Saturday, December 18, 2010

Thickness, Fullness

This hallway feels swollen.

Standing here I feel like my space is being invaded. The walls are thicker than they should be.

It is an imperceptible thickness, though. You can't see it. Nothing looks different in any way. Just orange walls. Just doors. Just an ordinary orange hallway.

But why does my life feel so saturated by them? Why do they appear to be breathing? Slowly expanding. A constant inhalation.

It reminds me of the expansion of the universe and the possibility that we are inside an enormous cosmic creature's lung. What if this universal beast is just inhaling? We exist during this giant creature's attempt to take in its vital substance. I don't feel helpless if I keep walking, though.

So I walk down this hallway knowing that orange is my favorite color.

I'm so full on this hallway. It has got me feeling like I am going to burst. Like I too could be the universe. Like each of my inhalations could be creating another universe inside of my lungs that some beings experience as a lifetime, as multiple generations, as millennia.

And then I exhale and feel the death of a world.

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About Me

I spend most of my time working as a mental health professional. I have been preoccupied with philosophy, politics, healing, and many other questions for the last 15 years or so. I am currently working on putting together my study of Plato and Aristotle with contemporary work in philosophy, psychology, psychotherapy, and trauma research. I use this place primarily as a workshop for ideas. I welcome conversation with anyone working on similar problems. The major contours of my basic project have been outlined here

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