Clocks go round – even then they’re digital, and at times I wish I had got here without the getting. These late autumn leaves have no such qualms, I’m sure. What a slow future passes across their veins, butterflies of similar colours rolling their beautiful like dice inside this pallid white box of my mind. They belong inside my heart; a beating of wings and colour perfuming whatever sweetness it is that you could call home. I want to be buried there – like poetry – obsessed with describing you. Only, then I realise how meaningless that becomes – after the word, and so I leave you contextless like poetry should be.
I’ve always had a childlike obsession with love letters. Perhaps its the sense of genuine conscience rooted in self-affirmation; of mans search, by virtue and power towards the model of human nature, the unanswered and untouched. And so, this blog will from time to time house random love letters, written to no one in particular, though none the less real, much like the paradox of human existence where man must simultaneously seek closeness and independence.
Just as we are inclined to watch the beauty of ripples catching sunlight dancing across the ponds surface as opposed to that which created the ripples, it appears that humanity finds it much easier to explore the mistakes of others rather than the mistakes of oneself. Why are we so afraid of exploring the self? “Mistakes are, after all, the foundations of truth” as Jung stated. As we grow, we perfect the art of adaptation, adaption being a natural function of the human mind in our quest to find balance… equilibrium. Perfecting the art of change, now that is a higher function which requires self-exploration and self-regulation. Vygotsky believed the goal of development is to make the transition from being other-regulated to becoming self-regulated and it would seem that we are orientated towards this existing individuality when, in profound reflection, we note denied reality always finds its way back to us.
My thoughts are like paper birds breaking away from the fading windowsill. I loved origami as a child. Like love, the dream of flying lay in wait at my fingertips, an endless array of insightful exploration and opportunity breaking away from the rigid exhibition of plastic toys most children clutter shelves with…
Sifting through thoughts scrambled into the far recesses of my mind, I began musing over the unique and powerful symbolic structures attached to our perceptions. In their simplistic state symbols are used throughout our daily lives; media, advertising, sales, politics, education, poetry, music etc. In their more naturalistic and artistic state, symbols represent complex ideas and concepts, a representational construct, if you will. In their more beautiful form they require logical analysis, or our perception of “reality” to be placed aside for an internalised interpretation. All things are internal to our being… what I mean is, reality is not external to the individual, is not a presupposed state of being sitting independently of the person, objects just waiting to be explored, understood and interacted with. Symbolism allows the individual to convey meaning not only to self but directly to others which in turn creates or produces a reactionary “feeling” or internalised interpretation. In this sense, symbolism and emotion hold a delightful systematic relationship, each dependent on the other, affording us a deep and comprehensive understanding of our individual self, that is, the only way to attain an all-encompassing awareness of the complex human experience is with an abstract concept. Reality is a figurative representation of the personal experience.