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"Darkness is impossible to remember. Consequently [explorers] desire to return to those unseen depths where they have just been. It is an addiction. No one is ever satisfied. Darkness never satisfies. Especially if it takes something away which it almost always invariably does." (From the work of fiction "House of Leaves" by Mark Z. Danielewski.)

I don't know to what extent I agree; or disagree. To better understand, I would like to begin before the addiction takes hold.

Why would someone desire to explore any depth of any darkness for the first time? I do not believe that all initial explorations are involuntary. And I do not believe that all initial, involuntary experience results in exploration. I believe if one is thrust into a depth of darkness involuntarily that it is possible for fear and desperation to drive them to blindly lash out and claw their way back to some semblance of light. This instinctive avoidance, (whether frenzied or composed), will not allow for exploration.

So if one is an explorer, either they are thrust into darkness, their eyes are opened, and they choose to explore; or they seek darkness specifically to explore with open eyes. And if one is afraid of the dark, their eyes remain closed and they will never understand reality. So regardless of the circumstance of darkness, exploration is voluntary. But the question remains, "Why would one seek darkness?"

I believe the answer to be, "For Balance." Darkness and Light is a balancing act that will involve fusion and/or alternating immersion. A proper balance encourages and (for some) requires an exploration (of both), which in turn requires effort. Darkness alone typically requires effort; whereas Light alone can result in quiescent warmth and comfort. A total lack of effort, or any imbalance in the effort expended toward each, can result in a warped sense of reality; especially over extended periods of activity. I also believe that a serious exploration of Light will ultimately lead one to understand the importance of an equally serious exploration of Darkness.

So it appears that a voluntary exploration of Darkness is typically preceded by some degree of exposure to Light. After saying this, it feels like a "Duh" moment, because it is obvious that there must be Darkness for there to be Light, and I believe that my instinct leads me first to Light. They need each other, if for no other reason than the sake of definition; and, a serious exploration of one, cannot help but involve the other. So rather than an encouragement to seriously explore Darkness, I believe I am simply encouraging myself to continue with serious exploration; and I am acknowledging that questions raised will naturally lead in and through varying facets of both Darkness and Light.

Further following this line of thought, I might argue that Darkness is less an addiction than it is a necessity for serious thought and for additional serious exploration. I can see how another may interpret it as an addiction from the quiescent comfort and warmth of their (well-lit) sideline, and/or by focusing exclusively on any imbalance favoring Darkness. But as a counter-thrust, I agree that Darkness never satisfies, and I would also argue that Light never satisfies. Those who believe otherwise, (in either case), have a warped sense of reality.

I can make a similar claim regarding the initial premise that "Darkness is impossible to remember." If Light is not also impossible to remember, why is it so commonly and frequently misremembered? I could further argue (from experience) that the echoes from Darkness are a more accurate reflection than those from Light, and the reverberations (again, from Darkness) resonate more soundly and deeply (than those from Light). (And are these observations perhaps an argument that "A proper balance of Darkness and Light" actually implies the necessity for an appropriately greater amplitude of Light? Perhaps; but never, exclusively, Light.)

And finally, I must also argue against the assertion that Darkness "almost always invariably" takes something away. I believe it possible that it, (whatever "it" is), is not taken away, but rather it is lost; or perhaps even, intentionally left. But I do agree that one emerges from Darkness with a sense of tangible loss; and an echo of reality; an echo difficult to replicate in Light; a dark echo that resonates.

Darkness allows one to see that no one is ever satisfied because one should not ever be satisfied.

Darkness allows one to see that it is impossible for one to remember because the past is merely an echo.

Darkness allows one to see that one's sense of loss is created by one's inability to grasp Perfection.

Darkness allows one to see...

