Tag: philosophy

  • Personal Space

    The concept of personal space is an interesting one. We’re social beings by nature. We have an innate need to be appreciated and acknowledged for our personal contribution or expression in everything. We insist on withdrawing into a personal space when we are convinced that such appreciation or acknowledgement will be replaced by ridicule or rejection. I can’t imagine why anyone would prefer to recede if they have the opportunity to bask in the affection and attention of those that appreciate them endearingly. So it stands to reason that such withdrawal must be motivated by the absence of such an embrace.

    It’s a distraction, like so many others that we’re surrounded with. The fear of rejection is established so early in life that we respond from a position of habit without realising that it goes against our innate nature. Our ability to be absorbed or immersed into the being of another underlies our sense of belonging. The less we feel like we belong, the more likely we will be to prefer our own company to the company of others. For this same reason we insist on establishing a personal space that excludes all others, because it also protects us from criticism or rejection about those things that we feel most passionately vulnerable about. Chances are, we include total strangers in those spaces through acquiring what we want, or indulging what we need provided they have no social or emotional attachment to us.

    No wonder then that we are more inclined to social networking than social interaction. Face-to-face interactions are fast giving way to impersonal ones. It’s not because of convenience or constraints, but because it’s safer than being there in person. It’s easier to hide our vulnerabilities through a few choice words as a response, than it is to retract an involuntary facial expression. So it makes sense that we are more likely to express ourselves more willingly online with limited traceability to who we are, because to withdraw without repercussions or accountability is so much easier.

    Personal space therefore appears to be a contradiction in terms because the need for it signifies an imbalance that makes it a necessity. When faced with overwhelming odds in one area of our lives, we seek balance in another. Most often, that space we can pursue such balance is in the absence of others, since it is the very presence of others that gave rise to the imbalance to begin with. The easy answer is to choose more carefully who you surround yourself with. The reality though is that there are repercussions of excluding the detrimental elements that may outweigh the benefits of righting that balance. Establishing your personal space to recover from that imbalance, even if just for a moment, therefore appears to be a necessary compromise that most are willing to make.

     

  • Elusive

    There has been a sense of peace, or composure that has eluded me all my life. I listen to people talk about concepts like home, relationships, connections, soul mates, and the like, and none of it rings true or familiar for me. I see fathers giving up their time with their daughters when still in their fragile formative years, and I wonder if they have any idea what they’re taking for granted.

    I never had a chance to build on the bond of fatherhood with either of my daughters. Both were snatched away at an early age, for similar but also entirely different reasons. There’s a strangeness that sets in under such circumstances. The natural bond that should have been formed is somehow replaced by an awkwardness of never fully accepting anything about the dynamics of it all that led to that moment when you’re standing face-to-face with your child. A moment when you’re torn between despising the behavioural traits that remind you of the betrayal you contended with from her mother, and the gut churn of wanting to express how much you understand that it isn’t their fault, while knowing that doing so will cause more harm than good.

    Sometimes I’m convinced that the principles I stand for are entrenched in a sound foundation, but there are other times when I wonder if it’s not just the façade I need to avoid embracing the full cold reality of me. Principles are great to earn scornful respect, but not so great to earn affection. The irony is that a principled life creates harmony, even if that harmony is manifested as predictability and dependability. Yet it’s those same principles that lead to the isolation of emotion when upholding what is right compels me to act against those that I know would rather have me embrace them in their wrongs.

    I look at the people around me and admire in a strange way their belief in tomorrow. In a life beyond the present moment. I smile at times when I see them investing in their future, all the while seeing myself as the speck in the eye of the beholder, causing that blink to brush away the speck, and realising that that blink is more representative of my life than any investment in any future I could ever make. I wonder if such an investment, if beneficial to those that will be left behind, will create a comfort for them that will draw them closer or further away from their spiritual calling. I wonder if making it easier than comfortable will be a disservice or a gift.

