Often, it will be mere strangers who will feel your pain when those around you will flee. It is the paradox of the stranger versus the neighbour.
A much clearer example would be to point at how much likely it is for someone to help another they don’t know, rather than someone who lives next door to them. One element that comes into play in the natural urge for competition most of us possess, deeply etched in the mind. That competitive spirit means that jealousy and envy become a core factor in behaviour or choices we end up making.
That’s why it will always feel easier to send money to some far away country to help cute little kids we don’t know, than crouching beside the beggar in our street to simply talk to him. Something prevents us from truly helping those around us to an extend because the roots of envy and jealousy create a vague fear that our neighbour in need might well end up better off than us at some point.
Since we are naturally inclined to show that we are better than those who surround us, it actually makes sense that we should often fail those closest to us, but not the mere stranger who won’t trigger the competitive instinct so much, if at all.
Friday, 27 March 2009
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Delving into man's pain of living
It seems to me that the only period of life worth living is that of childhood. After that everything turns ugly as your eyes begin to see through the layers of illusions.
The only way to remain positive is to ignore the sight. The only way to live a decent human life is to be materialistic, in fact. The more materialistic you are, the less likely you are to dwell on reality as such. You become engrossed in objects of all sorts and this allows your thoughts to keep away from what would give you a headache.
Think of getting a good job, so it will grant you more money, so you can buy a house, so you can plan a holiday, so you can settle down, so you can buy that leather sofa, so you can.... the more engrossed in materiality, the better. Alternatively, you can still escape the cold reality of life by being engrossed with the biological pleasures your existence has to offer, thus spending your time running after one mate to another, settling down at some point to reproduce, maybe. From that you get the sense of having fulfilled your main purpose on Earth, that of ensuring the fate of your own species.
Depression might be an illness, but in humans it is a consequence of lacking the basic safeguard in the brain which cushions your view of the world. It has a direct correlation with you inability at some point in your life to shied yourself from pure reality through imagination, and ultimately, delusions.
Think of chemicals as a whole. What are they and how do they work? We have many man-made chemicals which we produce daily for one reason or another. Alcohol itself has some form of chemicals in it, and it creates a reaction in the body when one drinks it. Chemicals produce a reaction in one form or other, often modifying the functions of other elements it comes into contact with, and that makes me think that the brain acts in the same way at times. It produces special chemicals that allow a person to survive their environment in the realm of pure reality.
Serotonine and whatnot are the brain’s little soldiers that ensure your ability to think and reason won’t turn against you when faced with the might of reality. Lose the battle, or too many soldiers, and you become ‘depressed’. You might even kill yourself.
Doctors might pump your brain with pills that will boost or replace the lost little soldiers, and you might just get ‘better’ because suddenly you are able again to shield your vision from pure reality.
The only way to remain positive is to ignore the sight. The only way to live a decent human life is to be materialistic, in fact. The more materialistic you are, the less likely you are to dwell on reality as such. You become engrossed in objects of all sorts and this allows your thoughts to keep away from what would give you a headache.
Think of getting a good job, so it will grant you more money, so you can buy a house, so you can plan a holiday, so you can settle down, so you can buy that leather sofa, so you can.... the more engrossed in materiality, the better. Alternatively, you can still escape the cold reality of life by being engrossed with the biological pleasures your existence has to offer, thus spending your time running after one mate to another, settling down at some point to reproduce, maybe. From that you get the sense of having fulfilled your main purpose on Earth, that of ensuring the fate of your own species.
Depression might be an illness, but in humans it is a consequence of lacking the basic safeguard in the brain which cushions your view of the world. It has a direct correlation with you inability at some point in your life to shied yourself from pure reality through imagination, and ultimately, delusions.
Think of chemicals as a whole. What are they and how do they work? We have many man-made chemicals which we produce daily for one reason or another. Alcohol itself has some form of chemicals in it, and it creates a reaction in the body when one drinks it. Chemicals produce a reaction in one form or other, often modifying the functions of other elements it comes into contact with, and that makes me think that the brain acts in the same way at times. It produces special chemicals that allow a person to survive their environment in the realm of pure reality.
Serotonine and whatnot are the brain’s little soldiers that ensure your ability to think and reason won’t turn against you when faced with the might of reality. Lose the battle, or too many soldiers, and you become ‘depressed’. You might even kill yourself.
Doctors might pump your brain with pills that will boost or replace the lost little soldiers, and you might just get ‘better’ because suddenly you are able again to shield your vision from pure reality.
Thought on a midnight day
I feel so ill inside. It doesn’t matter what I tell myself, nothing makes it better. The sun is bright outside, but I am still cold.
When I was little, I had those hamsters. I had made the promise that I would die the day they died. They died, one after the other, and I didn’t. There was the cat, and so I promised him I would die with him. He died, and I didn’t.
Equinox. When the days become as long as the nights. When pain and hope merge into one. When tears become smiles, and fear becomes happiness. When all is blurred, and nothing prevails.
One day after another, they pass,
Hand in hand, they glide
Through time, through times,
Joy, sorrow and pride.
One night after another, they pass,
Side by side, they fly
The coat of darkness falls,
Laugh, cry and sigh.
One day, one night must follow,
Shuffling the feet of time
To creep into the light,
And set the pattern free
I long for the vast, overwhelming green or sunburnt fields that would stretch before me to infinity. I want to forget how scared I am of bugs and crawlies, and I want to escape in the midst of nature. Hunting antilopes, riding zebras, hiding from lions and other big cats... Building my own little house made of wood, digging my well and letting the grass overgrow so much that I would feel as though I am drowning in them... Knowing all the plants I can eat, those that can heal me, those who could kill me... Escaping the hungry fury of leopards, watching the eagles soar in the empty blue skies, letting the sun turn my skin a golden parched labyrinth. Dying, my face against the warm, cracked soil so I can give a little back of what I took from it.
