Honora Estes > Recent Status Updates

I am as bored as I am exquisite

If the world is sad - and I think we have established by now that it very definitely is, no thanks to us - then it is only our continued belligerence that prevents us from receiving the dispatches and logbooks of its countless constituents, pleading with us to cease our reckless and abusive behavior.

But weakness or fragility, as enacted by the dispossessed and marginalized, is a double-baked sin. The people in power don't want to be reminded of the historical violence underlying their position; nor do they want to be confronted with its palpable effects (especially when these manifest as affects).

Human sadness as material excretion, manifest in our poetry as much as in our plastic, and in our sparkling new mega-churches or supermarkets as much as in our ruins. This heavy psychic, or even spiritual, baggage marks our species in sharp contrast to all the other creatures, who flow through life "like water in water," and who only know sadness when humanity introduces it to them.

We did not make ourselves, nor did we fashion a world that could not work without pain, and great pain at that, with a little pleasure very little, to string us along ---a world where all organisms are inexorably pushed by pain throughout their lives to do that which will improve their chances to survive and create more of themselves.

I found this part interesting because I dream entirely in color. I looked it up and apparently people tend to dream in the color of television they watch. Heaven and Hell was written in the 50s so their data on dreams would have be skewed like this, potentially leading to a false interpretations of the dreamers personality or abilities. Interesting how technology has shaped us.

But the man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less cocksure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable Mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend.