we were feeling a little blurry

Let’s pretend this is my bedroom

me with a friend, in the sun

Friedrich Nietzsche acknowledged the will to superficiality–an embrace of the trivial and an avoidance of anything troubling, profound, or anomalous–as a healthy impulse and natural tendency in the human psyche. Nietzsche thought this instinct was also hidden beneath most claims in science. “Here and there we understand and laugh at the way in which [science] at its best seeks most to keep us in this simplified, thoroughly artificial, suitably constructed and suitably falsified world.”

The instinct toward the false and flighty protects against the chance that one might “get a hold of the truth too soon, before man has become strong enough, hard enough, artist enough” to handle it. Nietzsche also believed that the seeker of knowledge was secretly “lured and pushed forward by his cruelty, by those dangerous thrills of cruelty turned against oneself.” The insistence on truth was a violation, a desire to hurt the basic will of the spirit which unceasingly strives for the apparent and superficial.

This is something I’ve been confronting lately…and though I’ve never been a big Nietzsche fan, these thoughts resonate with me. Rather than cling to everything I know preserves my spirit in its original, purest state, I insist on descending to the Grund in search of what I feel is more substantial truth. Wasn’t that Sophia’s descent? Is the search for truth another form of self-inflicted exile? And isn’t it also necessary? Doesn’t all of creation begin with descent? Isn’t the creation of concrete forms in which we can then contemplate the Divine, the very reason for existence?

If ‘soul’ refers to the deepening of events into experiences, then it’s upsetting that the soul’s depression is often under attack by modern medical and societal conventions–for a society that does not allow its individuals ‘to go down’ cannot find its depth and must remain permanently inflated in a manic mood disorder disguised as growth. Perhaps it is through allowing gravity that we enter depths, and in depths we find soul.

Depression–gravity–is also essential to the tragic sense of life. It brings refuge, limitation, focus, weight, and humble powerlessness. Nietzsche writes, “It might be a basic characteristic of existence that those who know [the truth] completely would perish, in which case the strength of a spirit should be measured according to how much of the “truth” one could still barely endure–or to put it more clearly, to what degree one would require it to be thinned down, shrouded, sweetened, blunted, falsified.”

Are we brave enough to really see? And don’t we know that once we open the part of ourselves that is able to see things clearly, we can never return to our prior state of seeing again.

I asked Antolak to share his thoughts on living closely to the truth. He said it was a fine aspiration, and that today more than ever, we need more people to attempt it. “Most don’t even look for, let alone to live by it. Because it can make your life very uncomfortable and very dangerous.” Antolak didn’t stop there. He said he didn’t think any of us ever really reached the Truth.

“Truth with a capital T, that is. We keep getting ever closer but never quite reach it. Instead, we settle for minor truths (which we outgrow when we see things from other perspectives). Usually we settle for some kind of rational explanation, definition or verbal expression. Words and concepts.

And words can be the problem, rather than the solution. They are often the illusion that prevents us from perceiving the Truth. Truth is not a verbal explanation. But once we make it so, words, cherished beliefs and concepts become idols to be fought over or jealously guarded. And then we’re stuck.

We need to treat language (and concepts and “thought” in general) with a degree of healthy skepticism, as just conventions, rough signs and descriptions, (fingers pointing to the moon). Only then can we really “wake up” to Reality (in the Zoroastrian sense) and perceive it as nearly as we can. We need to become “disillusioned” by the enchantment, the seduction, the spell of verbal thought, of words and concepts.  We can take them or leave them; change one for another when it suits. Believe all or nothing. We need to treat concepts and ideas the way we treat images: as works of art which point to reality but which shouldn’t be confused with it. For the real reality always comes veiled. The trick is not to mistake the veil for the real thing.”

The story of the soul is partly mythical and partly literal—not that we can ever really draw a line between the two and say, “This is poetry; this is philosophy,” for the transition from one to the other is imperceptible. I like to think our minds are in service to our souls. Maybe we’re in this worded world to find the vocabulary to describe what’s going on, so we can then bring into words that which has all along been sounding. (A phenomenological coming-out party, if you will.) And I think that by sharing our experiences with each other, we’ll somehow validate the experiences themselves–and validate ourselves–and our personal truths, whatever they may be. I think we all just want to be known. Maybe words help us to be seen. Maybe if you touch me, I’ll exist. Maybe men are trees.

I’ll end this with a line from one of Lila’s poems. She was a sudden and beautiful friend of mine– and while we sat on the floor in her walk-in closet, underneath her skirts and sequins, she unearthed a journal from 2nd grade and opened to a random page. “Here,” she said. “I’ll read.”

You and I are traveling a path
too parallel to truth to ever find it

Leoluca Family, 1916

Sadly, I have yet to visit Iran. I did a good deal of planning last year but fell into difficulties because I have an American passport and was restricted to travel only within a guided group.

Since traveling in a tour group is not my preferred method of exploring the world, I momentarily tossed my hands in the air and placed the trip on hold. Since then, I’ve begun the lengthy and tedious process of obtaining Italian citizenship through my great-grandfather’s line. I’m sure an EU passport will allow for much more freedom. Until then, I will dream.

Iran has moved within me since I first began to feel Islam during a six month stay in Morocco several years ago. Reading all that I have since then, and re-watching my sappy Majid Majidi films, has only propelled my heart further Mid-East–and if an opportunity ever arouse for me to live or study in Iran, I wouldn’t think twice before receiving it. I’ve been told there’s something in the soil and air in Iran that naturally turns the heart towards poetry, and this leads me to focus on nothing other than ways to transport myself to Damavand.

photo by George Gerster

…as if I need a reason. It’s lingerie! My man should be pleased. All men should be pleased when their girlfriends bring home lacy, silky, scant additions to the relationship. But just in case you come up against resistance when introducing the gorgeous and not-so-inexpensive Chantelle or Natori pieces to your beau, try this approach. It worked for me.

Him: “Baby?”

You:“Yes?”

“Did I see you smuggling a Nordstrom’s bag into the closet this afternoon?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise. I’m going to model for you later.”

“How much did you spend?”

“Aren’t you excited to see what’s inside?”

“Not really.”

“But it’s for you! Do you realize that other men have seen my old lingerie? I wanted to buy some things that were just for you that no one else had seen. Wasn’t that okay for me to do?”

He will no longer object!

Jaclyn Costello

…is one territorial bitch

Last night in Yoga class, a particularly giggly flirt trolled out a space next to my man. She rolled her mat down and leaned over to tell him how much she’d missed him last class. One thing lead to another, and she was suddenly asking my bf to stop by her bar downtown on Friday (she is a cock-tail waitress there.) She said she was hoping he would stop by last weekend, and she was sooo sad when he didn’t show. My

boyfriend is a lamb, let it be known. He’s not one to be ‘out on the prowl’. However, he does tend to attract women who shower him with stories of their lives and dreams, even if they are well aware that he already lives with a woman (me!) I don’t mind it except for the fact that he loves his double standards, and if I were ever to allow such flirtations to occur on my end I would be reamed. I’m sure there are people out there who would claim we have a rather ‘un-evolved’ relationship–that we shouldn’t let petty human emotions or animal instincts come between us and an enlightened union…

Which brings me to this: the moment just before Yoga class began.

I was several mats away from my boyfriend–due to space limitations–until I heard the high-pitched giggles and flip-flopping ponytail of Little Miss Muffet #74. I usually have a higher tolerance for these things, but last night I just didn’t give a f*ck about being an evolved human being, and I didn’t think twice to view my actions as regressive. I simply picked up my mat and walked to the end of the room where my boyfriend’s mat was positioned eight inches away from Muffet’s, and I slapped my mat down between the two of them without saying a word. This basically meant my mat was directly on top of theirs, as my mat is quite a bit larger than eight inches wide. My boyfriend–God bless his simple soul–didn’t think twice about it, but el-giggles clamped her mouth shut and moved swiftly away like I’d ordered her death sentence with a side of the plague.  It was a beautiful thing.

I still see nothing wrong with this act, and I still feel good about it. In fact, I think sometimes being ‘evolved’ is not about keeping a zen-like distance from all forms of human emotion—it’s knowing when to put the f*cking mat down.

Peace