It will be Okay

Every time I breathe, the hole in my chest expands and contracts, it almost feels as if it is doing this around my heart. It makes breathing harder, then again, the breathing doesn't come easy. The idea of you, leaves me not feeling warm and fuzzy, you see - I know that would be harder. Instead, I allow myself to gather a coldness towards the idea of you, so now when I see your picture, I get cold and my hands tremble, yet my heart doesn't stop rapidly beating, as if trying to jump out of my chest and nuzzle into the warmth of your neck, or the comforts of your soft hands. I don't want to see you in person, because then I wouldn't be able to stop my heart, from wanting to reach out and grasp at your own, trying to bring the two pieces back together. No, I don't intend on pretending I'm whole. I only intend on pretending that everything will be okay.

Your sweet beauty is all that's soothes my mind, but it wreaks havoc in what is left of my heart. So I find myself gazing at you through a screen, and murmuring I love you, so close to finding a method of numbing out the pain, until I cannot anymore, until the pain in my chest becomes too much. They say that love comes, and it goes, that I could have missed my chance and I think I am okay with that for now, maybe later when you find someone better than me I will learn to be okay.

The substances I have taken a liking to, are frowned upon, people are worried I think but have not said anything, some have. But I am as I am. The hole in my chest is as deep a cavity as ever, it swirls and whirlpools with fury spitting out screams, my own screams - yearning for me to try and fix myself. I prefer not to think, not to speak but the thing that pains me the most is that nothing actually makes me feel anything more than lust or cold. So tell me not of warmth; I pray every night because I'm doing my penance, and all I could ever actually ask for, is for His will to be done for me and then, it will be okay.

PHI212 Lecture Three

2014.02.12

NOTE:

·         20 February 2014 MSQ Test 20 Questions

·         Pencil and eraser for the test, come earlier rather than later in order to find yourself a desk.

THE LECTURE:

·        - Descartes aims to differentiate between what is knowledge and what is not, he therefore creates the Method of Doubt in order to do this.

·         - Trademark Argument, was the argument Descartes poses about the existence of God, the idea of perfection, where he proves Gods existence. Descartes believes in a God that is veracious; honest and true. This is in fact the weakness in Descartes argument on the whole.

I don’t really know why I can’t focus in this class, I’m hoping that this method will be more worth my while, maybe keep me awake. I don’t think the fact that I almost couldn’t keep myself from doping up on some painkillers helped, but I do think the fact that I will spend the entire lecture typing might keep me awake. Or might get the attention of the rest of the class, but gosh what do I care what they think anyway, I like the idea that typing more will eventually help my typing speed, but I don’t know if I could actually pay attention to this lecturer and type at the same time. Right now, it’s pretty silent because he’s struggling to make his projector work, I’m writing a test next week and what I hate is that I’m nervous about it, because the first time in ages, I actually have to give a shit and study for something. For two reasons, both of which have nothing and everything to do with my own well-being, for one it’s going to make my dad really happy if I ace the two subjects I’m doing this semester, but on the other hand, acing it would put me on a good footing in terms of getting my dad to start saving so that I can spend my December holidays with Dain in New York when he goes to school there.

·      - Descartes believes that in his idea of his ‘self’ there is an idea of perfection, and this perfection is in fact divine. He believes that he is a soul, he is a mind, and he thinks. Descartes aims to find a foundation for human knowledge, and by proving the existence of God, he believes he has found this foundation. 

·      - The idea of this ‘self’ and its perfection must have a cause, and this cause must be at least as real as the idea of perfection, and therefore, the cause itself must be perfect in itself, and that could only be God.

I sometimes wish I could stupidly believe, and I hate that to some extent I think that there are things that people should not ask questions about. My brother would be very unhappy with me saying that, being a budding philosopher, he goes out of his way to question as much as he can, and here I’m thinking that we should just accept, appreciate and live in this world. Maybe asking the questions, helps enhance the experience, helps to better it, but sometimes, when we receive the answers, they sort of damn us. That’s the thing about knowledge and thought, I sometimes wish I’d never started asking questions, that I could remain completely in ignorant bliss, but instead I’m stuck with knowledge, and a certain kind of truth as to how sick and broken this world really is.

 
- Descartes believes that God has left this idea of perfection, and a perfect and divine cause, in Descartes mind as a mark of his workmanship. He also believes that the Evil Demon, who aims to deceive him, and stop him from reaching true knowledge, has been defeated by this divine power.

- This God is truthful rather than deceptive, as the Evil Demon is. 
  