    I continue to contemplate these matters in isolation, because if even the simple troubles appear too complex for others to grasp, what chance do I have of having the deeper tribulations understood? Peace appears not to have been intended for acquisition in this lifetime. I mock myself with thoughts and aspirations of changing the world, while realising that it requires more than a lifetime to achieve. Handing down a legacy for another to take up needs the presence of one that embraces the struggles for purpose of my own soul. In its absence, the reality of life’s ephemeral touch bears down without pause or respite. The pendulum of time brushes ever so lightly against the arc of eternity, and in that very finite moment of its contact, an entire lifetime is lived.

    The truth about being human is not that we are capable of being great, but rather that we are arrogant in the face of such insignificance. Moments of reflection can be torturous at times. It etches into our consciousness the reality of death, and the finality and futility of life, but my innate nature for which I can take no credit continues to drive me to improve, aspire, and inspire, despite knowing that not much of my efforts will survive beyond my last gasp.

    Elusive. Even in the midst of the celebration of me I am reminded of the all that I have failed to be. With this thought in mind, I continue to pursue that which I know is unattainable, yet almost within reach. Life is an illusion, and death sets you free. I look forward to my liberation, and pray it does not overtake me at a moment of distraction.

  • Obliviously Resilient

    I’ve always taken comfort from my sense of resilience, but noticed recently that it appears to be waning. I seem to be more sensitive than before to the emotional jarring that goes with betrayal, and this concerns me. Well, at first it did, but now I’m simply afraid of reflecting any further on the subject. There have been times when in the moment, I found myself unfazed by the abrasiveness or abuse being meted out towards me. It always appeared to be black or white for me. Something was either right, or it was wrong, and the underlying principle that supported my observation or perception was all that I cared about. It was such an easy way to live.

    Life isn’t as simple anymore. Principles still drive me, but they’re not as defining as they used to be. The reason I’m afraid of reflecting further is because I’ve realised that the more I grow to understand my weaknesses, my needs, or my flaws, the more I relate to the flaws and weaknesses and failings of others. Unfortunately, this also implies that the reverse is true as well, not in them knowing me, but rather in me also being able to grow more familiar with the arrogance, the aloofness, and the smug condescension that lurks behind the smile that dresses the words of so many I meet. It is in this realisation that I start doubting my past resilience and wonder if it was in fact resilience based on strength of character, or was it resilience grounded in obliviousness.

    The net effect remains a beneficial one, so the concern I feel must be an indulgence in my own ego. Anyone claiming to be free of their ego is in fact driven by it. I guess that is the obvious sibling to the realisation that the proclamation of humility is in fact arrogance. I’m so easily distracted from the point of my ramblings these days. Being oblivious, not by choice, therefore appears to be a blessing. It’s what causes us to appear resilient, but it also causes us to appear grounded and uninterested in things that don’t concern us. Strangely enough I am once again reminded of the parallels between this and humility. I’ve previously argued that humility can only be observed and not practiced. I guess in some way, the same applies to resilience.

    The same way that I may appear humble when in fact I am too jaded to acknowledge the superficial praises of others makes me jaded, not humble. Similarly, being oblivious to the true repercussions of the events I am experiencing results in a resilience that is unintended, although mostly beneficial. I think there is a point in here somewhere. I think my distracted state is a source of inspiration. I’m just too distracted to figure out how to put it to good use.

    Perhaps distraction and naivety are the precursors to obliviousness. Such obliviousness, where its roots are not conscious choices, contributes to our sense of resilience. Questioning that resilience appears to be akin to looking a gift horse in the mouth. So perhaps I should be grateful for my inclination to be unconcerned about the fickleness of society, and instead of questioning how I may have appeared to others in my moments of oblivion that I previously embraced as resilience, I should draw on those experiences to harness this innate ability to be oblivious so that I can continue to feign resilience.

    Fake it until you make it, right? Who can truly lay claim to sincerity when such a claim requires a healthy dose of self-indulgence to begin with? But that’s a post for another day. My brain is tired. And if you can make sense of this post, please take a moment to explain it to me as well.