Last week, while exploring misanthropy, I stumbled across a logical circularity implying that if one harbors hate or resentment for all aspects or any aspect of humankind, those feelings must (and will) naturally reflect back on the individual; though when they are, many of us have become very adept at hiding them, (or hiding from them). As a part of Humanity, if I hate Humanity, I also hate me. Many would argue against this, saying that they are exempt from this responsibility because they lack the power or control to change or influence status quo. I see this reasoning as an excuse to go along with the numb comfort provided by those who do effectively exercise power and control. If a sufficient number of individuals rebelled against consumerism (for example), by moving from market-driven, desire-based purchasing habits, to more thoughtful, need-based purchasing habits, this aspect of Humankind would change for the better. So if an individual claims to see the evils of consumerism, and yet continues to enthusiastically participate because "one person won't make a difference," then that individual must also acknowledge their personal evil within that contributes to the larger evil without. This same reasoning could apply to any number of other destructive and/or degenerative large-scale iniquities including discrimination, politics (defined as "any struggle for power and control"), and bureaucracy.  As a part of Humanity, I have a responsibility to Humanity. And as a voice---(granted, a small voice, but a voice nonetheless)---of and (more importantly) for Humanity, I have a responsibility to me; the individual.

These circularities have highlighted a glaring illogicality surrounding truthfulness. I have often asked the question of others, "Is it better to be nice? Or is it better to be truthful?" (I may have asked this in previous written thought; at this point, I do not remember.) It feels like most individuals believe it is better to be nice. When I am asked, I typically respond that, when the truthfulness has the potential to improve a situation or circumstance, I believe it better to be truthful. Then I also qualify my response with the acknowledgement that my truthfulness may be incorrect due to anything from bad or incomplete information to my own personal stupidity. This response is crafted to be nice. My truthful feeling is that it is always better to be truthful despite the possibility that I may be shut out because of my truthfulness. But when another disagrees, and when that other (for whatever reason) is more powerful, I sometimes cave and justify it by rationalizing that to truly make a difference I must choose to be subtle and agreeable and nice, thus avoiding the risk of being ignored, or excluded, or banished, or fired, or... So it appears that reality often dictates nice, (and I believe this is why most individuals respond that it is better to be nice), yet my mind also dictates truthfulness; and my mind won't shut up. The glaring illogicality that comes from this---(remember the glaring illogicality?)---is that my mind is truthful and opinionated about other individuals, but when I work to truthfully consider myself as an individual, then my mind decides to shut up.

As a part of the whole, what is true for the whole, is in some part, true for the part; and what is true for the part, is to some degree, true for the whole. And though truthfulness is a perception, and does not necessarily equate with truth, this logical circularity applies to it as well. I cannot simultaneously hold myself above the fray and be in the midst of the fray, and I cannot not be in the midst of the fray. Even a cloistered Monk is a part of Humanity, and as such, has a responsibility to Humanity.

At this point in my written thought, I could predictably expand on responsibility, but I have already done so Here and Here.

So I would like to explore how I may insert logic and consistency in my truthfulness to myself, about myself. The only real difference I see between my thoughts (surrounding truthfulness or otherwise) and another's is that my thoughts emanate from me, (or at least have that potential); whereas another's thoughts are of unknown origin, making them mysterious and untrustworthy, (unless, of course, they agree with me---sarcasm?!). But by applying logical circularity, I can also see that I truthfully cannot be certain of the origin of my thoughts, and therefore my mind, whether it is opinionated or circumspect, also cannot be trusted. This is a start, but I can hear my mind whispering encouragement to stay safely within the narrow confines of its well-lit hallways that lead to crowded rooms of like-minded opinions. So I need to find another way into its labyrinth of dark and dangerous echoes.

As an individual, I am no more necessary, and I am no less necessary, than any other individual.

I have said this before.

I have said this before.

Ideal: Having learned from the past, I live in the moment, for the future.

Distorted Echo: Having imagined the past, I stand rooted in the moment, as the future.

I have said this before.

It is all about me: times 7.4 billion.

I have said this before.

I typically, on a daily basis, contribute to ignorance, injustice, discrimination, politics, bureaucracy, inefficiency, consumerism, and unshakable certainty.

I work to combat large-scale iniquities by practicing truthfulness, uncertainty, skepticism, creative tension, and spirituality; I should work harder.

I have said this before.

God is not only alive and well, but in his (by some accounts) more than 320 million incarnations, (by scaling the history of Humanity to equate with a 70 year life span), he ranges in age between one week and six months old. Will God grow up? Or will God die in his crib?

If God is less than six months old, I am barely five hours old.

The pulsating contraction and expansion of liquid thought, flowing; racing the echoes for a chance to touch untouched chambers; to immerse, and to be immersed; to unlearn, and then to learn; to recklessly circle my center, on the edge; to distract and disarm with supercilious prolixity; to simultaneously be outside from within, and to be inside from without; to find a way to truthfulness, by losing the way to me.

