“Once you have given up the ghost, everything follows with dead certainty, even in the midst of chaos. From the beginning it was never anything but chaos: it was a fluid which enveloped me, which I breathed in through the gills. In the substrata, where the moon shone steady and opaque, it was smooth and fecundating; above it was a jangle and a discord. In everything I quickly saw the opposite, the contradiction, and between the real and the unreal the irony, the paradox. I was my own worst enemy. There was nothing I wished to do which I could just as well not do. Even as a child, when I lacked for nothing, I wanted to die: I wanted to surrender because I saw no sense in struggling. I felt that nothing would be proved, substantiated, added or subtracted by continuing an existence which i had not asked for. Everybody around me was a failure, or if not a failure, ridiculous. Especially the successful ones. The successful ones bored me to tears.”
With this prescient passage, Henry Miller opens his “Tropic of Capricorn.” I open my own journal from two years ago and find this passage scrawled on the first pages. I’ve always related to this man and found solace in the suffering he experienced in his search for truth, but such an articulate expression of my current state certainly bears repeating… at the moment it is very encouraging to know that my pain is shared. I suppose it makes me less lonely. Even if I am sharing a moment with a dead man… Cheers, Henry.
I promised a friend that I would make more positive blog posts. This is not one of them.