  • Reverse Engineering Life (Take II)

    The previous post feels like I over complicated a really simple concept, so here’s my second attempt at clarifying it.

    It’s really as simple as this. If you wish to understand someone, look behind their eyes, or their actions, and embrace the vulnerability that is required to see in them what you know to be true of yourself. If you see them angry, remember when you were angry in a similar context in your own life. Then seek to understand yourself in that moment, so that you can establish a basis on which to understand them, or at the least, attempt to.

    When we take this approach we benefit in two ways. Firstly, we stand a better chance of understanding them and therefore being able to meaningfully engage with them. Secondly, it allows you to benefit others from the struggles of your life, instead of just feeling as if it was a personal growth cycle and nothing more.

    If life is really too short to make all your own mistakes, and I believe this to be true, then the only way to live more than you otherwise would have would be to avoid pitfalls by learning from others. But that has to be reciprocal in a healthy society. So the more you hold on to the insecurity of others seeing your flaws and using it as a basis to judge you poorly, the less likely it is that you’ll be able to either learn from them, or allow them to grow from your experiences. Why would it prevent you from learning from them? Simple, the more you protect yourself from being discovered as a whole person with warts and all, the more you’re inclined to believe that your personal struggles are so unique that no one could possibly understand them.

    So the more you allow yourself to open up, the more you’ll realise that in opening up, you actually solicit sources of wisdom that benefit you, rather than weaken you. You’ll also reveal a side of your humanness that will attract the compassionate and tender-hearted ones that you most likely wish to embrace in your personal space. But none of it is possible if you keep everyone at arm’s length because of the mistaken belief that your weaknesses are not shared by others.

    We’re all so great at putting up facades that we’ve even convinced ourselves that no one else has them. Like I’ve always said, your assumptions about others are a true reflection of yourself, rather than them. However, such a reflection is inversely proportional to the reality of your self-image. So chances are that those that judge themselves to be weak assume that others are stronger, while those that embrace their weakness, see others as equally flawed, but not necessarily weak. I guess this is one time when the mirror cannot be trusted, because the eyes always filter what the heart needs to feel. Unless we stop to test the assumptions that the eyes make, our hearts will always be nourished by a tainted diet of reality.

  • Reverse Engineering Life

    It seems that I’ve wasted most of my life experiences during the years when I quietly contended with the upheavals in my life and moved silently forward without making a fuss of what I wanted, nor questioning why it always seemed to happen to me. Through no deliberate effort on my part it strengthened me, even though I, and many around me, often perceived that strength as numbness. There were times when I chastised myself for not having a more emotionally grounded response to the suffering or trials of those around me, but I was also often reminded that it was that very same numbness that allowed others to draw strength from my apparent composure at times when they felt overwhelmed.

    I think there’s a value in having such an emotionally disconnected person around at times. It’s a reminder that not all is lost when all seems lost. But that’s not how most people viewed me, and fortunately my default demeanour of being oblivious to the perceptions that others held of me meant that it didn’t affect me much either. Despite this awkward sense of comfort I had about being able to deal with my reality in ways that caused many to question my sanity (quite literally at times) I felt a growing dis-ease regarding the fact that my experiences were being wasted because it only seemed to benefit me, and no one else. In doing so, it further distanced me from those around me because not many could relate to me just being me.

    I slowly experimented with using my experiences as a point of reference to try to relate to the emotional burden that so many people seem to drag around with them, and each time I tested my observations for accuracy and relevance, I found that it was quite effective in providing others with an alternate perspective as to why their situation was not as grave as it seemed. All this clutter continued to swim around in the back of my mind for many years until I considered it slightly differently recently when someone once again asked me why it is that I am so calm and composed during moments when others are literally overwhelmed or panicked.

