Freedom & Sacrifice (Chaos & Order)

A long-winded update. A deep-dive on life decisions, complexes, maturation and a new aim.

Do not sleep under a roof. Carry no money or food. Go alone to places frightening to the common brand of men. Become a criminal of purpose. Be put in jail, and extricate yourself by your own wisdom. - Miyamoto Musashi

"Perhaps freedom means to live fearlessly," I concluded our lengthy conversation.

Both of us smiled.

"So it is, then," my friend said. "Let's decide here and now to live life without fear."

"Deal."

I was at first satisfied with this seeming aphorism, but soon enough, I found a flaw in our thinking. Not surprised, I'm the neurotic one, after all.

Fear has a function.

Things break people ... for good. Limits—something that jiu-jitsu taught me.

From how I started this essay, I can already deduce the issue. I had a different ending in mind, but I better be honest here or there is no point in writing.

I am afraid. Afraid of too much chaos. Maybe it is my recent indulging and fragmentation that makes me talk this way. A sign of wisdom, I dare say.

It's not like I am the most disciplined, orderly, organized person. It takes all my effort to not deteriorate into a nihilistic hedonist and coward. For many months, I've been hiding from the world in my man cave, working on a second-rate product force fed under the pretext of grandiosity and riches. Beyond the vanity, If I learned anything, it is that just because you have the time it doesn't mean you can impose a fruitful routine, that you have the necessary discipline to pull it off.

This said, being neurotic and high in openness, I already swirl in a maelstrom of temptations, distractions, and monsters. Is it really necessary to deconstruct the little stability I have? Do I really need to go out into the wild based on a vague whim? Who is to say whether it is a hedonistic/childish desire or a martyr's pilgrimage?

The difference between a beggar and the great wandering priest Saigyó lies inside the heart. - Miyamoto Musashi

It is romantic beliefs as such that enable this grandiloquence, that have me thinking that just if I believe something it automatically makes me great—In fighting also called the, "Bro, I just see red," mentality.

I beg to differ, the difference between a beggar and the great wandering priest lies in years of practice.

"Musashi gave a brief account of his recent experiences and ended by saying, “I’m afraid I’m still immature, imprudent—far from being truly enlightened. The more I travel, the longer the road becomes. I have the feeling I’m climbing an endless mountain path.” “That’s the way it has to be,” said Takuan, clearly pleased with the youth’s integrity and humility. “If a man not yet thirty claims to know the least bit about the Way, it’s an unmistakable sign his growth has stopped." - From Musashi, by Eiji Yoshikawa.

Talking about the heart, what do I truly feel? Fear, all right. Fear of not becoming 'someone.' Fear of not finding my place in society. Fear of the inability to support a family (in a manner that I too, would thrive and not wither). Fear of being undeserving of love if I do not provide the above, and lastly, that this romantic scribe's journey in exotic lands is a peter pan complex–puer aeternus–a forever-boy who doth not wish to mature.

Puer Aeternus & The Mother Complex.

In a way, it is beautiful. Hadn't it been for the encounter with Ms. Chaos, I just might have taken an excruciating, unnecessary, perhaps fatal detour into Neverland (a fictional paradise from the Peter Pan movie)? To meet someone twice, and have a fate altering experience, isn't that ... wondrous? An encounter engraved upon your soul, as if branded with molten iron. If you were to ask her, I suppose, it was 'just another hookup.'

Beautiful women make us self-conscious; perhaps not as a thought, but a notion grew in me, a question–If I were to have children and marry now, how would I provide? Though not explicitly aware of it, it pained me.

Blunt as she was, she spoke her mind, her tongue like a scythe, aimed at the boy in me. I figure it was precisely that which I found so alluring, for I craved nothing more but to see my own shortcomings, to have the pain illuminate that which did not serve me (possibly why I named her goddess of entropy).

Bitter like wondrous medicine, the type you try to wash away with a spoonful of honey. She was both the medicine and the honey.

