To take note of
When I was younger, I realize now, I knew nothing about myself. Neither did I know the self that I would grow to become. Neither did I know how important that would become in the future. I suppose I always figured that one knew oneself, automatically. As if, self knowledge and self acknowledgement were innate, ingrained ideas that one was simply a part of. Never did I conceive of the idea that self understanding was a thing entirely other from ourselves, a thing we had to at some point in our existence choose to take part in. Although, I suppose I did know this subconsciously. I never would have put it into words, however. Not then, anyway.
The point in my life that I’m at is rather a precarious one. I feel as if there are still plenty of choices to be made, plenty of time in which to make them, plenty of…what? Plenty of anything I ought to need in the future. Yet, at the same time I feel as if the choices that I once could have – no, but rather would have made are beginning to grow narrow. As if the world is just as open as it was, but I am beginning to settle into certain aspects, certain perspectives, certain angles of comprehending it. At the same time, I feel intrinsically drawn to the way of Buckminster Fuller; as if everything I ever knew needs to be rethought, re-evaluated, re-judged. Relearned. I am at a point of relearning, but no longer only that which is within. Instead, to that which is without.
This is an important distinction to establish.
Previously, during what I would prefer to refer to as my formative moments, everything was about relearning myself. When I came to the point of realizing that myself was, in fact, a thing I did not innately know – that knowing of self was the only thing of true importance. It took the forefront of all knowledge, either resorted or gained. It took primary position over time and resources, as well as relationships and perspectives. Yet, those years are – at this point in time – beginning to fade. Although I cannot say I know myself entirely, the importance of being all-knowing in concerns to my own being is becoming less and less relevant.
What gains that lost relevance is the outside of myself. That which myself has dwelt in without acknowledgement, appreciation, or concern. That which myself has, yet, failed to see as truly other. For when one is focused so purely on the self, one does not clearly see what is not self. One aligns and integrates all into the self. In a sense, one takes in the world and calls that the “I”, makes that the center, comprehends vast universes from such an angle. It is not wrong, per say. In fact, it allows the self to see more varied understandings of that self – which can lead to true knowledge. However, now more than ever, the lines between the universe and “I” are beginning to show. Like wrinkle lines around a smile or crows-feet around the eyes. Signs of maturing are beginning to take root. Signs of fading are beginning to take seed.
What is so interesting about this is how it turns my mind inside out. These signs of a temporal “I” begin to show how that same “I” interfaces with the reality I had previously been failing to account for. Natural forces – time, weather, age – are beginning to take their affect in some small way. Which strongly urges my mind to make account. What is it that is acting upon the “I” that, previously, was the foundation. What wears a foundation? What elements, what forces push and pull this craft I am in? What see do “I” float upon and, when it is named, can I comprehend its tide and what pushes or pulls it, as well?
And so, my eyes begin to find focal points in a real world with a real, strong other. One that I can neither control nor affect. One that is solid, as if the earth. One that flows, as if the sea. One that from nowhere pushes and pulls, as if the wind. One that burns holes in my young intellect, returns that ash and asks of my spinning consciousness: what of this, you?
As if life is a tapestry that something else is unfurling at its own given rate. As if time is just the comprehension – or attempts thereof to label this unfurling, this pushing and pulling that we all begin to feel as we maneuver our way through this orchestra of elements, thoughts, and emotions.
The point in my life that I’m at is rather a precarious one. I feel as if there are still plenty of choices to be made, plenty of time in which to make them, plenty of…what? Plenty of anything I ought to need in the future. Yet, at the same time I feel as if the choices that I once could have – no, but rather would have made are beginning to grow narrow. As if the world is just as open as it was, but I am beginning to settle into certain aspects, certain perspectives, certain angles of comprehending it. At the same time, I feel intrinsically drawn to the way of Buckminster Fuller; as if everything I ever knew needs to be rethought, re-evaluated, re-judged. Relearned. I am at a point of relearning, but no longer only that which is within. Instead, to that which is without.
This is an important distinction to establish.
Previously, during what I would prefer to refer to as my formative moments, everything was about relearning myself. When I came to the point of realizing that myself was, in fact, a thing I did not innately know – that knowing of self was the only thing of true importance. It took the forefront of all knowledge, either resorted or gained. It took primary position over time and resources, as well as relationships and perspectives. Yet, those years are – at this point in time – beginning to fade. Although I cannot say I know myself entirely, the importance of being all-knowing in concerns to my own being is becoming less and less relevant.
What gains that lost relevance is the outside of myself. That which myself has dwelt in without acknowledgement, appreciation, or concern. That which myself has, yet, failed to see as truly other. For when one is focused so purely on the self, one does not clearly see what is not self. One aligns and integrates all into the self. In a sense, one takes in the world and calls that the “I”, makes that the center, comprehends vast universes from such an angle. It is not wrong, per say. In fact, it allows the self to see more varied understandings of that self – which can lead to true knowledge. However, now more than ever, the lines between the universe and “I” are beginning to show. Like wrinkle lines around a smile or crows-feet around the eyes. Signs of maturing are beginning to take root. Signs of fading are beginning to take seed.
What is so interesting about this is how it turns my mind inside out. These signs of a temporal “I” begin to show how that same “I” interfaces with the reality I had previously been failing to account for. Natural forces – time, weather, age – are beginning to take their affect in some small way. Which strongly urges my mind to make account. What is it that is acting upon the “I” that, previously, was the foundation. What wears a foundation? What elements, what forces push and pull this craft I am in? What see do “I” float upon and, when it is named, can I comprehend its tide and what pushes or pulls it, as well?
And so, my eyes begin to find focal points in a real world with a real, strong other. One that I can neither control nor affect. One that is solid, as if the earth. One that flows, as if the sea. One that from nowhere pushes and pulls, as if the wind. One that burns holes in my young intellect, returns that ash and asks of my spinning consciousness: what of this, you?
As if life is a tapestry that something else is unfurling at its own given rate. As if time is just the comprehension – or attempts thereof to label this unfurling, this pushing and pulling that we all begin to feel as we maneuver our way through this orchestra of elements, thoughts, and emotions.
