The Experience of Existence

In the human mind, the area of experience—that is to say, who gains it more easily—is one of the most simple, yet odd of recesses of the brain to explain. It would almost seem that experience can only be understood by a mind so fresh, so brilliant, so virgin to the world that it is the mind of a simpleton. “Come now,” I can almost hear you say, “How could that be so?” Please sir, stay, let me explain myself more fully.
The simpleton mind is more able to easily understand the entity of experience because he accepts “facts” without a second thought. He is a man whom, upon learning that two added to itself makes four, would accept it as any child would. Therefore, once he faces adversity, he will undoubtedly accept the experience that it brings and move on (his addled brain not yet functional enough to believe otherwise.) In that respect, he is superior to what I will now call, “the conscious man.” That does not mean that he is smarter then him though.
The conscious man is more aware of his surroundings and, coincidentally, he is therefore less able to accept experience because of it. He is a man who, upon learning that something is stated as fact, will question as to why it is so. ‘Does twice two really make four? How is it so?’ That is what he will ask himself upon hearing such and such things. Only once he observes something from every possible angle and scenario will he be able to accept and learn from it. Therefore, he will undoubtedly take longer to learn from adversity unlike his fallow friend the simpleton. In this he is inferior to the simpleton because he takes longer to accept something. In this is found the oddity, sir, but the simpleton is still dumb!
I do not believe that someone can be made to learn from the mistakes of others. I believe that the very concept can only be achieved by Donkeys and fools! If one were to be made to learn from the mistakes of others, then the life he would live would not be his own. A man can sit all his life and watch a game in the arena but, until he gets off the grandstand though, he will never be a gladiator. The same is of a man that learns from the mistakes of others. “Do not touch the stove, it is hot.” But is the stove really hot? Does the fire really burn? Until one touches the flame he will never really know, will he?
“Oh but of course the stove is hot. Any fool will be able to tell you that.” Aha, see! It is in there that you are wrong, it is in there that lays the divine absurdity. The simpleton does not really know if the stove is hot at all. He only believes it to be so because he was told it was, or he saw someone suffer for it. Therefore, he is but a foolish bystander in the play of life and not the actor he ought to be. He will never truly know if the stove is truly hot unless he touches it and, in that circumstance, becomes an active conscious man, knowing both good and evil.
If he does not though, he never would have experience it. He will never have known if the stove is truly hot or cold and will not be able to truly decide until he tries it. The simpleton will pass his life as a simpleton—always depending on others to experience life for him and tell him what sensations he is to feel. He will only truly know that the stove is hot and that twice two is four but will realize—above all—nothing!
The conscious man is a knowing man and will never be able to learn from the mistakes of others. He will wonder if the stove is truly hot and, after finding it is such, he will begin to wonder if touching it in a different area will produce the same results. Oh the absurd genius of the conscious man! He will begin to experience everything and miss nothing. His mind will morph the boundaries of existence through what he knows and has felt, and bring to new heights every sensation of reality. He will not have been just the gladiator or the spectator, but will be both one and the same. He will be the entire arena! He will not exist long.
The simpleton will always exist longer then his conscious fellow. The strain upon the conscious mans mind through experiencing everything will kill him off eventually. However, can one call a life where one drifts in the shadow-zones of time—knowing neither good, nor evil, but rather nothing at all—life? The simpleton may accept experience easier and last longer, but he does not truly feel. The conscious man will not last long but it is he who feels through first-hand knowledge and, as such, is the only one who can say that he truly lives.

