I will finish the week, the month and go on to 2011, but I pose this to myself, for one day I will have one day to live. Regardless of the sickness, be it cancer or a stroke, there is the day before that. And if I were to be in on the hoax that is life, that is death, what might I do with that day. It is a damn hard test to task one self. Let us agree that I will not run amok in the streets of Henderson, Nevada; I will most likely call my son, talk to Jane, but no more than that. And I avoid the question by bringing up these last good byes. The hardness of the question has been with me in one fashion or another for years and I have come up dry. How do I know this? For in large measure my life has not changed or differed much from what it is now. I have not granted myself a dream or a wish; I have not traveled inordinately so to Macchu Picchu or other places of the planet; I have not indulged in vices, for the question posed is riddling, perplexing and mindnumbing. Essentially I am challenging myself to find that which is in me that needs to be completed, honed, reawakened, resolved or reinvigorated since I am a day away from my death.
What feelings might I experience if I just grasped one or two “things” to do before I evanesce. Knowing me (not really, for we don’t know ourselves except for the images of the images of the images of the images of appearances of selves we think we “see” or “know”), I probably be riddled by what to do — or what to think. Of course, I could think of a place to go to, or a book to read, or a conversation with an estranged one, or a reconciliation, but more often than not what I observe with the question I pose is that it is a doing, not a being. In On the Beach with Ava Gardner and Greg Peck, the question is asked of a group of individuals facing the end of the world by thermonuclear war. Some race their cars and then commit suicide in the car; a couple takes poison; a submarine captain takes his crew to the bottom of the ocean to die there; and one telling observation is made that even dogs go home to where they belong to await their death. It was a dreary, chilling film with not an ounce of happiness in it except for those who chose to go on emotional binges; not much to do if you know it will be soon over. Yet, each one of us will face that. Metaphorically, I take it that the end ends with us, not out there.
I suppose I intellectually masturbate over that question because I don’t want to be “taken by surprise.” And that is a hilarious phrase. I think all my writing is an attempt to stave off death — for awhile. You may play golf to defer death and dying; I whittle my being with thoughts, trying to find not a way out, but a way in, in order to face the inevitable. One need not be morbid at all to consider these things. The young, as I did, wallow in time, splashing its moments and hours over the end of the tub; the middle age sense that there is too much water on the floor; and the aged are fearful of getting out of the tub and metaphorically slipping into death. In this stream of life I pose questions to myself, really, I think, I believe, I know, choose your verb for me, to make sense of the individual day and the time ahead; I record my thoughts, here before your eyes, in order to ascertain what to do and I have no answers except the riddling arcs of needle-sharp questions. I spend my time in belaboring my existence. At least I think about it, I say defensively. I do not believe that one can live any life without examining the lint between his or her ears. It could well be that I just can’t think of what to do with my life in the years ahead.
I could move elsewhere, I could continue writing, that’s a given; I need no cars, no new clothing; no material things, for I am reasonably contented; I would like to travel for I am old enough to appreciate it more, I say; I could go out into the world as god had said to the Hebrews (no other deity had ever asked that of his followers). While pausing in this list I thought of how what suits me best is to explore internally within myself, but then I’ve always internalized the world. I need not transcend, fat chance that is; I seek no new creed, the Jewish ethos is more than enough for this Jew in this lifetime; perhaps the world of relationship needs much repair in my life which I acquiesce to; perhaps “I” and “Thou” as Buber wrote about it needs to be explored further. So in this bloated carcass that reeks of rot, this culture I rut in, I have no need for the pleasures of things, markets, or the human pus that Palin and others give out. Watch TV with binoculars from a thousand feet away and your mind and soul will wither from the “content” it reveals.
I was taken aback the other day reading in the paper that a DSM III disorder, the diagnostic statistical manual used by all psychiatrists, social workers, psychologists for arriving at diagnoses of their clients has deleted a major disorder. Indeed, homosexuality for decades was listed as a perversion, et al until removed a few years ago or so. In the 70s and 80s narcissism was a major topic of discussion in the psychological field. I recall Christopher Lasch wrote a book on cultural narcissism which I did not read but I mention it here because it became topical. In the field major psychoanalysts wrote about it. One thought stays in mind after all these decades. A narcissist in treatment or the one next door can be more than insufferable or unbearable; they are often so stewed in their own self worth and assessments of themselves that a world is created which no one can enter. Consequently in relationships they do not see the other person as extant and alive as well.
One telling observation an instructor gave our class has stayed with me. In short, although the person opposite you may be, in fact, sheer disgusting in how he relates to you, or how he berates you as a therapist, or puts you down, the key issue here for you as his therapist is to realize that he is essentially profoundly empty; for him to realize, come in touch with, or know that would be, on some levels, totally devastating to “who” he is. He lives in his own void. So, indeed, if one were to help this pompous, annoying, arrogant, grandiose and narcissistic being, one has to take the tack that seems diametrically opposite to what he presents. He presents that he is an “omni” person, capable of doing and being all to all people at all times. Apparently, to help him realize his emptiness one must not assault or attack him but one must approach him with care and unremitting patience as he continues to throw thunderbolts, like Zeus, at your very competency.
I say all this because the narcissistic categorization has been dropped from the DSM III. The reason: it is no longer considered a disorder because most people in this county have normalized it; that is, it is no longer a disorder, for too many people reveal this as the usual behavior pattern(s) in this country.
That is a jaw-dropper! The consequences go far beyond the pale and the purpose of this essay. I am stillthinking about it all; it has been nagging me for two or three days. If narcissism is the mainstay of this nation, if it is, imagine the consequences for families, for children, for governance, for worldwide interactions. I must say this that Palin goes beyond vanity, ambition, but reveals an “omni” response to the world — that I can do this; that this is simple; I can do that, for it doesn’t take too much to do so; that I can be all to all situations because I need no intelligence, nor learning, great wit and savvy. In short, I am inordinately gifted with a narcissistic world wide grandiosity that allows me such competence. In short, beneath that rancor, lies a profound emptiness, and she is adored by the conditioned slaves that line up outside bookstores for her latest skinny on world events because they are equally as empty and narcissistic.
If I have one day before I die, perhaps I should invest in an underground shelter; to keep out not radiation but the narcissistic zombies that slowly gimp and limp throughout this land. The day of the Borg is here, for resistance, apparently, is futile.
I will continue at some other time.
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