It also does not surprise me that "I refuse to 'just' do it 2" came out right after it, depicting the little boy and his withered cherry tree, and a call to maturity, by abandoning it, saying goodbye, killing the mother.

Already then I did not feel the same about my trip to Japan, as if someone blew all the glitter off the map. I drooped, lethargic, aimless, unwilling to admit that, indeed, the dream of the land of cherry blossoms no longer lives inside of me in the same fashion.

Let me elaborate.

After having written the first half of this, I did a deep-dive on the psychology of the puer aeternus, which expectedly, is tightly bound to a powerful mother complex.

To note: A mother complex does not necessarily have to do with the biological mother, rather, the all-mighty god mother archetype. Found in artistic raptures, beautiful nature, sensuality, comfort, the place without a name, the dark, the wild. Chaos, that which consumes and fragments or that which 'hugs' and 'embraces,' as described in previous essays. Like the animus, so the anima has two sides–the nourishing and the destructive.

To note 2: A country. Land. That which gives birth to all that lives. The fertile earth and the plants and organisms which grow from them. The land is feminine, a mother symbol, for just as the mother bears the child in her womb, so all life is given birth to from the soil.

Like the eternal boy, I lived in dreams. Dreams of who I ought to become–but never became; Of my invincibility–yet a denizen in the hospital; Of dangerous adventures–though curled up in anxiety. I bore an eternal longing for something I could not describe, thus tried to mute it with substances. I watched and read stories of heroes and warriors, secretly hoping it would incinerate the warrior inside of me. Sometimes it did. But, sometimes is not enough.

The facade began to crumble, and a notion grew in me that, maybe, I was a coward. Perhaps I was lazy. Maybe I was resisting the call to independence and hence fabricated all this nonsense; no. I will not take such credit. All this nonsense—as far as it didn't serve me–took possession of me. I let it.

When the obsession with riches and freedom appeared increasingly vain, panic took over me. After all, once I'd have all the riches, I could go and finally live by traveling and camping and exploring and; throwing myself into the embrace of the mother, essentially.

Thus, a journey into such places... if anything, it feels like an escape. Perhaps children of unstable households struggle to settle down? Have fear of assuming an identity?

But! being aware of this does not solve the issue, does it? If my aim was incorrect, what would be the proper aim? Who was I supposed to become?

Part 2: The Maturation Of The 'Boy Hero' Into The 'Man Warrior'.

As per Robert Moore and Doug Gillette in the book: King, Warrior, Magician, Lover: Rediscovering the Archetypes of the Mature Masculine

Note: Definitions for these terms might differ from how they are actively used in society and might thus irk. I suggest taking them at face value as given here.

The boy hero like the warrior both have their passive and active shadow parts. The shadow, in this case, represents an unwished for expression of the archetype. See pic. below.

"The Warrior in comparison (to the hero) knows his limits and realistically assesses his capactities. He is aware of life's fragility– acts decisively, with each deed performed as if it were his last, with a sense of an imminent death. He lives life through self-discipline, which is his second nature. The warrior avoids dramatic displays or wasted energy. His control is over his mind and his attitudes. Characterized by - courage, decisiveness, clarity, responsibility, discipline, strength, skill. The Warrior's loyalty is to something greater—his master, nation or God. This transpersonal commitment aligns the ego with the Self, the centre of personality." - Eternalised

The maturation of the hero lies in his ability to find his own limitations, to put aside his romantic desires and personal wishes and pledge his loyalty to a greater good, a good which transcends him as a measly individual and serves society at large.

Of course, there are other aspects to a man than just his warrior side, as the name of the book betrays.

Often we find that once the hero slays the dragon, he finds a princess, but he does not know what to do with her. That's because he has not integrated the lover archetype.

Pressing on. Nowadays, many would scoff at the mention of 'serving' or 'integrating' in society. Why not live out your personal whims? Well, precisely because they're measly and they're whims. How, in example, would a father be a good father if his interest was only toward himself? How would we look at a family that lives only for itself and exploits society?

It doesn't work. If we all live this way, society falls apart.