    My usual response was to dismiss it and smile while telling myself that I’m incapable of feeling such emotion, but that uncomfortable feeling in my gut kept nagging at me because I knew it wasn’t true. I am probably more emotionally sensitised than most people I’ll ever meet. (Note I said sensitised, not sensitive!). However, my innate focus on wanting to emerge from trials rather than how to cope causes me to look behind the emotion and focus on the steps needed to overcome it instead. In doing so, it’s inevitable that I got accused of being insensitive because most people look for sympathy rather than guidance when they’re down and out. I think it validates our weakness when we receive sympathy, while tough love reminds us that we’re being pitiful instead of bold. Victims versus masters. Scarcity mentality versus abundance mentality. They all talk about the same thing. You either want to prevail, or you want to be admired for having persevered when others would understand if you failed.

    It’s that unhealthy need to be recognised for our strength in our struggles that often leaves us rooted in our struggles rather than motivating us to overcome it. We find comfort in knowing that others know how much we’re hurting because there’s a natural embrace of compassion or sympathy that often accompanies such visibility. That embrace is often from those that are equally or more weak than we are because they draw comfort from being able to comfort others that are similarly afflicted. This must all sound so cold and dismissive, but it’s not intended that way. I’ll say it again. Sympathy has only ever made someone feel better about being in the state they’re in, while tough love is what pushes them to move forward. Soliciting sympathy in times of weakness is the poison we don’t need.

    That’s when I realised the value of being sensitised rather than sensitive. The value of reflection rather than expression. Reflection allowed me to observe what lessons I had learned from past experiences, and what markers were associated with them, while my outbursts, my anger, and my need to make others understand how bad my state was so that they could empathise with me only ever served as a distraction from moving forward and letting go of the past. That’s when I started looking for the tell-tale signs in others relative to what I witnessed in myself when I went through similar experiences, and the more I identified it, the more I was able to accurately interpret what they were experiencing, why they were experiencing it, and what they were contemplating in dealing with it. Not because I knew them well, but because I knew myself well. And that’s how I started consciously reverse engineering my own life experiences with the aim of understanding the trials and struggles of the people around me.

    So when we’re told we see our faults in others, we need to go beyond just understanding that it implies that every finger pointed at someone else means there are several more fingers pointing at ourselves. This is more valuable and important than that. If we go beyond the rhetoric and the vilification, we’ll see that every struggle of ours is in fact a resource to alleviate the struggles of others. It’s not the sympathy that matters most, but the compassion coupled with the resolve to raise them out of the depths of despair that we once experienced that will add more value than any amount of sympathy ever could.

    However, the irony of helping others out of the dark spaces in their lives is that when they emerge, they’re often inclined to avoid you because you remind them of a time when they were weak. Most people think such weakness is deplorable, they are the ones that remain weak. It is only the grateful that see their moments of weakness as being the source of their strength. They are the ones you should surround yourself with because they will offer the hand of compassion concealed in a glove of tough love when the ingrates will revel in your weakness because it makes them feel better about their own pathetic selves. On that note, don’t expect to be surrounded by too many people at all, because a cursory look around you will reveal that this world is overcome with ingrates who are obsessed with what is in it for them, rather than considering what they need to contribute instead. Incidentally this brings to mind another thought that occurred to me this week. That is, sincerity is rarely reflected at the moment of giving, but most often reflected in the behaviour that follows. And so we should be careful of seeing those that sympathise with us as being sincere, because very often they are the ones that accuse us of thinking that we’re better than them when we let go of what held us back, just because they’re still holding on to it in their own lives.

    (This was a particularly challenging post to write, for reasons that I have yet to figure out!)

  • Holystic Healing

    It’s so interesting (read ‘entertaining’) to note how people convince themselves that everything is solved through faith and struggle. It’s probably one of the cleverest disguises of feigning strength that I’ve come across. You see, the moment we profess to be answering to a higher calling in our efforts to rid ourselves of our demons, people are automatically obliged to show reverence for our beliefs, which puts any criticism or analysis off limits. But even that is not the most important part of all this because what lies beneath, as always, is what really counts.

