My brother my mirror
My brother my mirror
Whisper me the directions of the road so I may follow
Lock your hands in mine
So that I – blind as I am – may know the light from the dark
As I search for my own self, it is in the other that I find it.
A Wanderer's Musings
Thoughts on Philosophy and History
August 16, 2012
On leaving this place
On leaving this place I will not say goodbye.
I will not cry.
On leaving this place I will not look back.
I will not ask why.
I will walk straight ahead into the night of my being and lose myself in the dark emptiness of my hollow universe. And I will not recollect what we said and done.
And we will be no longer.
Nor will I be an I, or you a you.
Nothing of us will remain. Sweet nothing.
An emptiness that engulfs everything that has been.
August 16, 2012
Anger
The wanderer was told: “There are a lot of angry people around made angry by society.”
The wanderer asks: why are they angry? In what way did society contribute to their anger?
The wanderer thinks: I cannot but walk along the road.
Some roads are well kept; others are not. Some roads are wide and empty; others are narrow and busy. Some roads run through the town; others are lost in the wilderness.
But I have to walk the road.
Sometimes I am angry because I get hurt. Sometimes I am tired. At times the road is too narrow. Or too wide. Sometimes I doubt whether it is me who’s doing the walking or my feet are walking for someone else. Sometimes I wonder whether somebody might be counting the wanderer’s footsteps. Sometimes I ask, why not stop? Why keep wandering? Sometimes I ask, why should there be a why? Why ask at all? … And I don’t find an answer and then I seriously get angry at myself for asking in the first place.
The road forces itself on me. It keeps me walking. But it does not determine my pace. Nor the way I walk. I shoulder the burden of my tactics to face the road.
Sometimes I fall and I’m angry – at the road, at my tactics, at myself.
I shout my anger and its echo gets back to me. Loud. Deafening. I fail to understand. I want to tear myself from the road, yet it keeps forcing me down. I walk on my bleeding knees.
But I will get up. I will not look ahead in anger. I’ll look at tomorrow in earnest.
August 16, 2012
The Wanderer
The wanderer is permanently on the move.
He does not travel towards a destination. There is no utilitarian purpose for his travelling. For him, travelling is just a state of being. It is his existence.
His destination is here and there. His time is now and tomorrow. And what is in store for him tomorrow? Being-there. Yet there is unknown, undetermined. It is an opening: a vastness that lays ahead.
A myriad of possibilities.
The wanderer is not naïve. He knows that his possibilities are many but not infinite. They are determined by his situatedness. By his being there. He walks along the road but he walks it tactically. His possibilities are his tactics.
Yet he cannot stop.
August 16, 2012
Sharing
Sharing is the acknowledgement of my incompleteness.
My openness to the world is not an ethical commitment but an existential necessity. It is my attempt towards totality. Towards the full grasp of what is in my experience. It is a continuous failing objective.
I share, therefore, not out of altruism but out of the necessity I feel to exist completely. I open up myself to the world in order to make it mine. As the world eludes me, I remain indeterminate. I turn to imagination to write a narrative of myself.
