KD Wolf: Spitting Out the Demons

Recently I read a book.

This book to be precise.

[Oh, by the by, some of you might not find this subject matter terribly pleasant. However, in the ever decreasing interest of my ever decreasing sanity I need to get this done, There are other things pulling at my attention that aren't nearly as self-involved.]

It's a book that came along at a peculiar time if only because a previous version of myself might not have understood exactly what this old and foreign book was trying to say. This current version of myself, however, is taken aback as he sees a novel, seemingly, written of his own thoughts and exploits.

This current version realizes - as the protagonist Harry Haller did - that there is little to be found at any advanced age, especially one of independence, that isn't indicative of some form of loss. To think of even just the superficial things that have been lost. Birthdays are a bore. Christmas is a pointless exercise of needless tension and consumption. The very idea of any kind of jewelry or accessory, even a simple watch, seems laughable. For the longest I've pondered and lamented as to how and what could lead to such a temperament. I didn't even know what it was exactly: confusion or general discontent. But in my research I came across this. A passage of explanation from a Mr. Allen Hackworth:

Haller also becomes a symbol of all people who suffer a particular neurosis, a neurosis which "by no means attacks the weak and worthless only but, rather, precisely those who are strongest in spirit and richest in gifts."(24)

This neurosis includes: a sense of despair and chaos, an inability to find meaning in one's life, and inability to solve the riddle of human destiny, an inability to reconcile various opposition including sensuality versus spirituality, time versus eternity, the human versus the divine, self-acceptance versus guilt.

It's not to say that I'm in any way strong or blessed with any gift to speak of. All I can say is this. I believe the people who can describe themselves as truly sane are merely ignoring the very basis and realities of our mortal and human existence.

There's nothing wrong with that, of course. We all have our vices and distractions to get us through the day. Why worry your pretty little head about the possibility of the atmosphere disintegrating and frying under the exposure of a bright and yellow star when you can instead read about the stars of Tinseltown you will likely never meet. Running errands and drinking coffee and picking up their kids just like you!

Another One

What if I told you that the only difference between The Batman and The Joker was a simple chemical imbalance. Both men were unfortunate victims of circumstance. Both men who lost everything they ever held dear. Both men who had the worst day of their life for no apparent or discernible reason. One man dedicated his life to making sure no one else would feel the way he had that day. The other, in turn, dedicated his life to making sure that no one else would live without feeling the way he had that day.

Mental Breaks

If I haven't before, let me explain. Sometimes - when things become too much and I can find no solace in existing in such a brutal and senseless world - I retreat into myself and indulge in what I call brooding days. Brooding days are an odd mix of meditation and loathing. I haven't been clinically depressed in some time but every now and then I require some time to gather myself. It's never more than a day; the one rule I've given myself. I sit quietly either in my room or in nature. Always alone and out of view. I sit and wait silently for some form of understanding or even comfort to come. Sometimes it does. Other times my brooding is simply ended finitely.

And then I see outrage over bombings in Brussels. While seeing no mention of the two car bombings in Turkey. I think of the Syrian woman I spoke with some time ago whose family must live with the anxieties of feeling unwelcome in their own hometown, the pain of seeing their childhood memories reduced to rubble and ruins, and the fear of never again returning to their homeland.

I recoil yet again.

I've been alone for a time now. Sometimes searching, often simply wandering. In my search for understanding I came across the various teachings of fearsome samurai warriors of centuries past. Stories of war and discovery and love and destruction. Similar in ways to our own follies. The more I knew, the less I understood. Until I found something.

According to the Hagakure, inevitable death must be meditated on daily. Death being the only certainty - certainly for the true warrior - one must be prepared to lay down his life for the fief. One must prepare. So I did. One day, as I meditated, I stopped. It wasn't my death that struck me. I looked up and saw the Sun. Bright and everlasting. Except not. The Sun is a star. A star that will one day expend its energy. Considering that the human race doesn't destroy the Earth first or simply destroy themselves, the Sun will implode in on itself, the resulting shockwave ripping through the Solar System and vaporizing the known worlds. Everything that is, was, or will be will have no purpose. So what has brought us to this point? From the molten sludge of creation to the world we know now why has this species - every species - fought so hard for prolonged survival? I stood from my seat and left. Finding the answer to this question was the next step of my journey.

I could never quite understand people who thought of themselves as the center of the picture. Granted, it's 2016 and we've apparently picked up the Round/Flat Earth debate for a redux but is honestly no one else willing to imagine any other possibility than the one in their face? I'll present this. An idea not of my own volition yet no less potent.

The are but two possibilities in our known Universe. Either we are alone, or we aren't. Each outcome is equally terrifying.

Freaky, right?

I know people like to talk all the time about their so-called faith in humans or, perhaps their lack thereof. Me, I never lacked in faith of humans. Not completely. In fact, it's the tenacious drive of humans that partly inspired this piece of introspection. Rather it is life itself I take issue with.

With each passing day and each tragic occurrence and each presidential stump speech a picture becomes clearer in my mind of the Universe pointing and laughing. "Look at the silly creatures!" it exclaims. "Look at them struggle with even the most basic of operations! Look at how much energy they must expend to make through a single day! Why must they bother so?" Why indeed.

Some people worry about how well their lawn is kept. Others like my younger sister simply want the strength to hold her head up to look at her friends when they speak to her. It upsets me because the one thing I've wanted out of life is comfort and knowing I can never truly give that to her pains me more than these puny words can say. There's no sour grapes here, but I'm allowing myself to be upset this once because if I don't these thoughts and feelings will fester into something all too tangible. Did it once already. Not ever again.

What made this so hard to write was the ultimate necessity. Having been in a stupor for several days, I could seldom hope to get anything of consequence done until these specters had been purged. In my darker moments, I wish I didn't have these thoughts at all. How sweet life would be as another mindless drone! To sift through the days and months and years and years with no regard to any purpose. To be seated on the couch like a potted plant, flipping the proverbial Krabby Patty for 40 years until I die.

And yet the moment never comes because of my one rule. Always spit out the demons. My roommate in college was at least vaguely aware of my depression. Unable to give much advice he told me, "Never let yourself get too low." Had I listened, perhaps I could have salvaged some sort of normal millennial experience. But all of that is done. It doesn't matter now.

The Way of the Warrior is to disregard the Past as nonexistent and the Future as irrelevant. The only thing of substance is the here and now. I might not have the answers to why right now, but I do have purpose right now. My co-workers need me. My siblings need me.  My goddaughter needs me. That's enough for right now.

I struggle with that, too. Understanding why people like me or if they like me at all. It's where some of the difficulty with publishing this comes from. Most of you reading these words will never know the person behind the screen that crafted them. All well and good, but even more people will read this that I know personally and even went to school with. Will those that tolerate me find even these thoughts to be too dark and nihilist to sit through? Will those who didn't like me to begin with confirm their suspicions of me being a freak? Will everyone stop reading as soon as they see me piss on Christmas?

Take what you will from this information. It is not my place as an author to say what you should and shouldn't feel. I worked into the morning light with the hope that some of this weight would be lifted. My mind will likely still be racing with ideas and possibilities but if someone else's shadows have been sated I feel I've done my part.

Don't be ashamed of your shadows. Remember that you aren't alone. I have fought your fight. Am fighting your fight. The path to true enlightenment is a journey, not a destination. I may never find mine, but it is my sincere wish that my words can make your Path less tumultuous.

Such is the way of this Steppenwolf.

~KDG

[If you're seeing this, thank you for your time. Feel free to view the sequel here. A journey, not a destination.]