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epistle log 18ghteen
on james, in the rain
my mind is running racing spinning breathless out of control. colella's class on james today. discussing the stream of consciousness, dichotomy and the like. i begin to ask questions, aloud and in even louder silence. are we automata? is the brain nothing more than this grey matter of notable plasticity? is habit no more than a physical pathway worn into this plastic material? a path of least resistance? and if so why does it bother me so? why do i feel this existential crisis bearing down upon me? why is that so against these fibers of my being?
of my habit.
and consciousness: validation at last. someone living in the pre modern world giving me the groundwork, nay: verbalizing my most vehement attacks on post-modernism. our consciousness is defined by society, education is just a set of conventions and standards to give us a commonality with which to relate. we homogenize the beautiful chaos of reality, of sensation, by imposing filters on ourselves, on what we choose to select for focus. we narrow down this multitude of sensation into something we think is order but is nothing more than a fragment of what is out there. language is nothing more than a convention. all for mere convenience. we train ourselves, nay, we allow ourselves to be trained this way.
validation. to hear these things, this core of my consciousness, lifted from a turn of the century manuscript and condensed into my very words by my mentor, to have it all laid out, ratified, agreed and confirmed without my behest.
i have a thing for rain, and pre-precipitous states. the past two days had been a looming growing building crushing thunderhead to the point where i could feel it pressing down on me last night. today it rains. not violent, but gentle warm drizzle all day. like a long shower that slowly unties all the muscles in your neck shoulders back and gently pulls each hair back and straight.
the day is like her rain: slow, gentle, soothing. my validation the same: gradual, easy, like a candle flame. synchronicity and resolution are mine at last. life is pouring in, slow and sweet, filling this shell and washing away the jaded debris of so many years of disillusion.
i have it all. "does this mean i'm alive?" yes. i live. and with every breath, with every beat of this heart, i know it to be true.
i breathe. i live. i love.
the eLog evasion is past, the questions asked, answered.
the eLog girl has been found
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