Unfoldings (Words)

 

When quality of existence is broken down to the core matter of ‘being in the world’ and thus cleared from particular effectiveness, there actually is a deeper freedom lived by the organism that lacks consciousness than by the one that is conscious of its freedom. The life of a polyp or tree seems insignificant to us but when it comes to being present it may actually be something to value. How dull the existence of a sea-anemone looks to our restless minds, gently waving its tentacles to the currents, seven days a week, only springing to a jolt of sudden action when detecting prey. Lacking the possibility of movement, the life-goal of a tree is even less inspiring and seems little more than silent expansion into space. The tree appears to be a prisoner of its own rigid body. Naturally these judgments don’t do justice to the experience of the polyp or tree itself, which is whole, self-contained and powerfully embedded within its surroundings. No inner witness or dialog is needed to fully live, no holidays or entertainment either. Because we don’t envy it we all to easily fail to see that it doesn’t just live, but that it lives a life. Devoid of a plotline and repetitive to our sensibilities maybe, but maybe that is because we are unable to reside in the fullness and exuberance of the moment. The moment is only recognized by us for its future effect within a meaningful continuum. We live through stories, and these stories always span a distance that departs from our shared urge and stays in orbit of our needs. We are addicted to drama. And so we unwittingly equate freedom with securing our place in the world. When expressed through the byzantine and recursive logistics of a culture, this drive is continuously taken to its neurotic extreme, where it becomes an experience of essence instead of the function that it is. A confusion that originated as a side-effect of our proud talent, the way our self-conscious minds construct a representation of reality… (to be continued)