    Most people I meet are so proud of their ability to cloak their true emotions that it’s become a source of strength for them. The irony is just, astounding. We find strength in reinforcing our weaknesses! Just the reality of that statement forces me to pause and consider how much else do we do that is this destructively self-serving. It’s as if we focus on finding a sense of composure about our current state, and presenting an image of contentment or confidence about it. Once that is achieved, we assume we’ve triumphed. Until the next wave of tribulations that strike, which forces us into defence mode, once again driving our focus towards building those walls so that others don’t see our pain or vulnerabilities.

    Fortunately, that is not sustainable. Those that persist beyond the realisation of how unsustainable and damaging it is, commit suicide through self-inflicted ailments that the world has convinced them is an attack from outside their body. And so they become martyred heroes from being such successful victims. And yes, I believe that the realisation does enter their consciousness at some point, but usually at a point when the validation and compassion that their established defences solicit is too great for them to want to reveal the truth behind their misery.

    We long for moments that we didn’t quite enjoy when we were in them, but they appear so much more appealing later on when what we have is considerably worse than what those moments offered us. This reminds me of the lyrics of that song by Gladys Knight where she reminisces about memories, and wonders if time has rewritten every line. I think it has. I think that failed relationships of the past seem to hold more appeal when the shortcomings of our current relationships cause those to pale in comparison. But this is not only true for relationships, but instead it is true for everything we do or experience in life. Nostalgia can be quite the selective spouse at times, and it is this very same sense of longing for what was that defines our perception of what is, which ultimately robs us of what we can be.

    And so in our efforts to hide from these awkward truths, we present the ultimate defence, faith. But even that is not an entirely bad thing. I’ve often considered whether or not psychosomatic relief is a valuable remedy or not. I’m inclined to believe that it is. If the objective is healing, rather than how one is healed, then by all means, draw on the healing effects of faith through identifying token markers that shift our minds towards that healing cycle. However, unless we reflect on those conversations we have in our heads and have the courage to honestly pick it apart, we’ll always be subject to the presence of those markers to heal ourselves, which will most likely result in the destructive behaviours persisting, which eventually leads to a rot beyond repair.

    It’s the same old analogy of the car once again. Driving the hell out of it wears it down, and no matter how many times you rigorously service it, or how much love and attention you smother it with, eventually the result of the on-going abuse will cause it to fail beyond repair. That is when death overtakes us, leaving us bewildered at its approach because the defences that served us so well for so long suddenly appears to be deserting us. No. We deserted ourselves long before that moment. We deserted ourselves each moment we chose to indulge our fears to feed our ego, instead of facing our fears and suppressing our ego.

    There is nothing in this world that is wholesome if applied excessively, and faith is not free of this flaw. The world only remains in balance if we apply moderation in our lives. Be it spiritually or physically, regardless of your professions of faith or spirituality, the result is the same. Even the atheist or the agnostic, or the ascetic or the religious scholar, all need that balance. But that balance is relative, and can only be found when we reflect and sincerely apply what the realisations of our reflections reveal. Unfortunately too many are looking to others to instil that balance in their lives. We look for gurus and frameworks and funky philosophies that worked for someone else, then call it this big secret to happiness and assume that if we follow the textbook, we’ll be fine. We won’t. As long as you’re living someone else’s reality in your life, your life is a lie. It is a painful delusion that will kill you in unpleasant ways while you’re praying for a peaceful death.

    Stop fooling yourself. It’s the greatest gift you could ever give yourself and the people around you.

  • Ties That Blind

    There are times when we’re so fixated on wanting to remove ourselves from a situation because we fear contaminating it, that we lose sight of the fact that our absence is in fact the greatest contamination of all. I find this most relevant in families, where our insecurity to fulfil our roles as role models leaves us receding and convincing ourselves that they’re better off without us. Unfortunately that insecurity rarely presents itself as that. More often than not it manifests itself as either selfishness or arrogance, both of which are simply defence mechanisms that we employ to prevent others from seeing our weakness.

