I feel that now that I’ve given a meta-narrative of the account of myself as I so interpret it, I’d like to give a phenomenological account of it. To use words that have less syllables, I mean to say that, now that I’ve given a view of my whole self peering in as an outsider, I’d now like to account those feelings I have in my heart as I experience them, without the quality and order of a “grand theory” of sorts about the whole. If the previous post corresponded to me as Perceiver, this corresponds to me as Will. Pure Will on the whole, without the nuance of predicated properties and categories which seek to lay out a system.
I’ve had a thought for a while now that, if anyone should read these posts, I may come off narcissistically. Indeed, this entire blog could be interpreted as narcissistic, as I aim to posit matters of the world which I’m not formally nor entirely educated in, and yet I present my opinion on them anyway with gusto and flare. I suppose the counter-example to that is the fact that that’s just what any writer does online, any influencer for that matter, so I imagine I can take refuge in that kind of argument. Though with regards to self-analysis, I would again suppose that for many people there is a degree of arrogance in it, as though I am presenting myself as an object of discussion to an audience, much like I present the rest of my objects of discussion. Indeed, taken this way these posts could appear to be a glorification of myself, and that’s not at all what I want to convey through them. I’m a person who spends a lot of time pre-occupied with himself, not consciously, nor intentionally, but, so far as I can tell, as a mere product of the way I was born. There is the man I really am inside me, and he is struggling to become realized. I’ve for the longest time put up barriers to that man’s release, the man I’ve always known myself to be, but simply could not accept, for reasons that are social, personal, etc. If you read my older posts, you’ll see those barriers in action – the turning of my mentality outward, analyzing the world as if I were its sole perceiver, declaring my thoughts about it. In the course of events that has transpired over the past few months, I’ve been lucky enough to see the flaw in this outlook, and have turned this mentality inward, on myself.
There’s been a movement online for a while now, and I see posts emanating from it on twitter on the daily, which in all truth, despite some rough-around-the-edges surface-level appearances, only professes love. If you’ve seen any of those images abounding with heart emojis, you know exactly what I mean. Its goofy, kind of dorky, but in the end, it expresses something I’ve longed for my entire life: merely accepting things, states of affairs and, above all, people as they are without quality, predicate, or proposition. Accepting them, without the need to say of them what I want them to be. I’ve lived my entire life this way, and it is only in these recent months that I’ve realized that there is a fundamental discrepancy within myself, wherein I am constantly fighting against who I truly am, constantly focusing on who I want to be. All of this is to say, what I am doing here, I hope, is a step towards that self-realization. Hopefully it’s a step towards self-acceptance, too.
There’s part of me that wonders if the way I speak is one of those matters that is a piece of my desire to be merely what I want myself to be. I’ve received comments for the longest time about it, online and among the people I really know. Sometimes I wish I could just express to those people how language comes across to me, the sensations that pass over my tongue and lips as I kiss each syllable sensuously. I didn’t need to think hard about that last sentence, not at all, really. I could establish for you a number of poetic devices, indeed I’m sure you see many of them yourself. I didn’t try to create them. I didn’t think to myself: “Hmm, what kind of metaphor can I use here?” I didn’t need to. It just came to me. I don’t mean that as a boast, but merely to say, when I write like that, I am only expressing what is me as I am. I’m not expressing myself as I want myself to be, but merely relating the stream of thoughts that flows out of me through the capillaries of my heart and onto my keyboard. The parallel between “stream” and “capillary” or the symbolic notion of “thought” as “blood” (ie. life force) was not something I needed to consider for more than a second. Again I don’t mean that as a brag, but I merely mean to say that I’m not putting on airs here. This is me. This is who I am. And I won’t apologize for it. In fact, I absolutely resent the fact that I ought to curtail my natural writing style because someone else finds it pretentious. Indeed, if that is how you feel, it seems more so you’re reading your own self-reflections into my writing. Do not take that out on me. Blame only yourself.
I get caught up in those sensations a lot. Not even those that are the matter of linguistic forms, but those which result from my experience. The permeation of Will into Perceiver I think is what conduces the sensations, but that’s only a theory. I spoke in the last post of the “transcendent” as a product of the Will to Dominate, a fantasy that, when I experience it, is merely a sense of my dominating and controlling some thing. I would like to clarify this. When I experience the Transcendent, I do not conceive of domination. No, I conceive of myself. And this is a point I think I’d like to redact from the previous post. I don’t know everything about myself and I think, in a sense, it was silly of me to think I could prognosticate my entire being with a few simple categories. Again, as I look back and call on myself, I see the Will at work more so than the Perceiver, even though I fundamentally always am both. But, regardless. The Transcendent is me in touch with who I am, really and truly. I feel it right now, actually, in communicating how I feel. I don’t need to censure myself, alter myself. I can merely write. It is a joy, a joy in the reality that I am someone, not any special someone, but just someone. And as I do what I do, I find a pleasure in being distinctly me.
But like I said, I get caught up in that. I begin to make considerations about other people which are derivative of me experiencing myself. I unintentionally place myself at the entirety of my conceptual framework, as though the experience of myself was so overpowering that it cannot help but permeate the rest of my thoughts. I’ll make expectations about things which necessarily orient themselves towards me and, when these things do not, for they are independent entities, I become jaded and pessimistic. I find myself focusing more on that old sensation of the Transcendent, as now I’m forced into situations wherein I’m again necessarily forced into being an inauthentic self, because my mind is still caught, hung up, in that whole self I, for a moment, seemed to experience. It really is as simple as the mundane and everyday, going to class, doing work. I, in these moments, crave that transcendent feeling.
I don’t really know what to do about it. Perhaps I will talk of this in the next post.