19/03/13
The sheer brutality of the building/renovating
work taking place in the house next-door beggars belief. This has been going on
for several weeks and shows no signs of abating. Rather, it has intensified to
a point where I feel like going out just to get away from it, and probably
would do if the weather were not so bad, so cold and miserable, with lowering
grey skies for days on-end. Yet how typical of
The story of my life – a writer/thinker (not
recognized or regarded as such in this female-dominated country) beset by
hammering, drilling, banging, shouting fools and/or 'sons-of-bitches'. Not a
particularly pleasant story, by any means. But, then, life in this world is
always fundamentally hellish. One isn't grateful for it; one simply endures it
because, short of committing suicide (which is cowardly, selfish, and an
arch-sin, to boot), there isn't much else one can do. Yet in thinking and
writing, one kind of avenges oneself upon life or, more specifically, the life
one knows and continues to suffer from, both personally and in relation to
others, as well as to things and what the inclemencies of Nature – which some
are stupid enough to identify with God – inflict upon one. Life is not
something one can – or indeed should – be grateful for. It is the sick joke of
the gods (stars), whereas wisdom, that product of experience and sensibility,
always counsels one to turn away from life, plain bitch-ridden life, in pursuit
of a dream, a vision, a destiny, a goal, an ambition, a cadent resolution to
the inevitability of somatic (bodily) degeneration.
Such a resolution I identify with 'Kingdom
Come', and thus with otherworldly criteria presided over by Heaven. If, as a
metaphysical thinker, I am reluctant to write, I find that I'm even more
reluctant to live, because living is the opposite of dying to the world, as to
worldly life, in order to be reborn into the beingful supremacy of Heaven.
Living is really about doing, which, as noted above, is fundamentally hellish,
since emanating from the exercise of will(power), and in all doing there is a
denial of being, in all willpower a denial of soulful contentment, in the
Devil, as in Hell, a denial of God and Heaven or, more specifically, of God in Heaven. For truth is in joy, but in a world dominated,
through females, by beauty and love or, more correctly, by love in beauty, Hell
in the Devil, there can be little room for truth in joy, God in Heaven.
Therefore I reject this world, as of whatever
most characterises and represents it, and have always been – and hopefully
always will be – reluctant to engage with it, to the detriment of my freedom,
the freedom to pursue philosophical truth to its logical end in what lies
beyond understanding, or ego, in the joyful contentment of soul. I may be
reluctant to write the truth, but I have never been reluctant to think it and,
when possible, to experience that condition of soul which is commensurate with
supreme being and which manifests as truth. This is the wisdom of Eternity.
Do the religiously sacred make any sense to the
profanely secular; in other words, to the generality of persons, both female
and male? Nope!
Which is precisely why meaningful change, in
terms not of the exchange of one type of worldliness for another – socialist
for capitalist or vice versa - but in relation to the triumph of otherworldly
criteria, can only be effected messianically, through a religious elite capable
of mastering and then overcoming 'the world'.
