Until the thoughts are relinquished

by Sorin Atanasiu

Can you live a whole life in uncertainty ? Well, I’m afraid you have no options. There are no options. At least in this moment, if you ask the same question

Philosophy is the best indicator that a person knows nothing. It is the state of not having certitudes. It is the condition of not knowing. Most humans live in this state.

Knowing means not inquiring.

The traveler through concepts will develop an imaginary path. Philosophy, however, is a natural habitat in which you just acknowledge yourself having a desire for knowing. Behind Philosophy there is a desire. There is a need. There is an urge.

Even if you get the best arguments to prove your existence, you still might be in doubt about it. I mean, you can exist in someone else’s dream, or maybe your bodily death means a total end of yours. We don’t know. So, the fleeting character of human life abolishes any compensatory thoughts of being certain about your existence in this moment. What do I care if I exist now, as long as I would stop existing at some point ? Do I exist only for 30, 40 years ? What comfort should I take in this ? None, of course. I’m either immortal, or I do not care about my transient being ! Seriously.

The imminence of despair is justifiable. It is the sign that you’ve had enough of it. You should stop inquiring using the mind. There is no breathing exercise, there is no therapy in this world to answer to the most vital questions a human being can ask. I witness the absolute bankruptcy of any philosophy or therapy. Because they don’t have answers. They can’t have answers. They are wallowing within the mind. They are conditioned by the mind because they deal exclusively with the mind. And my restlessness aims outside the mind. So, how the hell can they answer me ? Telling me words and/or concepts !? My own experience with reasoning lead me nowhere.

What’s that big shit you want to achieve in your life time ? Any answer is utterly unsatisfactory. It either relates to thoughts expressed sometimes into material forms, or feelings. Either way is unsatisfactory. And both are contents of your mind. That is the chief reason I will leave my mind behind. It’s a tool that no longer serves me. It takes me nowhere. I shall use it only when it’s necessary. Reason being the only condition for this world and its inhabitants to function in this form (you still need a job to pay the bills etc..).

Philosophy is the journey that mind takes in itself. Not outside itself. Through Philosophy, one can learn exclusively about the contents of his own mind. Philosophy can not pass through the mind's boundaries. So, what can you achieve through Philosophy? In the best case, one can reach a way out of the mind. Otherwise, it will linger on inside the mind for eons. Can a thought become a saviour ? No. There is no thought that can save you. The best thoughts can only point out a way to escape from the mind. Thoughts can not offer you redeeming. The thinking mind should be recognized as an inextricable matrix. A concept leads you into another concept, and so on forever. Am I in the middle of a spiritual crisis ? Of course, I am; I’ve always been. LOL !!

Hare Krishna !

Thank you

Good morning, my friends !

by Sorin Atanasiu

I woke up this morning having almost a conviction that is something that needs to be added (again). I guess, that's one of my illusions. LOL ! It’s about the idea that every word is a prison and how we spend our lives living in different prisons. I see clearly that our social and professional identities are build with and upon words. (I don’t want to imply by no means that in this world, at this stage, there should be a total cessation of the words. No. Just take it as an insight good for private use). Everyone of us has been brought up with stories. They are passed through every generation. They are the force that underpins the Dominance of the Names. Words, names have become persons. Our  experiences of the world or reality (whatever reality is) are caused apparently, as last conclusions, by the usage of the words. They are no longer tools but have been transformed into realities. You so much believe in a story that you extract your ultimate identity from it. A word will provide you with an endless being. Soon as the latter seems threatened, you take all the measures to prevent any disruptive movements, any dislocations of the initial understanding. You are relying 100% in something that has been told to you. You’ve got your own story. Your alpha and omega of your existence in this universe. Your identity.

May I ask what is your identity ? What would you answer ? Will you show me your identity card, your academic degrees, your BA, MA or PhD, a picture of you, the last prizes you’ve been given, the large acknowledgement of your virtues, the social ad professional confirmations of your status, the colour of your skin, your ethnicity, your eloquence, your strength, your wealth, your car, your helicopter, your truck, your new jacket (LMFAO !!!), your religion, your thoughts, your emotions. Or maybe you identify your self with an important activity you undertake, like making one hundred push ups in two fingers, or fighting against poverty, or saving the woods, the dolphins, the children !? Please, tell me, who are you among these ? What do you identify yourself with ? Who are you ?

Don’t you have the feeling (or maybe the inner certitude) that these are external acquirements ? You could be one of the above, or maybe all of them. Just choose an item and let me know who are you ? But what if you die this evening ? What would be left of you ? Your eternal remains ?

Don’t your guts tell you that your meaning oriented existence is based solely on words and your intelligent interpretations of them ? Look closer. What do you feel ?

Any word (even the sacred ones) will lead you to another word. Infinitely ! You will end up in a different cell. You can have all the words and concepts in this universe. The herd of your thoughts will be your new beautiful constructions, your outward paths, the mists of your journey. Let them happen. Stay still. Don’t get identified with. Don’t fight against it. Human personality will destroy itself by itself as it is artificial. The mind will collapse in itself. The mind contains the gravity of annihilating itself. The authentic will last. And don’t wait nothing. Let it be.

If there is a reality, it can not be adjudicated by any debates. If there is a reality or truth it will be shown to you. Have no fear ! Nothing is ever lost. The authentic, the real can not die.

Thank you !

Is there something sacred in your life ? No. Nothing is sacred in my life. Nothing. There are just attempts of finding a meaning. And, of course, there is no meaning, but my fantastic ability in building up stories.

theedgewalker

Any resemblance between these two contemplative-thinkers ?

