Of Human Bondage and Addiction

Hola mi Gente,

This might sound like a strange thing to express, but I am more interested in responses when we are challenged to move out of our collective zones, than opinions hurled from within our cocoons of social conditioning.

* * *

 

Catherine Deneuve and David Bowie in The Hunger

The Hunger

Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol or morphine or idealism.

-- C. G. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections, chapter 12 (1963)

The other day I was reading a short story, The Bound Man, by the German author Ilse Aichinger. It is a beautiful piece in the existentialist tradition: A man awakens one morning to find himself inexplicably bound by rope. The story takes a strange turn because instead of removing the rope at his first opportunity, as you would expect him to do, he decides to remain bound and become a circus attraction, turning his strange and accidental bondage into his trademark work. 

Strange, huh?

You might ask why would a person happily accept such bondage? It is a question similar to the one posed by Franz Kafka in The Hunger Artist, in which a man who also chooses to become a circus attraction starves himself to death because he cannot find food that interests him. 

These two authors are asking a variation of the same question: “Why would people carelessly, inexplicably, and even happily do things that bring them so much harm and suffering”?

Addiction is the same kind of bondage. Addicts cling to their addictions, and nothing you do or say will pry them away from their alcohol, cocaine, tobacco, internet surfing, video-game playing, overeating, shopping, or sexual escapades. It doesn’t matter if you tell them they are dying. It doesn’t matter if you tell them that they’re wasting half their life in front of a computer screen or in the aisles of department stores. Point out to them that they cannot have real love or a real life if they use sex as a drug, it doesn’t matter. Show them that their liver is already not functioning, that their nasal lining is already perforated, or that their lungs are black, and still it won’t matter. What you experience when you talk to an addict is that he or she is unable to understand or is completely indifferent to your reasoning.

I know, because I was an active addict for a substantial part of my adult life. And it is not an issue of will power or lack thereof. At the worst part of my addiction, I used to wake up penniless and at the end of the day manage to spend $300 feeding my addiction. I would submit that took a lot of will.

I operate from the assumption that we live in an addictive society -- it is how we are all conditioned. We live in a consumer-based society in which the wanting and getting is the be-all and end-all of our existence. We are all would-be addicts, given the right circumstances of biology, psychology, and social setting. Some of us, because we are more at risk (such as myself), become full-blown addicts, and cross over into that downward spiral of obsession morphing into compulsion and suffering.

Even if we don’t succumb to addiction, we sometimes feel a significant loss of control in some area of our life and experience difficulty maintaining a healthy weight, avoiding hours of internet surfing, quieting our anxious thoughts, or staying on track with our goals. In order to deal with these challenges, we need to recover: that is, we need to embrace a way of being that recognizes and addresses our addictive nature and our potential problems.

If you don’t, you just might wake up one morning bound head to foot with rope and say to yourself, “How interesting! I think I’ll become a circus attraction!”

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization… 

What Really Matters [The Inner Holidays]

Hola mi Gente...

If you’re sad or stressed do some service. It's the greatest antidepressant known to humankind...

 

* * *

 The Inner Holidays

The holiest of all holidays are those… Kept by ourselves in silence and apart… The secret anniversaries of the heart.

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The holidays are an opportunity for us to set aside our work and routines -- to give ourselves permission to put away, for the moment, our problems, and burdens. They are a time for joining with others in the celebration of life. However, this is not an easy thing to do. Maybe together we can learn from each other how to do it.

Perhaps our holidays are clouded by sad and painful memories of the past. We miss loved ones who have passed on, or with whom we have cut ties with, or with whom we have lost contact. For me, the holidays are a mixed bag because they are reminders of my past excesses. I have come to understand that, if anything, the holidays are more about excesses rather than celebrations of life. There is the excess of consumption, of giving in to attachments whether in the form of food or material things.

