I once again feel obligated to post here. Half of my obligation comes from sheer logical deduction that I ought to post, and because it is so forced I can’t guarantee that that half will really be fun to read. The reason I push myself to post anyway is because it serves as a symbol to me that I still have a pulse and possess consciousness. So posting serves a symbolic function for me, which is why I will force myself to publish whatever I write… because I wrote it, and that means that I am still alive, if not exactly kicking.
The other half is probably legitimate energy for the specific purpose of writing, which suggests to me that that half will actually be quite good and interesting.
I was talking to a friend the other day, and he said my blog posts and videos lacked the sense that I was conveying the natural everyday flow of my life, and that they were consequently hard to relate to. I agree, but I don’t know if I’m capable of changing that. To some degree it’s refreshing to think that when I blog and make videos, it’s essentially an alternative to suicide. When looked at from that perspective, it doesn’t really matter if they aren’t all that popular or well-written or performed. Their existence is proof of my existence, which appears to be all I am capable of at this time.
There’s a saying in a book called the Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz from the 1600s which says, “Mysteries profaned and made public fade and lose their grace. Therefore cast not pearls before swine nor make a bed of roses for an ass.” I certainly feel that this idea – that secrets made public fade and lose their grace – affects my willingness to publish more frequently about my life. I’m not trying to say that I have some big secrets I’m keeping from the world. But I often feel subjectively like my existence is too fragile to just be putting out there all the time. I’m extremely introverted by nature. Perhaps I simply don’t feel like I could withstand people’s criticisms of me by writing about myself more than I do.
I’m not making a huge amount of progress in my life. Since my last post I haven’t gotten a job, which would seem to be where I had been aiming. On the social ladder that puts me below someone who works at McDonald’s, I suppose. Arguably I’ve been there the whole time. It would be nice, however, to solve the problem which jobs solve, which is that I have no money. In other words, I guess I don’t need to be high on the social ladder so long as I survive somehow. Yet at the same time, it almost completely rules out having a mate or a partner, which I’ve finally been realizing is a big part of the price I pay for not working. While I’m not completely alien to having relationships and sex, I don’t believe I’ve ever been on a “date”. I only think about this when other people talk about their experiences in the dating scene for one reason or another. All of my relationships I sort of stumbled into. But to be blunt I’m just not dating material.
I seem to have side-tracked onto the topic of romantic love. In our soceity, the social bonds which used to hold village and tribe together have virtually vanished. The “cure” for this problem is traditionally found in the idea of romantic love. The idea has become so powerful that increasingly it’s not even considered important that the two people be a man and a woman, just that it’s two people. These two people solve each other’s problems, more-or-less, and as a unit they take on the world, so to say. Romantic love is great, in theory, but for cases like mine, the years pass without any sense that it’s any closer than it ever was. This forces any person who intends to go on living to make a team with his or her own self. The totality of the romantic love relationship must happen within the individual instead of with another person. Because individuals have such shortcomings, as I do, marrying oneself can feel somewhat like being crucified. But that is the course I have taken and am probably destined for.
I guess there are many single people who do not consider their life to be akin to crucifixion. I do believe, however, that the power of romantic love as an icon and a symbol in our culture rivals, if not surpasses, that of the Christian cross. Each person who fails in their efforts to make a life based on romantic love must find ways to combat the loneliness. Some might have loving parents, others a loving church or secular community. Others success in business or other careers. A woman can just go out and get a sperm donor, for crying out loud. But the mythos, the power, the legend of romantic love is so strong that most people must confront it one way or another. For me, it’s perhaps even harder since I have no other defenses mentioned above – no church, no job, no career, no success. I personally have found my only choice is to marry myself, which has a psychological meaning if not a legal one. To marry myself means to acknowledge that I have a powerful unconscious side, which can have its own opinions and intentions for me, and to which I must learn to yield in the way a man often learns to yield to his wife’s or other partner’s irrational wishes.
I often wish my “inner wife” – my soul, my “anima”, as Jung says – would give me more direction and advice. I wait long periods, it seems, before she becomes willing to once again give me some indication of what she wants. If I found an outer person who could serve the function of romantic love and create a situation where I could listen to her instead, I wouldn’t mind, but I am always alone, and as such must rely on the advice of the inner woman, when I can get it.
I’ve spoken before about the dream in which I lived on the fourth floor of a seven-layer city and a woman comes to my door saying she has my baby. This is a perfect example of my inner wife giving me guidance. I need to take care of this baby. That was almost ten years ago. She’s never come to me again in such a strong form. In one dream, I had to hide two dead bodies from the cops, one of a woman and one of a small child. They were part of my experiments, as if I were Dr. Frankenstein or something. Anyway, I knew the cops would never understand, so I needed to dig up the bodies from one place and move them somewhere else. If the woman in this dream were my “wife”, you can imagine what she and the baby had been through. So I struggle to keep alive my connection to the inner wife. Ideally my experiments would bring her back to life in a renewed and higher form. I felt no guilt whatsoever in the dream at having to deal with these dead and preserved people. It was a practical matter of keeping my procedures away from the cops whom I knew would never understand. Anyway, that’s how my anima, my inner wife, talks to me. I hope she’ll talk to me soon again. It’s so good having clear idea what I am here for and how I need to proceed, and there’s nothing like a powerful dream when one is stuck.
If I don’t get unstuck, I’ll just keep on keepin’ on, relying on whatever little motivation comes to me haphazardly. As I said before, half of the motivation for this blog entry was the feeling that I really had something to say; the other half was to produce a symbol of my continued existence.