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I’ve been having this eerie feeling of becoming aware of being blindly caught up in something and not seeing its danger, though it’s not exactly danger that I feel I’m troubled by. It’s more ignorance. Not being able to see the true nature of certain things, and in particular the motives and indifferences and strange ceremonies of ordinary life — its secret passion.
I keep thinking about the William Blake poem “The Sick Rose” ... “dark secret love”, it says.
I’m living now in this detached and marginal position in life. I’ve woken up and found myself in a world that somehow I never really understood, never really belonged to and yet participated in, in good faith and even protected by the ignorance I mentioned before (the innocence maybe), following my own path while for a long time staying on the acceptable pathway (but never knowingly treading that road).
And so a double path, two paths in one, hard to tell apart. Until at a certain moment, because of decisive acts of refusal, protest, desperation and exhaustion — courage as well — finding myself on or being left only with the lonelier divergent path. And after a sufficient period of time and distance to then have this eerie, disturbing experience of sensing the hidden psychology and purposes and programmings of the left-behind life that, while I was surrounded by it thinking it was my own, I couldn’t see. And when I was far enough away to realise that it wasn’t my own then too there was this chilling sense of surprise and weird recognition of the strangeness, the dangerousness, the inhospitability of what it always was. And so again there’s the sense of being caught in the coils of a lifelong rope.