Day 381: Collapse of Care, and ‘Not Be Fooled Again!’

Day 381: Collapse of  Care, and ‘Not Be Fooled Again!’

 

Interesting to explore a memory of a time – that comes up in the presence of the word Care – a time in which I had to clear the table and in some ways start again – even though the physical notebooks from 44 years ago have gone – the practice of writing, back then, has preserved some detailed means of access to the memories of those times: a glimpse into specific details of what my thoughts were like, my relationships to things, and to myself. For me there was a personal historic watershed: a world before and a world after the collapse of Care, where I had created care as a bubble in which to live, and that bubble had popped dramatically: so as I begin to explore these things what comes up here is this memory, that shows to me this clearing-of-the-table process that was necessary for me.

 

So, closing in here and almost looking through the eyes of a young and twenty me: with a view across the wooden surface of a table – where my elbows rested – a place where I would take stock of things going on inside of me. A sort of home ground in the clear simplicity of a wooden tabletop, or of my notebook, or of the scattering of objects that had accumulated here in the consequence of this day, also at the same time an arrangement of expressions telling tales of how this came to be like this; a gesture in the positioning of a teaspoon, in how it came to rest, a skid mark in that ring of water from a glass, a pencil knocked askew, a knot shaped like an eye in the wood grain, and across the surface of the table a patina of marks of history, telling tales of long ago in blond and amber layers of the summers and the winters.

 

Here was a place of stability for me, a place in which I could create stability, a breathing space, a place in which there was for me if not an intimacy, then in company with the physical stability. Looking at this now I see how much delighted I was in the obvious definition let’s say, of things, such as in the example in front of me in my sphere of attention, a red plastic lighter: I mean clearly edged, consistent, complete, clearly itself, persistently that lighter. And then in one of these memories, touching it, moving it slightly, adjusting it, or from the shiny ring of water, a shiny trail of finger play, that playing of a question in my mind of how such things could constitute a form of reasoning. How to read the nature of the world directly was like an ongoing question in my mind, I was on the lookout for the language of reality itself.

 

What I could not see then but can see now is who I was within that question, mystified within the very words that I was living, and in a way in a point of blame towards the words, perceiving them to only somehow reach into this world, or else to be referring to a world unseen, not seeing that it was me who had defined myself within those words in feelings and emotions, that it was me that had invested me as energy into the words that I was living, that in me had accumulated an emotional reality in my perception, that it was through me that my definitions of myself within and as the words, that I did not have a point of application.

 

Yet while accepting that consequential reality that was premised on my abdication, I sought for ways to articulate it, such as with painting, to somehow feel my way into reasoning of some kind. It’s interesting how I was determined ‘to not be fooled again’, to not accept a false reality, to get to the bottom of things, at this point in my life, not seeing how really at that time, I was fooling me; I was looking through the frame of my own personal reality at a world that seemed across a gulf, separate from me.

 

Although for me ‘to not be fooled again’ came out of spite reactions, blame towards having things done, and not done unto me, where I had broken off relations – and treated this as such a disaster – I see now something different, that this collapsing bubble was actually supportive to me, and that in some ways I could handle the support; it enabled me to look at fundamental things that I had previously taken for granted, as it set me on an independent process of investigation. And in other ways I could not handle the support: that aspect of being set down on my feet on the outside of this comfort zone, it’s like reality breaks the egg shell open to assist my birth into the world, and I am furious about the damage to my home!

 

 

 

Continuing next post…

 

 

 

Grateful to Desteni for the support and for the tools with which to see these things.

 

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