- Sometimes, one is able to make use of deception in order to create perfection, Prof Abrahams makes use of the example of Lionel Messi, who fakes left but then goes right in order to then create the perfect goal, this is an example of a deception that leads to perfection.

He talks a lot, this Professor, but this way it seems a bit more interesting, I mean it’s better to have all my thoughts coming out of me, instead of swirling around my head and eventually making me so drowsy I fall asleep. He just spoke about a soccer player for Liverpool called St. John, I don’t really know what the point was, maybe it was just some joke he threw in for comic relief. This is another thing about philosophy lecturers, their jokes, its so intellectually higher grade that usually the class find themselves staring back at them; baffled, or confused rather, because they tell these jokes and then carry on their merry way, as if they never had. Unless, it’s my other Professor, Prof Beck, who giggles at every joke he tells, usually nudging those around him into the realm of his joke, maybe it comes from a life time of people not getting his jokes.

CRITICISM

·         - Theological objection; humanity has no idea, cannot in fact fathom, the perfection of God.

Note: Read “Think” and figure out whether or not Descartes aims to fathom the idea of God, or rather just uses God as his cause, and leaves it at that. But maybe in attempting to place God as the cause, Descartes is by default trying to fathom God.

·        -  Must Descartes idea of perfection necessarily have a cause? Can events not just take place?

-       In his solipsistic position, can there be anything that can be a cause of his idea?

-       If yes, then the demon might be deceiving him.

-       If no, then the argument fails right there.

·         

      - Does ones idea of ‘punctuality’ actually have to be cause by someone who is perfectly punctual? This idea is a metaphor, stemming from the question of whether or not it is entirely necessary to have to know what perfection is, in order to define something as perfect, or could we rather just use our own perception.

Note: But if we are using our own perception in order to define what is perfect, aren’t we once again falling into the trap of the Evil Demon, who is able to deceive us. We learn things, and form our perceptions from our senses, our senses that could be deceived.

·         

            -  The preferred analogy then goes on to speak about the perfect mathematician.

-       Someone who never makes mistakes

-       Someone who is creative and inventive

Note: But then how is it that this mathematician learnt to be this way? Isn’t it plausible that the perfect mathematician would be one who does make mistakes, in order to learn from them and recreate formulae? And are mathematicians creative at all, that the work they learn, are simply subjects of logic and reasoning that they haven’t imposed but rather learned from the world.

I can’t ask the questions I want to, because I don’t know if they actually make enough sense, this is why I need to read before I come to these classes. I reckon I do somehow need to find these answers on my own instead though, in order to formulate my own opinions, for when the essay writing eventually comes. Blind faith, but visible truth is what I see Christianity as. I believe that  I will never in fact lay eyes on God, but I do see him in everything around me, as He is and was always everything in this world, He has created everything. I want people to believe that, to stop the trying to break apart each aspect, and just believe, that He is. I understand though, that faith needs to come with foundation, but once again that’s another thing my brother and I disagree on, he says that he doesn’t agree with people when they say that God has no rules, no borders, that God and religion comes with constructions and purpose. I believe in the purpose, but the idea of creating a perimeter for my Almighty seems pretty strange to me, I don’t like the idea that He is fathomable, because He is not. Every time I finish writing and look up, Prof Koosie is saying the same thing, as if repeating it will get people to understand “Descartes believed that God would not make him believe anything defective”. I understand this, but can’t we allow ourselves to believe that just like the deception in order to create perception, God has created things that deceive us in order to teach us and then deliver us to a state of higher grace? This isn’t actually a spiritual argument, but how do I stem away from my Christianity when I’m trying to understand this perfection that Descartes calls God. Fuck, what am I saying, I wouldn’t be able to understand God in anyway.

I asked the questions, periods done, I’m buggering off.

Love Lost

HER

She lightly touched his shoulder.

The touch was simple, out of sympathy for his lost, but upon touching the soft fabric of his white cotton shirt, she found her hand heavy, remaining there. He looked up, until now, his head had been bowed low, he sat facing the open ocean, and as he looked up at her; his dark black eyes deep and infinitely broken, the wind blew his hair out of his face and he stared. Her hand hadn’t moved, and she felt his gaze lock into hers, it was if they had never known anyone until this moment, as his world connected with hers and she saw every broken crack in his heart, as if it were a shattered mirror. His face was serene, pale and looked like porcelain, but his eyes; his irises went deep, as if going on forever, a deep pool of black that she could not come up for air from. 

