Some Kind of Consciousness

I have been suffering from insomnia recently, but I don’t really see it as suffering. Having contradicted myself in my very first sentence, I’d like to announce that obvious fallacies in my text are probably intentional, for the purpose of being a non-conforming conformist, or at least when it comes to having a blog which is supposed to be an electronic extension of me. Maybe it’s a textual self infused with some personal-level truth and run-on sentences. These days blogs are necessary for some of us; I have friends whose idea of interesting or intellectual discussion involves picking out lingerie or suffering from the pain of waxing.

So we talk about suffering, and while it deserves attention, we tend to focus on a few specific types of suffering, primarily broken hearts, our fake concern for the poverty in Third World, or other types of ideas from which we are often disconnected.

What about the suffering of the conscious individual?

I spend a ridiculous amount of time on the bus and the train, and I often listen to people’s conversations (yes, I’m guilty of doing this at least once a day) about past and current events. I am by no means an authority in the field of critical analysis, but I see a common inability in some people when it comes to understanding what or who it is that is responsible for the state of the world’s affairs, or the reason why they get minimum wage. A lot of women fail to realize the oppressive nature of male power and privilege, and a huge majority of people would reject such awareness and label it with a really negative term which will be undesirable, while invoking the great world leaders that were pointing fingers at leftist thinkers and their associates.

Now what about the people that are aware of the complexities of human society, the people that are rudely awakened by oppression and injustice daily instead of a lovely alarm clock with a custom ringtone? There are individuals (or groups) that are aware of this consciousness and use it to maintain the status quo, but there are people that want change, and suffer because their awareness means nothing to the people that can do something!

I have a friend who is an absolutely beautiful person, whose art, life, and work are inspired by the pain which he feels, his gravitation towards other people is dependent on this pain. He is like a wise tree, deeply rooted and absorbs the blood of his fallen ancestors and those that history has slain. Yet he can do nothing to stop the bloodshed. I understand him perfectly, I envy his strength and his conviction. I admire his indifference to other people thinking he is insane or overly analytical. Can one really ever be too analytical? He speaks with such passion and I admire him like he is a deity walking among humans.

I have seen him love and be loved by women, perhaps even men who never admitted to loving him. His love for them was so different, there was something poetic about this man, and I watched foolish people misunderstand his deep understanding for something overly intense, something which burned their wings and prevented them from flying. All he really wanted is to give everyone wings, he wanted everyone to rise above and have a bird’s eye view on the world, on the discrimination, oppression, injustice, and all the ills that plague humans. Ironically, his parents and his relatives would be perfect natural candidates for characters such as mythical monsters,blood-thirsty dragons and devils. I have never been uncomfortable around people. but around this particular family – there is a degree of disbelief in their ignorance and the possibility of such ignorance, and their general disgust at the things which people find beautiful.

What did flowers ever do to them?

I ask, is being aware and suffering because of that awareness a good thing? Can we truly experience the opposite, if we haven’t felt both ways and were fortunate to have the gift of comparative intuition?

Compassionate intellectuals suffer, and the rest of the world thinks that they’re crazy.

My post was interrupted by an annoyance, so maybe I’ll come back and develop my thoughts.

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