"I can find no words for what I feel. My consciousness is withdrawninto itself; I hear my heart beating, and my life passing. It seems tome that I have become a statue on the banks of the river of time,that I am the spectator of some mystery, and shall issue from itold, or no longer capable of age. . . . I am, a spectator, so to speak,of the molecular whirlwind which men call individual life; I amconscious of an incessant metamorphosis; an irresistible movementof existence, which is going on within me—and this phenomenologyof myself serves as a window opened upon the mystery of theworld. . . .What is it which has always come between real life and me?What glass screen has, as it were, interposed itself between me andthe enjoyment, the possession, the contact of things, leaving meonly the role of the looker-on? False shame, no doubt. I have beenashamed to desire. Fatal results of timidity, aggravated by intellectualdelusion! Fear, too, has had a large share in it.""Inadaptability, clue either to mysticism or stiffness, delicacy ordisdain, is the misfortune . . . the characteristic of my life. I havenot been able to fit myself to anything, to content myself withanything. I have never had the quantum of illusion necessary forrisking the irreparable. I have made use of the ideal itself to keepme from any kind of bondage. It was thus with marriage; only perfectionwould have satisfied me; and, on the other hand, I was notworthy of perfection. . . . So that, finding no satisfaction in things, Itried to extirpate desire, by which things enslave us. Independencehas been my refuge; detachment my stronghold. I have lived theimpersonal life—in the world, yet not in it, thinking much, desiringnothing. It is a state of mind which corresponds with what inwomen is called a broken heart; and it is in fact like it, since thecharacteristic common to both is despair. When one knows thatone will never possess what one could have loved, and that onecan be content with nothing less, one has, so to speak, left theworld, one has cut the golden hair, parted with all that makes humanlife—that is to say, illusion—the incessant effort towards anapparently attainable end.""Since the age of 16 onwards I have been able to look at thingswith the eyes of a blind man recently operated upon. That is tosay, I have been able to suppress in myself the results of the longeducation of sight, and to abolish distances; and now I find myselfregarding existence as though from beyond the tomb, from anotherworld; all is strange to me; I am, as it were, outside my own bodyand individuality; I am depersonalized, detached, cut adrift. Is thismadness? No. Madness means the impossibility of recovering one'snormal balance after the mind has thus played truant among alienforms of being, and followed Dante to invisible worlds. Madnessmeans incapacity for self-judgement and self-control. Whereas itseems to me that my mental transformations are but philosophicalexperiences."Henri Frederic Amiel "Each person is at each moment capable of remembering all thathas ever happened to him and of perceiving everything that ishappening everywhere in the universe. The function of the brainand nervous system is to protect us from being overwhelmed andconfused by this mass of largely useless and irrelevant knowledge.. . . According to such a theory, each one of us is potentially Mindat Large."Aldous Huxley
Friday, February 3, 2012
perception and depersonalization and such (amiel and huxley)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)