While this flow of thought fractures my personal equilibrium, it also forces me to acknowledge my inconsequentiality, and it in turn forces my mind to express self-serving opinions in an effort to balance (what it considers as) these dark and dangerous echoes; to balance them with an overdose of self-confidence in order to escape the vertigo. Yet, while this balance sounds necessary, (and can, in the short term, be comforting), I find that the ground is often more stable, and the flow is often less buffeting, as a part of a whole than as a whole playing a part. This is most noticeably true when I am faced with overwhelming adversity. But it is perhaps most necessarily true when I am experiencing excessive good fortune. In other words, the greater the adversity, the greater the likelihood one will be left to stand alone; and the greater the good fortune, the greater the likelihood one will be expected to contribute as a part of the whole. Yet the individual instinct, in each case, is often exactly the opposite. And still, it goes deeper than simply responsibility and accountability. This enigma also speaks to credit and blame, and illustrates how both are exaggerated; (often, greatly exaggerated); thus the difference between "most noticeably true" (due to excessive blame and 'righteous' exclusion or expulsion), and "most necessarily true" (due to excessive credit and unwarranted esteem). In both sets of circumstance, it is better to locate stability as a part of a whole, remembering that "nice" is a tactic, and "truthfulness" is a philosophy.

This week, someone said to me, "You've got to be nice; you see these people everyday." I agreed with him. By agreeing with him, I was nice. He had power; and it was easier to be nice. I am making plans to revisit this topic and argue; when the time is right; when the power disparity is smaller. Nice is a tactic. Truthfulness is a philosophy.

There are days when I believe myself to be a misanthrope.

Nicolas Chamfort said, "Public opinion is the worst of all opinions."

Voltaire said, "The earth swarms with people who are not worth talking to."

Arthur Schopenhauer said, "There is in the world only the choice between loneliness and vulgarity."

Albert Einstein said, "Only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the former."

Bertrand Russell said, "Most people would sooner die than think; in fact, they do so."

Despite an affinity to the above quotes, I would like to argue that I do not hate humankind. I merely hate that our intelligence, talent, and creativity are frequently misguided; sometimes horribly so; and often intentionally misguided by a vocal minority. I would like to believe that we are not stupid; we merely do stupid things. I work to maintain the active hope that we will accelerate our progress, and that we are not already too late. Yes, I believe most people are not worth talking to. Yes, I prefer loneliness over vulgarity. Yes, I believe most people do not think to the depth and complexity that is necessary, or that they are capable of. Yes, I am an idealist with high standards and a low tolerance for misguided efforts. But despite these misanthropic characteristics I do not believe that a true misanthrope would exhibit the sincere, abiding care I have put forth in recent years, in an effort to understand and argue for a rational, universal interdependence that will productively contribute to the ultimate survival of Humanity. As unrealistic as these efforts may seem to some, (including, on some days, myself), the logic is sound. I do not hate humankind.

Though as I think about this, I guess I am saying that I do hate this current version of humankind, which I suppose makes me a misanthrope in this moment. But in a sense, shouldn't we all be? The whole of Humanity after all, does reflect back on the individual, (as the perception of the individual reflects back on the whole of Humanity); and if I hate the current version, (or any aspect), of me, I believe I will work much harder to change, than if I simply dislike, or if I am merely uncomfortable with, or if I refuse to acknowledge, the hated version or aspect of me; the same principle should also apply to the whole of Humanity. I still argue that I am not an avowed-for-life, stable misanthrope; I am more of a radioactive misanthrope working toward an interdependent clarity and stability made possible by multiple, forward-thinking radioactive misanthropes. Individual Radioactive Misanthropy in the moment not only adds a sense of urgency to change, but also requires change. Whereas Individual Stable Misanthropy and (individual or collective) Misguided Energy only serve to maintain status quo which (I believe) is ultimately the same as degenerative decay.