She still hadn’t moved her hand, it felt attached to his shoulder; she sat next to him, her hand awkwardly on his shoulder, his head turned awkwardly towards her as he stared deep into her, searching for peace. She knew that she wasn’t his peace, that she was the product of turmoil, but she let his eyes search her, looking through every folder of pained destruction, every moment of passion and every fragment of loneliness. She wondered if he too felt her searching him for a life raft. They were both broken, and lost in a world of ugly truths and lonely nights. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he said nothing, his lips; pouted and light pink, were parted but nothing came out. She felt herself slowly move her head from left to right, they hadn’t known one another for very long, but she wasn’t going to let him say what she felt. He nodded, and looked back towards the sea, breaking the connection. 

He was frowning now, and she slowly placed her heavy hand back into her lap, they both stared out towards the ocean. She didn’t understand this world, or why it had brought them here, to this impasse, one where they would both leave this funeral and go back to their lives on separate sides of the world. She hadn’t seen him in years until someone they had both loved had died, and she had come to the funeral. After, she had found herself gravitated towards the beach, needing air, needing to get away from the pull of pain, and that’s when she had found him sitting on the wall, staring out towards the beach. She knew that it had been his sister, he still wore the black suit pants, the tie was undone and his hair looked tussled, but he hadn’t cried or said a word, he hadn’t moved at all until she had sat next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. 

She looked away from the grey water raging below them, there was going to be a storm, but neither of them moved, the cold replaced the pain in their chests. She turned her head and faced him, she hadn’t realized he was looking at her again, he looked pained. She knew she loved him.

HIM

He felt the small hand on his shoulder.

And he turned to face the woman who sat next to him, he hadn’t moved since she had sat down, he had no interest in speaking, he knew that he couldn’t. Her touch had seemed to give him a small amount of energy that allowed him to turn and face her. When they made eye contact, he saw a flicker of surprise flash on her face, he wanted to smile as her mouth formed a slight O, but he couldn’t make his face move. She was beautiful, she had been a friend of his sisters that he had only met once, and he knew that she was married and stayed a far way away. 

Her hand hadn't move from his shoulder. He allowed himself to look deep into her eyes, in a way he had not looked at anybody in a long time, he was trying to find a reason for existence, a reason to carry on being when all he had kept being lost. His heart felt heavy in his chest and her green eyes looked like an open field in the country side. He wanted to dive into the deep green and stay there, comforted by the beauty and light it held. He wondered if he should thank her for coming, but he couldn’t say the words. She shook her head, as if she knew what he was about to say, so he turned back to face the sea, the waves were crashing against the shore; angry. 

He felt her hand move off his shoulder, as she slowly put it back into her own lap, he had liked the feel of her warm skin against the cold of his shoulder, he had felt the current through the cotton and now it was gone. He wondered if it would be easier to walk into the ocean, and have the raging of it blast against his skin, instead of having the raging of oceans inside his chest. He could see himself walking out towards the sea, opening his arms, and greeting it like an old friend as it engulfed him and took him. He turned to face her again to rid himself of the thoughts. She seemed to be deep in thought, her red hair was blowing out towards the back, he knew that the wind would make it knotty, but for now it blew with the wind as if she was a part of the elements. 

He could smell her from where he sat, she smelled of fresh rosemary, of comfort, and he liked that it soothed him. It soothed him, but as she turned to face him, surprised again, he found himself wanting to reach out and trace the freckles on her skin with his fingertips. And he knew that he loved her.

 

They sat like that until the rain started, staring at one another and searching, the first drops came, light at first and then hard, they were both soaked when they knew that it was too late, the connection had to be lost and so they both walked to their separate cars, and went home to their families, neither ever forgetting the other.

Simple Words Have No Simple Meanings

How are you.

I love you.

I miss you.

I will be there for you.

Forever.

Weighted words,

Weighed down my weighted hearts and minds,

Tragic tenses that turn to past,

Words that never seem to last,

We go back,

Trying to replay,

To make that infinitely definite moment stay.

This isn’t poetry,

Its languid language played on to resemble beauty,

When all they are are crushed fragments

Of misplaced remnants

Of what once was.

The smoke brings tears to my eyes,

As I try and hide the true meaning behind the irises

So tortured by the viruses

Of a seemingly intact soul gone wrong.

We speak up,

We look up,

We try and make up,

But we never truly figure out,

The emptiness behind our own plague,

Of words so vague.

Words that have lost their meaning.

I’m a satellite heart,

Lost in the dark,

Trying to figure out a past,

That’s broken a future,

Ruined a present,

And rearranged an entire moment.

Don’t go back to the black,

Remember the words you fought to bring meaning to,

To believe in,

To find freedom in,

From the loves lost,

And the moments that have passed.