.
I want to stop here and try to put out some fires before they light up the whole street. Life is pain. I’m not an ignorant fool. The problem I have is that the only people I see who talk about these topics are ignorant fools. There has to be someone who, while understanding the pain, also broaches the subject matter. I cannot talk about my desires, and hence about what would make my life better than it is now, unless I talk about them honestly. I hope the reader believes me here. My desires are very much dependent on many factors, one of which is the physical beauty of women.
In a way it’s only disgraceful that I must beg your forgiveness that I might bring these things up. That the discussion of these matters must be relegated to the low places in our civilized world, because the high places have developed no etiquette for them? Beauty is very very desirable in a woman. It should not be left only to the very vulgar to acknowledge these facts. First of all, everyone knows it. Second of all, it grants respect to all people to possess a formal etiquette dealing practically with its implications. It’s as if we think that there aren’t obvious and practical implications to a greater or lesser degree of beauty in a woman. I believe there are. I don’t know how many others agree, but there you go.
Back to discussing my desires. On an average day I see no beautiful eligible women at all, a sad situation indeed, since I am magnetically drawn to this kind of beauty. I admit the obvious, which is that being drawn to women increases the chance that I will spread my genes into one or more offspring. From a naturalistic point of view it would seem the explanation is clear. But subjectively, it does not seem like this. My feeling is that I’m drawn to beauty for romantic reasons. Since I was a teenager, my sense of the meaning of life was always derived from Womankind.
So what’s the difference between the biological drive to spread one’s genes and the romantic feeling that the whole meaning of life comes from women, and in particularly, very beautiful women? I don’t know. The romantic feeling seems to encompass my whole personality. The analysis of biology encompasses by comparison a very small portion. The real question we should be asking, but that no one is asking, is how can we integrate the obvious parallels we can observe to ourselves in the realm of biology into our whole lives as human members of the various cultures we find ourselves in, with all that being members of those cultures implies?
The mere study of biology will not give us answers as to the specific choices we make, but take my case for example. How should I feel about the power that Womankind holds over me? If I pursue women, I cannot lie that I do this for some high-minded romantic reason, since our culture has nothing better to offer by way of explanation, and biology points to a clear reason for my lust. I directly feel the Lust to be a greater force than my sense of how romantic love might offer an explanation and a pardon for my pursuits. Every time I’ve loved, it’s been for an attractive woman. My behavior has not reflected high-mindedness. It has reflected a creature pursuing its own interests, be they ruled by Sex or by the Power Drive.
I do not mean that I don’t feel the power of romantic love in the moment. I mean to say that, while in the moment my pursuits would seem to be compelled by romantic motives, I cannot distinguish my behavior in retrospect from those behaviors which would precisely benefit myself as one individual organism among many. From a rationalistic point of view, I was not distinguishable from any one of the lower mammals, despite, or maybe even because of, my internal state.
I would like to think that someone who confesses this, while not a bearer of the high-minded ideals of the tradition of romantic love, at least might find some place in society, some acceptance for who he is, since from everything that I know it seems to me like this is a person who knows more than your typical pair of romantic lovers, and is wiser than they in the real affairs people live through everyday.
I cannot make the connection between my attitude toward myself and that I haven’t found a real place in this culture. They may be separate conditions. But I also do not know in what venue I might safely raise these topics. Aside from writing to you on this blog, I don’t yet know how to talk about these things, or with whom, despite that it might powerfully improve my life to do so.
Which brings me to a third desire, that I might have proper discussions with people curious about my ideas. This one is much harder to figure out, since I’ve kept to myself in many important ways for years. Two strong desires, in such tremendous conflict with one another that I have no outlook on it. Am I finally ready to present the fruits of my labor? Why did I keep to myself? Could I have gained my confidence in my own views of the world in any other way?
I spent time alone so that I could prevent people from taking advantage of my wisdom. Perhaps some of it resembles the wisdom of the alchemists, who knew the significance of keeping secrets. A thick, earthy character underlies the brittle flying truths, which only the will of God can teach.