FI #7

 This is me attempting to have a rational conversation with myself about something that I struggle with, because no one else in the world will really fully understand my experience. 

At the end of the day, this is still garbage in, garbage out because my thoughts here are informed by my conditioning which I could not fully choose. 

It is one thing to assert that you are not the mind in the serenity of your courtyard, where only perhaps a few crickets dare chirp. It is entirely another to say the same in the middle of a hurricane that is your daily social interaction. The world is not entitled to let you keep your peace. To let you see far and deep with your quiet eyes. It is like a raging bull that will rock you around everywhere. 

Every human has this faculty of discernment. The more you discern the more your world shatters. To some degree we like this resolution - it breaks through the initial illusions, gives us a sense of moral and (to its credit) some executive functioning superiority. If I see through the fact that almost all of what I am being fed by society is bullshit, the awareness to its danger comes naturally. 

But the process goes further. Much further. And in its march it breaks down everything you thought you knew about yourself. It leaves nothing except sheer barenness. The superficiality of each everyday interaction starts paining you. Each word of untruth starts paining. Yet we keep taking the pain. We have a huge tolerance for pain. At the end of the day, it all really is love in our collective psyche. Emotions that are not digested are currents; They are sleeping processes in our collective psyche that are waiting to be reaped. 

That is also the mark and burden of an artist, a performer. They are the handler of all those emotions in that instant. They are something greater than themselves. 

All the alienation, nihilism, desperation its collected everyday in our collective psyche. Its what K called the book of mankind. And it is right here, right now, available for you to read whenever you have the courage to open it. A pandora's box of overwhelming depth - emotions, experiences of millenia. When you produce a song, there are ripples throughout the universe in a causal sense. Not in a voodoo or mystic sense, but literally. That creation of yours will be heard in so many different contexts, reflected upon. It is a pearl, added to a necklace in what adorns collective human memory. 

Such descriptions of collective human memory become quite esoteric. A lot of Jung's writing too. It goes beyond what the rational mind can verify and enquire into. And that is why it is scary. But at the end of the day, Love, truth and awareness are the only things that exist. If you listen to metal music or classical - it doesn't matter. What matters is the story that the interplay of notes is telling. The movements and archetypes which are beyond linguistic representation. In metal e.g. a driving riff that hypes up your energy before a double bass section or a huge fill which resolves it or even in classical when there is the sheer curiosity or anxiety about whether the performer will be able to get back to the "sam" or not and the cheerfulness when it does. 

It's all here. Yet we are stuck. It's important to create one's own style in whatever one does. That is untruth when it comes from my mouth because all I have ever echoed or resonated are other's thoughts.

Thought shies away when it approaches this domain of pure archetypes. The more I try to reach into it, the more it recedes, until it becomes too chattery for me to even perceive it deeply. What is required is absolute quietness.