Numb or Empty?

I think it’s fair to say most everyone has heard this song. Supposing I end my diatribe here, it’s debatable whether there would have been more or less take-away. But no man takes to the pen to let other speak for him.

Or do they?

They do.

Today your average commentator and policy maker is an obtuse puppet echoing his interpretation of socially viable themes through a glass, dumbly. And lemmings open their vast maws to consume, shoes stained with their own dribbling piss in whose assurance they rest that it is just the rain.

We live in a broken world. In this I reckon there’s hardly any denial. We go through life surrounded by dull-eyed drifters who merely go where the tide carries. Rarely it seems do they ask about their comings and goings. They merely are. Bestial in a way, like a dog without agency. And I will wager you’ve felt the pull. You’ve felt the tide pool drawing you out to sea, an ocean fed on the waters of Lethe.

So you too could become comfortably numb.

Some prick themselves, dig in and pull up raw and throbbing nerve clusters. So exposed, there is no peace. But endless turmoil. Drama. But they are numb in their way, beneath the pretense of a fire that burns is an emptiness. Much in the way s wildfire will dissipate and reveal the nothingness the day has made. They can live only for drama, in the same way the fire has no choice but to burn.

Then perhaps there is you. You’ve taken that third position. But now you’re being eroded. You can feel yourself sloughing away. Perhaps the work reveals a sculpture within, like clay being peeled away from art. Isn’t that what the classical bodybuilders said? That what you want to be is within you, you have only to peel away the layers.

I think maybe this is Ørlög. The primal layer. Mediæval scholastics, they called it absolute simplicity. Or God. The thought seems to have been linked to cosmogeniture, that creation unfolds and becomes complex and that by disambiguated we come back to The One. I choose to see it thusly: by peeling back the obfuscations we come to essential nature.

For some, that nature is the abyss brought up by Nietzsche. I’d like to add that I don’t think the abyss is a cause for alarm. The void is the source of creation. How can you create, if you are already full? Ginungagap is potential untapped. The appearance of emptiness is a byword for potential. The seed of all being. Emptiness isn’t empty at all. Nature abhors a vacuum. There is destiny in emptiness, Wyrd which underlined Ørlög.

By discharging her elements, Ginungagap which is the cosmic womb, was free to be filled. The water of life. Creation. Similar stories are told by many kindreds. There is then, I think, a big difference between numbness and emptiness. Numbness is an active avoidance, you are full of anxiety from which you flee motionlessly. Emptiness is a return to primogeniture, cathartic, from which point you ought to begin again.

Or maybe it’s just the flu talking.

Take that, peasant. You are now comfortably dead.

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