Preface: An Update on “Me”
It has been several months since I last posted here. My most sincere apologies.
For a long time, I feared silently that I had run out of words. Where does one go after spending so much time in the central, silent chamber of the salt mine? I had less to say, giving my thoughts instead unto the peaceful silence. I also began reading less books and articles, as I increasingly found it hard to find things that sparked my creativity. Of what might this be a symptom? Have I finished my process of “individuation”? Have I completed the stages of my Hero’s Journey? Obviously not, one might say, but still the question poses itself: What happens now that I have made peace with traditional Christianity (e.g. as a friend says, a relationship that is “uneasy and uncomfortable, but affirming nonetheless”), effectively ending my long-standing “crisis of faith”? I can now see, for instance, why the issue of “enlightenment” becomes so tricky to handle among even the most advanced spiritual practitioners (NB: I am not one of them). If you are not paying attention, a certain “narcissism” always seeps quietly in the back door. Or perhaps it is more likely that this self-mastery was there laughing at me the entire time.
In the past few months, my personality and thought became almost frighteningly well-integrated, as the multiple fragments of truth slowly came together into an almost-Whole that soon became “good enough” by approximation. I turned away from high theory, to the extent that I could escape its grasp, and instead I decided to move towards (direct) action in the world. I joined a Quaker meeting, and I began working alongside committed peace and justice activists in general. In any case, I also recognized others I had met on this journey who, seemingly, had also reached similar plateaus. They took on these “shining” and genuinely unique personalities of their own, perhaps reflective of their original disposition or “psychological type”. Mine, like an INFJ, is characterized by its “tenderness” as George Fox might say.
In any case, my tender self continued conversation and dialogue with a few others, but only a few.
On the whole, I grew increasingly indifferent and (so) stopped adding content here. Every now and then I would try to write something new, but would be utterly incapable of speaking. I have always been rather lonely, but I suspect that I grew more alienated in some ways that completely eluded me. The difference being that now I could manage it more or less effortlessly by turning that loneliness into a generalized solitude. This alchemy became an embodied act, albeit one which took a lot of effort. Alchemical processes, in and of themselves, failed to enchant me anymore now that they gradually became “normalized” in my thinking. In short, this normalization drained me of my longstanding creativity. I soon found that this drainage was not either psychologically or ecologically sustainable for me in the long-run. I wasn’t able to write, simply, because I did not allow myself any real occasion to speak. There were now so few with whom I could communicate, constructively, at this “high” level. Silence became my refuge, my newly-acquired form of passive resistance.
With this realization, my (pathetic, desperate, etc. insert any adjective you please) situation increasingly made sense to me. I needed more than a mere occasion to speak.
In short, I needed an entire festival.