Friday, May 30, 2014


I always find that consciousnesses interpenetrate. The feeling that one can get a glimpse into another person's mindset . This knowledge is both liberating and discomfiting. Somewhere one's own propensities are extrojected. Nonetheless the way we see and engage with the other is fundamentally altered. Such awareness can bridge fissures or can create a cleft within a precarious harmony.

I could see him clearly. I saw that underneath his patina of self assurance was a deep self loathing. His was a frantic endeavor to overcompensate for a lack, a lack that roiled and churned within, rendering him inadequate. Each time he expostulated with me on my shallowness and insincerity it was his own insufficiency he impugned. All his protestations of love were a congealing of his sense of wanting to love himself, given his self hatred.

His intentions were contrary to his actions. In each of his actions he demonstrated a fundamental falsity. If even a modicum of his authentication had revealed itself i might have bothered loving him or to excuse, even if it went against my own interests, all his anomalies. It was the hypocrisy which got to me. This superficial resolving of this  intrinsic incongruity, was, for him, a scaffolding, a way of tenuously soldering a nebulous sense of self. I could see the insecurity rampaging around. I could even understand why he sought self restitution so assiduously. Yet something in me balked at these methodologies.

It was because his essence was corrupt. Within himself, in the penumbra of his primevality, he was deeply unlikable. Had he reconfigured the constituents of his self differently, realigned them in a positive way he would have been a gem. As it was, with his narcissistic self enclosure his disagreeableness redoubled, his meretriciousness was intensified. And by essence i mean a space beyond categories, that which is immanent, indwelling, that sancrosanct space within from which directions in life fork out and bifurcate between good and evil. There was no underlying probity i could scratch out from the integument of his self regard. There was only his indubitable inauthenticity.

Such a glimpse didn't resolve my emotional dependence or alleviate the pain his defense mechanisms caused. But it did give me a certain detachment and impersonality in imbuing with retrospective rationality all the messiness and sordidness of his being. I know what to expect and that ,in itself, is freedom of a kind  .

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