Emotion and Mentality

Within the subject of mental capability versus emotion, the question has been continually brought to my mind of, “Why is it that the conflicting members of both my mind and my emotions cannot, subconsciously, come into agreement one with another instead of falling into indecisiveness?” Why can’t they—instead of warring between themselves—ban together in unnatural alliance so that, through them, can come about the mastery of my being? Is it that they do not wish to overcome my consciousness? Come, come now. We know that not to be so in the very least.
All of human responses: pain, laughter, pride, joy; they are all but either the minds or emotions attempt to overthrow the supreme mastery of my consciousness over them. It cannot be stated enough that that neither mental capability, nor emotional fluidity, have mastery over the rational human soul. Emotion, as we well know, is irrational at best and the mental capabilities of men are easily manipulated through the mechanics of their own conceit. It is the supreme consciousness of the soul that rules over them, but yet, if they resent my rule, why do they fight one against the other? Can a one hope to outdo the other and, therefore, hope to find rights unto the governing of my consciousness? Can a man declare war on both God and the Devil and hope to come through unscathed?
Oh, but I try not to be a mean of either my mind or my emotions. In fact, I would rather let them run free if the other would allow it to be so. I am therefore like a chess master, playing against a mirror within his rotting cell of consciousness. I view myself with indifference, not caring whether the white or black pieces win, yet always countering my own moves to come to a perfect stalemate in every situation.
Aha! Come forth White Bishop to claim the spaces held by the Pawn of my mind. (The Pawn is some situation whom I have cunningly twisted unto my own ends, no doubt. Someone or something which, after seeing the potential damage that might be caused to my person by him; I have set my ambassador of emotional goodwill to capture.) Now I shall show him the purity of God, show him the hope in becoming one with the divine in touching, soul to soul, with one’s own emotional capability.
But wait… what is that? Now here comes a pretty treat of equal delight. Hurrah! Now my Black Rook of logic has forced my own goodwill into oblivion. Once again, the chessboard of my own life has fallen into a complete state of indecisiveness, a grand, grand state of inertia. No longer will the White Knight of my heartfelt genuineness be viewed as the gallant fellow he was once thought to be. He is unmasked before me. Before everyone! And yet I—the chess master—continue to tell myself and all around me that he is needed and will, by some stroke of fate, be still found of some use to me. He will destroy my logic which will, in turn, be destroyed by another Pawn, etcetera.
However, I, for all my masterful stalemates, have become bored with the apathy, with the apparent immobility of the game of my own life. Now I wish not to move anymore, knowing full well that, if I move another piece, the inertness will only continue. So, therefore, I wish not to play the game anymore but will adopt a new strategy in this warfare. Make your move, dear mirror, I for one shall refuse to respond! Yes, that is it! I refuse—absolutely and incorrigibly—to move one more piece, be it either black or white. My rebellion against you will grow in length for the game will never progress. I do not wish for it to progress, I do not wish for my consciousness to make anymore choices in this confrontation of itself. Instead, I shall stare. Yes, I shall stare. Stare into your eyes in my rebellion, for I know that sooner or later, one of us must look away. I assure you, I do not intend for it to be me.
And so I have starred and, I must admit, a mirror makes out to be a most excellent opponent at the game. Never once has he looked away—the bastard! He knows that I am bitter against him, against him always countering every move I make of either mental ability or emotionality. He knows that I am filled with spite at him for always causing so much indecisiveness and that is why he refuses to look away. He wishes to make me suffer but, this time, he shall be the one to loose. He cannot hold out that much longer now, can he?
As time has passed by, and while I have glared at my refection, a new thought has entered into my head. Why not take all the pieces on the board (both white and black) and declare war—not on myself, but on my adversary within the looking-glass? I might have been thinking this within a moment of blind emotion: much as a young girl fancies her lover to be flawless, but is it really that wrong? The more I contemplate it, the more it seems to make sense to me.
Why, if both emotion and mental ability were to meld—not to overthrow me, but my self-adversary—would it not be a grand thing? Then it would not be a blind emotion that would drive me, the emotion would be under the harness of my mind and driven by the desire within my soul. It would be a clever force that compels. It would be the premeditated murder of my own duality!
Vice? Now would not be the time to think of something as trivial as it. Rather, the willful knowledge of in for the sake of sin alone. Yes! That is it. Debauchery… orgies to pagan gods under the pale of the moon. Let my emotions and my mind compromise together to submerge my willing soul in the lusts of my own carnality. Let me rot, let me burn! The flames of my own inherent iniquity will be sufficient to warm my troubled sleep. Is not the heart of man already born wicked; like the ulcer crowning atop the anus of Mother Nature? Are we not gods in our own rights, more pitiful and base then the beasts of the field that we have claimed mastery over?
Stop it. That’s enough, you hear? Why can’t my soul spare itself the futile floggings of its own consciousness? Debauchery is but a means. And what means? Could it not be that, by overcoming my own faults by indulging them, that I would allow logic to master my own soul? Then what of emotion, what of purity? What would then become of the goodness that is the base of the human soul? If one were to hang itself, the other must fall with it. What would a man not do to save his own soul?Must all saving of the soul be wickedness though? Could not a soul, surrounded by darkness, give itself over to a power higher than its own and, therefore, deliver from the darkness wherein it once abode? If one is in full knowledge that, if he looses his life he shall save it, and he does so to save himself—does that make his sacrifice of self unto no avail? If it is so, then there would be no virtue within the world, only darkness and death.
So therefore, I will loose my life. I accept God and all Christian virtue and piety. But then, by doing so, which would win: black or white? If not the mind, so easily lifted up in its own conceit, then it must be my own emotions. But, are not they so easily manipulated and given over to vice as my carnality is?
Enough of this. If I am to be given over to a higher power, then a higher power I shall be given over to and the choice will be up to him to decide. Some might say that he wants neither my mind nor my emotion to reign over me but that he wishes to reign over me himself. However, that is what I allow him to do, for he shall choose one of the two methods by which he will govern me. The war between me and my duality is not yet over—I fancy that it never will be. As of yet, the stalemate still remains the same and I shall continue to glare at my reflection, but for now, I shall continue to move my next piece.