Will anyone remember our name,
the exquisite moons of our lives,
our passions, our sorrows, our sufferings,
have we ever been in our dreams?
Transparent Lily (a music band)
How many times have we wondered if we were worthy of one’s expectations? How many times have we weighed our existence, using as counterweight findings that very easily third parties came up with? And, much worse, how many times have we not succumbed and dressed with cloaks which others sewed for us? We are living in an age when mystery is being abandoned, ambiguity is abolished, everything must be simple and unambiguous, condemned to fit into an equation, people condemned to fit into boxes, to accept and respond to false representations of life.
The modern man’s attempt to get out of this toxic state of mind for his mental reality is like a demanding chess game, addressed to bold players. The crux of this effort is the adoption of hatred as a way of life, as a means of protection and fortification of the self. The need to express themselves above all and against all.The love for a glance through the keyhole of the lives of others has become a popular sport in which more and more people are engaged. Behind all this, however, lies the ghost of a great resignation, a resignation from the very life itself. We have evolved into collectors of moments that do not belong to us, refusing to create our own, fearing that our collection lacks personal experiences worthy of mention. We reaffirmed the warmth of our comfortable armchair and asked for a certificate of non-existence to formalize our new situation. We felt that the world of emotions was dangerous to our fragile existence, and we exterminated it in the name of our safety net and a useless logic.
Contact with such a culture of life, however, is a wound that never heals and a huge matrix that signifies our entire personal universe and is constantly fueled by our insecurity and repulsion. Instead of boldly supporting what we really are, we strive to fulfill an image that others have built for us. We are wearing a garment that does not suit us, and instead of seeking something for us, we adjust our bodies to measures of openness and borrowing, but we forget that our existence cannot be transformed. “We are practicing violence against ourselves, no doubt. We, the nutcrackers of the soul, “said Nietzsche. On a daily basis we self-restrain, oppressing ourselves and our desires in order to be liked by others, without even thinking for a minute whether this version of us is good to us to begin with. While acceptance of otherness and of the Other is the heated issue of public life, acceptance of the Self is of little concern to us, although it is the starting point for a deeper understanding of the other.
But to what extent are we aware of this daily self-injury? How much does the fussy day-to-day allow us to give ourselves some time to listen to our needs? And here lies a huge self-actualization bet for the modern man. Coming out of the forced emotional illiteracy separates us from just one brave decision. It takes courage and personal effort to overthrow the mental apathy one has undergone and to come back to life more severely than the hibernation of fear and insecurity. It is easier to remain dependent on dangerous umbilical cords and ready-made solutions in a world of selective blindness. It is less demanding to mute our emotions and needs in a society that has embodied spontaneity, tears, pain, authenticity. But such a life choice … has it ever been in our dreams?
Translation: Kleio Antonaki
Review: Niki Saridaki