    But it’s not about us as individuals. It never has been. The desire we all have to be part of something greater, or to be part of a wholesome social structure that is nurturing rather than destructive is what we undermine when we succumb to those insecurities. The most intriguing change in my life has been my need to recognise when I stopped being the nurtured and when I started being the nurturer. At some point I stopped being just the son, or cousin, and I started being the father, and the uncle. But it is my singular focus on needing to be nurtured that blinds me from realising that my nurturing is now dependent on being the nurturer.

    It all sounds so complicated, and it will complicate even further when I need to transition to being an elder, and not just the uncle or fatherly figure. But if I resist these changes in the rightful expectations that others have of me, I will be denying the next generation of the very essence of that which gave me a sense of community, family, and belonging. Sometimes it’s not being valued as an individual that gives us the comfort that we need to feel appreciated. Sometimes it’s simply that feeling of being part of a wholesome support structure that defines our self worth. Our innate need for significance is not only fed by recognition for our individual efforts, but more importantly it is fed by being part of something greater than us, and even more critical, having a pride of association with that belonging.

    And so I started contemplating these ties that blind us. It’s ties we maintain to who we were without realising that we have yet to embrace who we are, or who we aspire to be. It’s ties that hold us back in our belief that we have a right to take before we have a right to give. It’s that same sick mentality that convinces us that unless we’re responsible, we’re not accountable. Unless it is related to a responsibility we have over our own children or family members, then we’re not accountable for contributing towards the wellbeing of society at large. We forget that what strengths we have, others have as weaknesses, with the reverse being just as true. So when we stand arrogantly proclaiming that to each their own because we’re doing our bit and they must do theirs, we’re assuming that we’re superior to them in every way because we forget that they probably see similarly frustrating flaws in us.

    This is not an abstract notion. It’s not a philosophical debate either. It’s simply the realisation that if we act selfishly, we will deny the next generation the very security that now allows us the luxury to act selfishly. There is no such thing as a self-made man. We are shaped by society, and even when rejected by that same society, it is those that we surrounded ourselves with to find comfort in our rejection that formed the society from which we drew strength. I think the gravest delusion we suffer from is the assumption that we first need to receive before we can reciprocate. That’s the problem with this world. Everyone is waiting for everyone else, because the fear of rejection or insignificance is so great, that we’d rather demand it through obligation instead of earning that acceptance and inclusion through sacrifice.

    Worse still is the fact that the few that do sacrifice before they receive are most often the ones most trampled upon by the very same ones that cry foul when they are dealt a poor hand by life.

  • Solitude

    The rhythm and rhyme of this poem dances to the melody of my life. It has resonated with me since I first read it, and continues to echo the sentiments that unravel my composure, while simultaneously providing me with the awkward comfort of knowing that my struggles are not new, nor unique. As troubled as I may be, it confirms that what plagues me is as common as the cold which demands no special treatment except a common remedy for a common ailment. Let her words speak.

    Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    Laugh, and the world laughs with you:
    Weep, and you weep alone;
    For the sad old earth
    Must borrow its mirth,
    It has trouble enough of its own.

    Sing, and the hills will answer;
    Sigh, it is lost on the air;
    The echoes bound
    To a joyful sound,
    But shrink from voicing care.

    Rejoice, and men will seek you;
    Grieve, and they turn and go;
    They want full measure
    Of all your pleasure,
    But they do not want your woe.

    Be glad, and your friends are many;
    Be sad, and you lose them all;
    There are none to decline
    Your nectared wine,
    But alone you must drink life’s gall.

    Feast, and your halls are crowded;
    Fast, and the world goes by;
    Succeed and give,
    And it helps you live,
    But it cannot help you die.

    There is room in the halls of pleasure
    For a long and lordly train;
    But one by one
    We must all file on
    Through the narrow aisles of pain.