. . . continued . . .
Dear Sister,
If you blow out a candle, the flame dies. Relighting a candle is not quite the same as reheating a soufflé, but mind that every match struck brings to your table a new spirit. Can you try to see that? If not, why not? I’m interested to know.
You keep an eternal flame burning by adding oil. Does that seem like cheating to you? But it is a kind of tending or administering and co-creating harmony that all feeds into consciousness. If it weren’t for such gestures (or eurythmy or poetry in motion) there would only be a universe spinning out its prime move and headed for chaos by the laws of atrophy. Is consciousness not the only antidote to death?
But this is tedious gobbledy-gook to you.
Since you don’t want to understand the world through my eyes, it’s only fair that I ask myself if I can understand it through yours. I don’t mean to explore your autism (for trust me, it is the same as the first Kanner child’s and any Asperger’s walking around - although they technically no longer exist since DSM V). I suppose the answer is already crystal clear to both of us.
We have very different vision. There are the near-sighted, the far-sighted, and the inbetween-sighted…. And the autistic, of course, with their special sight, special needs, special brains, and cool beds, just the way they like them spread.
How organised can you be? How creative? How badly do you want to be? By your own admission, we know that you don’t want anything at all, and that’s the crux. You find it more than inconvenient, yourself, but what are you concretely doing about it? Why can’t any of my suggestions work for you? Can we blame your dysphoria? Up to what point? Would you suddenly become inspired on anti-depressants?
It is unlikely. Even pharmacists don’t want you to get your hopes up. Pharmaceuticals mainly try to prevent escalations or “dead-ends”. They repress fevers, numb frantic minds, lift sinking souls, shrivel up tumours, but cannot introduce new healing energies or new impulses. Even vitamins don’t really do that. They assist your finer intentions (formative force fields as inspired by astral impulses). They don’t unfold a new skill for you, merely evacuate you from a burning craft. Next step still is: rethink your itinary.
If you are predisposed to an illness, have dark spots blemishing your soul, then ill you must fall again. That is what it is to be Adam fallen. It is why in anthroposophical medicine we recommend you take a flu or a bout of measels, even, on the chin to strengthen your ability to fend off worse. It remains debatable how you will fare on polio or whooping cough. In our times we may not have sufficiently trained spiritual assistants to help us understand how to cope and benefit from such dangerous (life-threatening, invalidating) diseases.
Life has to remain “doable”. You have to be able to make it out gracefully, and what’s more, generally speaking on your own two legs. The climb may be steep, besides, so we have to be prepared we won’t be fully “perfect” at the end of it. Better luck next time.
You can only talk about “pulling the plug”. I would say you are crap at suffering. Lying on a pea is a torture you refuse to undergo. Then you shall probably not go to the ball….
Eve is the sacrificial soul, the cosmic bodhisattva who returned to save Man from eternal Sleep. She tries to help him walk the right Path.
Is it conceivable for you, that there might be an existence that extends beyond death? Is that my wishful thinking? My mission? Have you ever bothered to examine my presumed deludedness? Could I not be onto something? What exactly am I proposing anyway, and why am I sharing it with you? I’d be curious. Or would I be? How thoroughly have I read the books you wrote?
What if I came to you, indeed useless to your plight, but to help myself? I am learning so much about the last dark corners of me! Wouldn’t that be rewarding to you? Or are you too angelic and humble to receive even my gratitude?
Perhaps, it is I who need to improve my free-fall into that space between what was (that what you know) and something unknown. This is the trick to creating inner space, which does not lie in the middle of the maze of your brain (only a minotaur there) but in tat vam asi.
It is my Willowy mood and not your business really that I can’t see how you cannot, will not, do not make the effort to come over to my place, as it were. Here where feeling and significance matters over reason and meaning.
You say I am too cerebreal. I find you all head. Mushily sentimental and overly lefty-eco-green at times but is that a lack of intellect? On the contrary, if you ask me. When is the last time you’ve seen a gnome digging amongst your broccoli?
You recently have taken up the line that I make you feel guilty. Along that line, I would blame you for not being a better friend. Perhaps, I do lament it, but blame seems like the wrong word. Still, I could stretch my psycho-analysis to see how you got there, and would counter: what good could your guilt do to promote our friendship? You find this proves the point, that I care more about semantics than your feelings. That is not so, but I’d be hard-pressed to proove it.
I have nobody to blame but myself. Too much effort. Picked the wrong charity.
Isn’t it the epitomy of vanity to say that my efforts outweigh that of any one else’s? Is it not my own paranoia that they seem careless and casual with regard to me, saving their best efforts and quickest self for somebody better? I have to get away from this good-better-best. A healer’s perogative perhaps, but I am not a doctor, just a Faustus. I think you do the same though….Couldn’t we have got over this together?
I watch you take the long way round to get there if anywhere at all. It is hardly the scenic route. So why blame me for showing you a short cut? Granted, do I really know where you are meant to be going. It’s like those do-gooders helping a snail cross the road, when he actually was about to turn back (spying the thrush up ahead better than they).
How great is it to get rid of everything but to find yourself still with nothing? Maybe, I’d wish you hated me (at least there is some energy in that!). But as our father pointed out to me, you are too sensible for that.
This leaves me the hysterical one, the needy one, the grieving sister, the one most misunderstood. And I was just starting to think I was doing so well.
What makes someone flat-out unlikeable? It's a mind-f*ck question that's been nagging me for years. I suppose the way you make people feel. And then not caring enough to never make them feel that way again. Not wanting to hurt anyone, just not making enough effort to avoid hurting them. It has to be a kind of karmic residue. Very hard to get to and scrub off. See, that's how from my point of view, it only helps to have a diagnosable disorder....
. . . to be continued . . .
chateau de queribus, Will Bowes