But that could never be my life. I am a city girl through and through. I wouldn’t know how to survive one day in the wild, I would scream in terror at the sight of the slightest spider. Just sitting in that poxy garden here in London, makes my skin crawl. The ants, the bees, the spiders, they all make me jump in terror. Still, I have dreams, hazy dreams, of what freedom ought to feel like, maybe.
How strange to think that freedom appears more concrete when imagining a patch of wilderness, as opposed to man-made society. The rules, the laws, the expectations allow us to experience a certain degree of individual freedom, but it isn’t freedom. It is a compromise to allow billions of others to experience a glimpse of what it ought to feel like.
Nature is so much worse, in the sense that it eclipses all notions of individuality. Nature is blind and rests on an intricate chain of events, all so closely linked together that it only suffices to disturb one element to wreck everything else.
Nature is far from random, though. It might have been the case, at some point in the beginning of life itself, where it acted randomly. As soon as the foundations were placed a chain of events took over, thus trapping nature itself and limiting its freedom. In other words, once something happened, there could not be random factors in play, only a chain of events departing from an original factor. That chain of events is most probably predictable, and our knowledge of all the predictable events is limited by our current ignorance only.
At least nature is blind! It doesn’t have a conscience which could be blamed for anything. Much like an intricate, invisible machine, it is everywhere at once, and it carries on working despite all the changing factors or events that might come its way, adapting and morphing to survive as a whole.
Once you begin to look around -the trees, the animals, the flowers, the sun and skies- you are mesmerised by the sheer beauty of it all, and the life that transpires from all elements, no matter how silent the source of life might seem. That beauty is so powerful and mighty that it hurts.
It was, after all, beauty that killed the beast.
One danse is all it takes,
Leaves, blood and fire,
Twirling, the scortching ire
Wound round the stakes.
Storms in the sea,
wreck the ship and flee
Across the flooded plain
And rise above the pain
Of living, through the day
And the night prevails,
A whisper in the bay
To kill the mocking bells
Of churches grand and glorious
Set in a mist of mighty shadows,
Along a row of weeping willows,
Moaning, crying, furious.
When I was little, I had those hamsters. I had made the promise that I would die the day they died. They died, one after the other, and I didn’t. There was the cat, and so I promised him I would die with him. He died, and I didn’t.
Equinox. When the days become as long as the nights. When pain and hope merge into one. When tears become smiles, and fear becomes happiness. When all is blurred, and nothing prevails.
One day after another, they pass,
Hand in hand, they glide
Through time, through times,
Joy, sorrow and pride.
One night after another, they pass,
Side by side, they fly
The coat of darkness falls,
Laugh, cry and sigh.
One day, one night must follow,
Shuffling the feet of time
To creep into the light,
And set the pattern free
I long for the vast, overwhelming green or sunburnt fields that would stretch before me to infinity. I want to forget how scared I am of bugs and crawlies, and I want to escape in the midst of nature. Hunting antilopes, riding zebras, hiding from lions and other big cats... Building my own little house made of wood, digging my well and letting the grass overgrow so much that I would feel as though I am drowning in them... Knowing all the plants I can eat, those that can heal me, those who could kill me... Escaping the hungry fury of leopards, watching the eagles soar in the empty blue skies, letting the sun turn my skin a golden parched labyrinth. Dying, my face against the warm, cracked soil so I can give a little back of what I took from it.
But that could never be my life. I am a city girl through and through. I wouldn’t know how to survive one day in the wild, I would scream in terror at the sight of the slightest spider. Just sitting in that poxy garden here in London, makes my skin crawl. The ants, the bees, the spiders, they all make me jump in terror. Still, I have dreams, hazy dreams, of what freedom ought to feel like, maybe.
How strange to think that freedom appears more concrete when imagining a patch of wilderness, as opposed to man-made society. The rules, the laws, the expectations allow us to experience a certain degree of individual freedom, but it isn’t freedom. It is a compromise to allow billions of others to experience a glimpse of what it ought to feel like.
Nature is so much worse, in the sense that it eclipses all notions of individuality. Nature is blind and rests on an intricate chain of events, all so closely linked together that it only suffices to disturb one element to wreck everything else.
Nature is far from random, though. It might have been the case, at some point in the beginning of life itself, where it acted randomly. As soon as the foundations were placed a chain of events took over, thus trapping nature itself and limiting its freedom. In other words, once something happened, there could not be random factors in play, only a chain of events departing from an original factor. That chain of events is most probably predictable, and our knowledge of all the predictable events is limited by our current ignorance only.
At least nature is blind! It doesn’t have a conscience which could be blamed for anything. Much like an intricate, invisible machine, it is everywhere at once, and it carries on working despite all the changing factors or events that might come its way, adapting and morphing to survive as a whole.
Once you begin to look around -the trees, the animals, the flowers, the sun and skies- you are mesmerised by the sheer beauty of it all, and the life that transpires from all elements, no matter how silent the source of life might seem. That beauty is so powerful and mighty that it hurts.
It was, after all, beauty that killed the beast.
One danse is all it takes,
Leaves, blood and fire,
Twirling, the scortching ire
Wound round the stakes.
Storms in the sea,
wreck the ship and flee
Across the flooded plain
And rise above the pain
Of living, through the day
And the night prevails,
A whisper in the bay
To kill the mocking bells
Of churches grand and glorious
Set in a mist of mighty shadows,
Along a row of weeping willows,
Moaning, crying, furious.
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