Laozi (6^th Century BC) Dao De Jing, I (translator T. Chilcott)

‘The Way that can be spoken of is not the changeless DAO.

The name that can be named is not the changeless Name.

Namelessness: the blank that was before both heaven and earth.

Naming: the mother of all living things.

To understand the mysteries of DAO, empty yourself of all desire;

to understand its outward forms, fill yourself with all desire.

DAO and the world flow from the same source, but differ in name.

Their oneness is a mystery, a mystery upon a mystery,

the gateway to the essence of everything that is.’

Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (650 - 725),  Mystical Theology, Caput V (translator John Parker)

‘On the other hand, ascending, we say, that It is neither soul, nor mind, nor has imagination, or opinion, or reason, or conception; neither is expressed, nor conceived; neither is number, nor order, nor greatness, nor littleness; nor equality, nor inequality; nor similarity, nor dissimilarity; neither is standing, nor moving; nor at rest; neither has power, nor is power, nor light; neither lives, nor is life; neither is essence nor eternity, nor time; neither is Its touch intelligible, neither is It science, nor truth; nor kingdom, nor wisdom; neither one, nor oneness; neither Deity, nor Goodness; nor is It Spirit according to our understanding; nor Sonship, nor Paternity; nor any other thing of those known to us, or to any other existing being; neither is It any of non-existing nor of existing things, nor do things existing know It, as It is; nor does It know existing things, qua  existing; neither is there expression of It, nor name, nor knowledge; neither is It darkness, nor light; nor error, nor truth; neither is there any definition at all of It, nor any abstraction. But when making the predications and abstractions of things after It, we neither predicate, nor abstract from It; since the all-perfect and uniform Cause of all is both above every definition and the pre-eminence of Him, Who is absolutely freed from all, and beyond the whole, is also above every abstraction.’

Last tango in Paris, Bertolucci, 1972

or An attempt of transcending the pain

by Sorin Atanasiu

Solipsistic sexuality (God, I love this word! I mean solipsistic). The big question: Is it possible to take the pain (the death) away through sexuality ? Can sex be a therapy ? The film is a plea for your lost orgasm. It’s all internal. And it stays there. Brando doesn’t have to act. It all comes natural. It’s like breathing. I don’t care about the plot, I never cared about the plot. Plot is a pretext. The history is just psychological. Because it’s an experience. They’re endeavouring to found a new history not knowing nothing about each other. Brando’s character (a certain Paul) refuses to give names. He hates any form of identity. The identity is the very enemy of his renewal. The name is a prison. He replies like a demon: “I’ve been called by a million names all my life. I don’t want a name. I’m better off with a grunt or a groan for a name”. This underlines his bestial nature. Sometimes, bestiality could ease the pain.

He’s not spiritual. He opposes redemption, church, priests, God. He hates them. Maybe it’s his revenge for the existential injustice that led to his wife’s death (even if it’s suicide). He burns all the tracks that could show the way through settlement in the light of the Name.

He is in touch with Life only in the peaceful, empty room. Which might be the void that awaits for a Meaning to be given. The empty room is his empty soul. No law in it. Just a continuous passion. Free passion for everything that pleases him. Like sex with a beautiful, sensitive young woman. Apparently, he does everything for oblivion. Tormented sex could be the best way. 

Schneider’s character (Jeanne) is blocked for a second. She doesn’t know what it needs to be done in a place without laws: ‘So what do I have to say and do I have to do ?’. He just invites her into the journey: ‘Come on the good ship, lollipop’. It’s like saying, ‘It’s not important to know exactly what to do, but to flow with the ship, the good ship’.  He concentrates the dialogue upon the body, to the exploration of it. He stopped to believe in spirit. Maybe he never believed. His ONLY reality is the BODY. Jeanne regains her childhood, her innocence. In this room, innocence cohabits with sexuality without any problems.

Jeanne calls him an egoist, and she’s right. He is an egoist and a misanthropist. I know, he loved his wife. but she was the only person he’s ever loved. Anyway, his love for her must had been strange that she committed suicide. Now, he’s looking for any possible tricks to make the life bearable. He uses what he can.

The big warning of the film is: Human Reason is pure shit. It can not succeed. It can not solve the major problems of the existence. You are doomed to finiteness. In the end, everything goes chaotic. When the roots of your life disappear, when you’ve got no motivation, it means you run out of reasonable (artificial) meanings. You have to go authentic. And this authentic CAN NOT BE GIVEN BY REASON, which (Reason) is shit !! Reason can not cope with trauma. It can not cope with nothing essential. You have to transcend the mind, the pathetic history of yours, the headquarters of your many social habits. The society, the impersonal is what kills you for good. You need to get out. To rebuild yourself following an instinctive path. What do people do in order to hide their emptiness ? Paul confesses to his mother in law: ‘they take drugs, play music...they are afraid of the dark’…the dark in their empty soul. We are estranged and artificial beings. All the time. We learned to react through a social programme. It’s not really you, it’s a preset behaviour.

Paul’s struggle is very consuming. In the end, he tries to bring some sense in his empty room by getting a new bride. He curses afterwards the dead bride, the dead wife which is also dressed like a bride. He’s terribly upset that he wasn’t able to discover the true nature of the woman, true nature of his wife.

In the end, he pledges for identity, for a life in the country side with sun and cows. It’s probably his last bid of getting into ‘normality’. ‘Tango as a rite’. He is not going to be accepted in this new (maybe fake?) posture. Jeanne has just shot a stranger. She prefers the artificial life with that young, impersonal boy, which is the most despicable expression of stupid humanity.

Indeed, woman isn’t meant to be understood but loved.

Did I talk about us or did I talk only about my own disease projected on the film ?