With all that said, I sit here awake, kept up later than my usual, facing a potential (and very disturbing, ugly) truthfulness that I do hate this version of humankind (at least to some degree) because I cannot keep up; I feel left out. A few years ago I was in the game; and by some accounts, I was a fairly adept player. Today, when I look into the eyes of those around me, I see disappointment and I feel lost and forgotten. Is this reflection accurate? Or is it distorted? Or perhaps the more relevant question is, "Does it matter?" After all, these feelings of inadequacy have been the guiding force behind the aforementioned "sincere, abiding care I have put forth in recent years..." This loss in standing and power has been the impetus to question, and study, and learn. This fall from acceptable community standards of grace has broadened horizons and forced a depth and complexity of personal thoughts and considerations never before thought or considered.

I believe there to be some (but not complete) accuracy in my reflection as seen in the eyes of others; and I believe (to a lesser degree) there is some self-hating distortion. If I am to be an in-the-moment, radioactive misanthrope, as a part of the Humanity that I hate, I have no choice but to feel some of that hate reflected back on me. But I prefer being part of that painful whole to hating and blaming only others, or to lying to and hiding from myself and others. So yes, it does matter what I see reflected in the eyes of others, in that I must feel to change; and I must change to progress. And I am less likely to change if I set myself apart (as a stable misanthrope) to look down in judgement, or if I allow myself to be lost in a crowd (of misguided energies).

I do not hate humankind. I do not believe humankind to be worthless, or a lost cause. I merely believe we can (and must) be better; and to be better, in this moment I cannot love humankind.

I do not hate me. I do not believe I am worthless, or a lost cause. I merely believe that I can (and must) be better; and to be better, in this moment I cannot love me.

It does not matter who I try to be; I am not.

It does not matter how others see me; I am not.

It does not matter how I see me, when; I am not.

As best as I am able to discern, my essence consists of a lightweight, windblown, hairy, gritty, sticky, staticky ball of confusion and fear. To pretend otherwise is simple, dreamy distraction.

More often than not, I dream.

But on occasion, I explore my essence.

I feel the grit, and I see that gritty signifies substance.

I feel the static, and I understand that staticky expresses active energy.

I feel the sticky, and I realize that sticky encourages thoughtful obstinacy.

I feel the hairy, and I appreciate its suggestion of complexity and depth.

I feel lightweight and windblown, and I recognize reality.

I can only aspire to reach the level of iconic wistfulness attained by another nuisance, the tumbleweed, by also rolling through my existence spreading seeds...

Seeds of knowledge...

Seeds of discontent...

Seeds of skepticism...

Seeds of uncertainty...

Seeds of change...

Seeds of compassion...

Seeds of productivity...

Seeds of persistence...

Seeds of interdependence...

Seeds of wonder...

Seeds...

Small seeds; that may or may not germinate.

And if they do germinate, it will likely be a small plant; that may or may not be noticed.

And if they are noticed, it will likely be after they have severed some connections with life, and become another windblown tumbleweed; for most, a nuisance.

But by severing connections; with enough seeds; and wind; and life cycles; perhaps...

Yet,

As best as I am able to discern, my essence consists of a lightweight, windblown, hairy, gritty, sticky, staticky ball of confusion and fear.

And even this, I am not.

10 REASONS I SHOULD NOT LEAVE A DAY-LONG RETREAT, (THAT I FIND CONTENTIOUS, MADDENING, FUTILE, ASININE, AND PAINFUL), EARLY.

The best answer I can come up with is, "this afternoon could be better."

The second best answer I can come up with is, "I cannot help anyone if I leave."

The third best answer I can come up with is, "I could hurt someone, (specifically those I am with and whom I care about), if I leave."

The fourth best answer I can come up with is, "though I believe it very unlikely, it is possible that I am here for a reason."

The fifth best answer I can come up with is, "I am stronger than that."

The sixth best answer I can come up with is, "I cannot decide for me what I would not decide for everyone here; and that is not my place, regardless of personal feelings or beliefs."

Maybe the sixth best answer is really the first best answer.

This is not to say that I do not understand overwhelming frustration; because I believe I do. But there is a chance I really do not. And perhaps that is the seventh best answer.

The eighth best answer I can come up with is that, "in all likelihood, it most probably doesn't matter." (Which is pretty much the same as the fourth best answer, but with the added bonus of, "so what the hell?")

The ninth best answer I can come up with is, "to fight is to win."

And the tenth best answer I can come up with is, "so what the hell? I might as well hang around to see what happens."

I am not judging those who have already left early. And I am not judging those who yet decide to leave early. They have had their reasons. And the reasons above are mine.