Monday, November 24, 2008

I have come to be annihilated. I have come to start anew.

The story of the phoenix is not just a story of rebirth, of renewal, of the first birth or the second, but of continual rebirth, of the cycle of life and death and meaning. It is not that the phoenix is given over to the flame but once. It is a continual death, the "impossible possibility" of my death, over and again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. This is relevant not so much in the reincarnation after physical death bit, I'll not get into that here. But rather in respect to the process of living, of renewal in life and relating to this "brave new world that has such people in't."

Just because nothing is new under the sun, just because our stories have all been told does not mean that we have reached the end of history (if this is the end of history and the pinnacle of mankind, dear god, give me my money back), that we can relax and take it easy ("it's all been done before"/"there's nothing you can do that can't be done"). We have grown complacent, and I, at least, feel I must needs change ere it comes too late. And not just the complacency, not just the sitting and letting happen, but more so in those things that I (we) choose to do with what little time we have.

[It is the continual desire for self-discovery, for making in one's own image, for making one's own image. For collaborative self-creation and self-definition. Because no longer are we bound by time and space and physics to our own shells, to our own little corners of our own little rooms, or even while so bound, we are unbound, having found fire and shared it with all of mankind. That would be the idealism of it anyway. The whole "do what you love to the best of your ability, with those you love, where you love to be" &c. It would be nice. And while a virtual possibility, I remain unconvinced. Life is not just about rebirth and renewal, and the death of the spirit, the continual dying of the body and soul, is as much a part as anything. Here we are sitting on the verge of such power and possibility and what do most of us do when we go into work? So much of it means so little, is of so little value, and so detached from what minuscule amount of value that it may provide as to render that void, meaningless to us in our cubes, in our collars. Workers of the World Unite! Nothing You Lose Will Matter! The revolution is always late. Look at it this way, how many of us actually expect any of our dreams to come true?]

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