This emphasis -- this obsession on getting and giving -- can become quite stressful: our lives are invaded by a mob mentality that can be, well... literally murderous. And, of course, mindlessness is encouraged everywhere, threatening to destroy all that we hold precious. In addition, the essential message of Christianity (at least as I see it, and I don't consider myself a "Christian") is somehow lost in the shuffle of commercialism. It’s not about peace and goodwill; it’s really about -- well, at this point in time who really knows? The holidays can present an even greater sadness for those of us who may be experiencing financial difficulties, adding to the holiday stress. Fact is that the glitter of the holidays is oftentimes an elaborate ornamental disguise for quiet despair.

It’s almost obscene.

What to do? Well, I have long ago learned that the holidays don’t have to be perfect. Sure, there is all this commercial crap diluting what is in reality a beautiful message, but I can create my own meaning. Perhaps together we can make that effort to turn within and share, not so much what can be measured materially, but the piece of ourselves that connects. A small gesture, a smile, an attempt to reach out, even a small acknowledgment can be ten times more powerful than the latest gadget. It’s all within our grasp. A few years back, for example, a former colleague and I left anonymous notes and simple gifts of candies in the office mailboxes. Nothing extravagant, merely gentle reminders to people that they are valued for who they are. Imagine if you found the following note on your windshield one cold morning:

You're receiving this note simply because you're beautiful as you are, and while I don't know you, I believe that as human beings we all have the potential to commit acts of kindness, works of beauty, and that we all have the potential to change lives for the better. This note is a reminder of the beauty and power you possess.

Yeah, I realize that perhaps your carefully cultivated, been-there-done-that coolness would immediately ridicule the note and maybe it wouldn't make much of a difference, but don't tell me such a note wouldn't touch in a way your hard-won cynicism forces you to deny. Somewhere inside of you, there's a place that would appreciate the note, corny as it might seem. Try it some day: leave such a message for a stranger, friend, or colleague, watch their reactions... 

Lost in all this insanity and apathy, is the genuine Christian message is that a man -- really an ordinary man, a mere laborer -- who never owned his own home, who never wrote a book, or invented anything -- a poor man born of a single homeless mother, in fact, was able to change the world with a message of love. Now, that’s some shit right there.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Take a Stroll...

Hola Everybody...

I happened to glance at one of the many videos showcasing the insanity of “Black Friday.” These spectacles bring to mind the mega-hit series, “The Hunger Games.” These films portray how the powerful and wealthy organize games in which people from poor districts are selected each year to kill each other in a violent media spectacle. It’s a grotesque display in which the lives of the poor are offered up as entertainment for the privileged. It’s difficult not to make the connection in how TV news and other media cover Black Friday. Just now, I’m watching a lightweight newscaster grinning smugly while showing a Walmart crowd fighting over who the fuck knows what.

Let’s be clear: coverage of Black Friday brawls is a big ratings draw, which makes it the perfect place for yet more commercials to promote Black Friday sales. And then, once the working poor falls for them, a privileged segment of the population sits back and dehumanizes them for its collective amusement. Look at these hilarious poor people, struggling to take advantage of a deal on something they might not otherwise be able to afford on items that we take for granted, we joke on Facebook and Twitter. But capitalism and the insanity of consumerism infect all of us -- our participation is a matter of degree.

Today is Saturday, a day for art and poetry…

* * *

Nows [XVI]

Note: A dear friend of the family -- a sister, I can say -- sent me a sheaf of papers of some writings I had left with her over 20 years ago. I used to carry legal pads with me back then and write poems and stories in longhand. In this pile of papers were some poems, snatches of an essay on the short story form, and fragments of an uncompleted short story. The following was one of the poems I found in the group.

Take a stroll outside of yourself tonight
and gaze over your shoulder.

You will see yourself
taller than yesterday,
smiling more,
and quieter
than in those early years.

Watch your hands
as they touch me
everywhere.

It all happened behind your back.

A smug comfort settled in
that says you need me less
but want me more.

Take a giant step back
and see yourself
as others do,
for you must someday
learn the delicate art
of viewing your reflection
in all those eyes
your beauty has moistened.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…