T31 - Taking Part - C 9
Taking part. Connection. Contribution. Self knowledge. These are Gableplunk's words for continuity, the feeling that we are involved with something. Family, work, religion, society, a club, all have something in common as far as the individual goes: involvement with other people, ideas and putting yourself and your body out there. We all have differing senses of who we are and what we want to accomplish in life and this is reflected in what avenue we choose for our taking part. Religious people might be interested in involvement with their houses of worship or becoming Monks. Managerial types might like politics or corporations. Warrior types, obviously, the military. Artistic people find truth in music, painting or writing while people who like working with their hands gravitate towards the trades. Some people are fascinated with economics or the weather or the stars. There are pathways to involvement for everyone. Even the depressed can find relief by helping others. Gableplunk, seemingly on a sojourn from involvement, sees and remembers its benefits and recommends it to himself as a way of contributing to his own life, society and the people around him in whom he places the most trust. Can he trust? By the end of the book it seems as though he is of two minds and the extreme tension between the two different feelings causes him to have his Satori, Japanese for enlightenment. What a gas of an ending!
posted by Russ | 5:00 AM
1 Comments:
Conrad from San Diego
I’ve had a lot of trouble with trying to be part of the world all my life. I could fit in here and there, mostly with jobs, but even there I couldn’t take the extra steps like going to the company events or enjoying working the occasional weekend. The job wasn’t me and I wasn’t the job and I didn’t want to give any more than what I was being paid for (although I always did a good job). This lack of commitment prevented me from getting ahead which I didn’t mind but it usually ended up with me leaving the company after awhile because I couldn’t stand being pigeonholed (due to lack of vertical or lateral movement, a result of refusing to extend myself beyond minimal expectations). Not a big deal - it was a learning process. And through my experiences in the working world I slowly learned that I CAN’T BE part of the world. At least not the regular world, the one we’ve all been taught to believe in.
Socially and educationally it was pretty much the same. My deepest feelings still revolve around what might be called alienation but it’s more than that. It’s also puzzlement. I’ve come to accept my ‘outsidedness.’ It’s no longer painful. I can analyze it, understand it, etc., but can’t change it. Other people don’t know this about me. My wife understands it, and me, but I don’t think she can relate to the depth of it. I get along with people well because I’m good at a lot of things, am a good listener and have a pleasant, easy going nature. I believe that a person makes his/her own destiny but I can not change this aspect of me so obviously I’m not entirely correct. This is one of the reasons I’m always inquiring into the nature of reality: illusions, delusions, occasional spirituality, psychobabble, dreams and unusual ideas of one kind or another. It all leads back to the starting point, my inner nature, my essence, which basically feels separate from everything, even myself. Sometimes I have an hour of unification which I enjoy and can even extend a bit through a spiritual
practice or two but I always come back to my ‘desire to be part of the world.’ It’s not even an ambition anymore. It’s as though my ‘outsidedness’ is what’s most real for me, most concrete, most palpable. Is it habit? Am I an alienation/puzzlement junkie? It’s possible though I’ve spent a lot of years figuring it out and trying to improve it. So, maybe now I’m an EX-alienation/puzzlement junkie who drifts without finding or no longer even seeking a new ‘philosophy.’ That’s funny. Can alienation/puzzlement be considered a philosophy? No, I guess not. It’s just a feeling, a pervasive one, but no more real than any feeling is for the moment it’s around.
So I drift, like flotsam on the ocean.
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