Friday, June 02, 2006
.:selves:. Empty vase I've said I am. In search of water to feed the flowers that I have not. Perhaps it is foolish to say "in search". If I suppose myself to have come to God, am I not already filled? Where does the water go? Do my shortcomings and failings perforate my delicate glass frame, allowing whatever fills me to seep out just as it comes in? Do I, at other times, try to fill the void with alcohol, to join friends in their reveries? Such foolishness am I! The morning after is a wash in stupor, laziness, sickness and at times, regret. The queasiness can disarm even the strongest of stomachs. So why then, if there are so many ill effects, does one persist with such a course? Perhaps it is rash to say all drink with the necessary end of drunkenness. Most of the time judgment becomes clouded and the line that separates pleasant giddiness from wayward indulgence is often cross with just that one last drink too many. It is often said that we engage in certain behaviour because we desire the acceptance of others. I think also that we do so to accept ourselves. Yes that does seem a bit paradoxical to say that we engage in behaviour unlike our normal one to accept ourselves. So, I will act differently in order to accept myself. But these notions of self and behaviour are tricky! Let us suppose that for every "self" in us there is an opposing self. For example, I have a religious self, a self that attempts to live morally and in pursuit of God. Countering that self I have a hedonist self, a self that attempts to live pleasurably and in pursuit of worldly satisfaction. Within "me" are these many and opposing selves. Then, to live with so many combatant selves becomes a daily battle that amounts to a life long war. To accept "myself" is to accept all the inner competing selves. We pick which of these jihadist inner factions we wish to represent and comprise the "me". Yet time toils and in living we see the other selves in us played out in others that we meet. Perhaps out of envy or curiosity, we wish to try composing a new "me" of these sequestered selves. Yet to do so requires either the gut of a titan, the dedication of a monk or the looseness of a drunkard. Should neither the gut nor the dedication appear present within ourselves, the looseness of a drunkard can be attained rather easily. And so we drink to accept our selves, to accept a different composition of repressed bits. We drink to be accepted by others, and more specifically, to be accepted by the others whose composition of a total self resembles the new composition we are painting for ourselves with each new splash of alcohol. And in the light of day we wake to find that the drunkard is gone and in his stead lies an invalid overcome with illness. The "me" of the morning is the same as the "me" of the earlier evening only this time it is a "me" of a lesser physical disposition. The new and different "me" of the night has passed on, chained in yet again, only to be showcased again with alcohol or a complete change in gut. The foolishness of man arises when he learns nothing from this foray into an elixir-induced deviation from the standard composition of self. The composition bonded together by the molecules will break as the elixir breaks. And so the cycle continues. on the ipod: what sarah said by death cab for cutie
