There is not one self. There are not ten selves. There is no self. Henri Michaux, Plume 1938
Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was, but that I was, forgot to be. – Samuel Beckett, Molloy, 1951Nothing is more real than nothing. Beckett Malone Meurt/Malone Dies – 1951
The clamor is everywhere: BE SOMEBODY… but we are building a fiction!
Beyond our names and our affiliations lies the same eternal nobody that we were when we were born – and that we will be when we die.
What surrounds us – all the stuff, the concepts… – blinds us and entraps us into a fortress, a coffin.
No reason to become pessimistic, merely realistic. And freer.
In a culture where “something” is always better than nothing, “nothing” is bound to be misrepresented.
No-thing is also related to no-self: a false sense of self, or is any sense of self is false?
Not unlike the Buddhist warning about everything being “maya“- a form of illusion, it is clear that much of what surrounds us (the concepts, the busyness… ) stands on wobbly foundations.
Kafka said it loud and clear: “I have hardly anything in common with myself ” – “My People! My People! If only I had one“…
and many others have expanded on that topic: Guy Debord, Alejandro Jodorowski, U.G. Krishnamurti.
To be continued… [This is related to an in-progress text called: .(point) – and to the BrainBleed site)
Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation. Oscar Wilde