Saturday, 11 July 2015

I nail ducks to the wall

I think most people who know me would agree that I am a loner. Surrounded by love and affection as much as lack of amity (from both or either side at some points in time) I never really realized loneliness, per se. I've never really been alone and isolated. I think this type of isolation is deadly; what I thought was 'lonerhood' was actually 'heavy into solitude'. And, after every bout of solitude, I've always had the luxury to share things I think about with others.

Everyday, I wake up around 4:30am-ish. I watch the world outside and inside unfold. I have a lot of space and time to draw in, what I call, 'strength'. Regardless of the weather and season outside, each morning is a time for me to appreciate the universe as evidence of divine power and majesty. In the darkness of winter this divine presence is most real. The frozen expanse abides: there, creative potentiality still pulses, awaiting the inevitable coordination of celestial mechanics to bring forth new life.

I read somewhere that the British, after the horrors of the second world war, took up a tradition of nailing painted duck figures onto their walls to symbolize their resolve to reclaim the idyllic life. I took the title of this blog entry from a line in Roger Waters', Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking.

I've always thought the Waters' album was one long, rambling rant of a lunatic. But, as with all remarkable works of art, it is a bit more complex than that: the darkness is superficial. It is merely a shadow rolling across the landscape (lived, individual life against the backdrop of history).

There is something of Max Weber in Roger Waters' writing. He gives a diagnosis but we don't know what to make of it. We feel it in our bones. We assume it is external—the source of this feeling—, but perhaps these dark prophets are adumbrating that all 'feelings' are internal. If, then, it is an issue of interiority (as I think it is) the challenge is personal.

In the Islamic tradition, it is said that the archangel Gabriel's first word to Muhammad was: "Read". Then, after the third admonition to read, Gabriel spoke:

Proclaim! (or read!) in the name of thy Lord and Cherisher, Who created-
Created man, out of a (mere) clot of congealed blood:
Proclaim! And thy Lord is Most Bountiful,-
Who taught (the use of) the pen,-
Taught man that which he knew not. (Quran 96: 1-5)

Clearly, G*d knew that Muhammad was illiterate so the '(use of) the pen' and 'learning' cannot possibly mean our conventional notions of 'learnedness' (where ego figures large) but a state of being that is receptive and devoted to the 'greater' something that is everywhere around us: necessity (that which he knew not, or, the real) and coordination (the use of the pen, or, divine guidance).

Submission to this necessity and coordination is "the peeling away of feeling" (ie, ego) and the realization of the truth: we are submerged in an ocean of love and life. Life seems dramatic, unpredictable and chaotic but that is an illusion: it is an outcome of our ego-striving (ego—itself dramatic, unpredictable and chaotic) rather than these negative features being inherent to the realities of our existence.

Recently, I've brought about factors in my life that made me realize how much I love and am loved. This insight was rather accidentally-obtained because it was an onset of a deep sense of loneliness and its obligatory depression that realized it in my mind. I somehow looked outside of myself and realized the evidence everywhere of how much I'm loved, and have loved.


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