A good which transcends not only your existence, but that of your family and society, is an eternal good which has the strength and potency to justify a heavy burden, a dreadful existence.

The story of Musashi starts when he is 16 years old, with the name of Takezó, a young ruffian whose only concern is to become 'the best swordsman.' As the story continues, we witness the maturation of Musashi the swordsman, into Musashi the leader. His concerns go beyond his sword and his skill. He ponders how to apply his skills to serve Japan at large. How to lead the country to prosperity.

"A year or two earlier, he had wanted only to conquer all rivals, but now the idea that the sword existed for the purpose of giving him power over other people was unsatisfying. To cut people down, to triumph over them, to display the limits of one’s strength, seemed increasingly vain. He wanted to conquer himself, to make life itself submit to him, to cause people to live rather than die. The Way of the Sword should not be used merely for his own perfection. It should be a source of strength for governing people and leading them to peace and happiness." - Eiji Yoshikawa in the novel Musashi.

How would we think about Musashi if he had had only one goal in mind? Killing people to make a name for himself? Shallow.

Identity & Flourishing

Here I want to make an important point best laid out by an excerpt from Seneca's letters.

Everywhere means nowhere. When a person spends all his time in foreign travel, he ends by having many acquaintances, but no friends. And the same thing must hold true of men who seek intimate acquaintance with no single author, but visit them all in a hasty and hurried manner. 3. Food does no good and is not assimilated into the body if it leaves the stomach as soon as it is eaten; nothing hinders a cure so much as frequent change of medicine; no wound will heal when one salve is tried after another; a plant which is often moved can never grow strong.

As someone who moved four countries and about three times within each, I am anything but used to staying long. I still function on mobile data, reluctant to get a router because, "I might leave soon."

While I could work on a thesis, make money, save up, train, sleep or rest, I am looking up the nearest supermarket on google maps, moving furniture and making insurance and bank calls.

Setting up life over and over ... I am tired. And besides that, I like it here. For the first time, I feel at home, assuming this is what it would feel like.

It took me years to find a community, to find friends, to get to know the city, to speak the language. Am I really up for another plunge into isolation? Ten; not four; not two; ten years of isolation. Ten years of friendlessness. Ten years of silent, dark, evenings spent in contemplation, in dreaming of what would or could be if I one day found a place for myself, imagining dinners with dear ones, a family, laughs, board games, drinks and celebrations.

What if this is the place? What if these are the people? What if this is home?

Which makes me realize, didn't I live like a stray dog until now? In fact, this is not a reluctance to set out on a journey, it's the reluctance to settle, after all.

Roots

A long suppressed part of me snuck its head out. My Slavic-ness. I am Slovak, but I pretended I was not for so many years, embarrassed for my heritage, for my people, for our small-mindedness, among other things.

It didn't even occur to me to see the bright side of being Slovak? Neither did I consider I cannot erase the Slav in my blood.

Before I take my hard-earned holiday in exotic lands, shouldn't I revisit who I am and who I was? Shouldn't I see my family, my old friends, the old forests and reconsider old conceptions and models, form new & better ones?

Am I forever going to avoid my home? Am I going to wait until everyone is dead before I attempt to set things straight? Where will I go with my children for a visit if not home? What impact would that have on them, being part Slovak and having no connection to the land or the people? Forever homeless, like their father?

I will use this new mobility in my life to do precisely that. Get in touch with something long lost. On a trail of weathered cherry blossoms, I will travel to reclaim my home.

Conclusion?

To heroes women are scarier than dragons? ... Yes, that too.

In my life, it means that I have to build an identity in alignment with society. That I have to bow my head much lower, and realize that making it as a writer will require honing my skills for many years to come. And that until that time, if it were to come, I should lead a balanced life.

Embedded in society, with a community, a healthy intimate relationship, a prosperous career and vivid leisure time.

It takes a lifetime to become a master.

Yet, here I go, acting as if I had things in my pinkie. Grandiloquent, yet impotent, giving rise to books that die. That does not mean that I actively thought of myself as such, of which proof lies in my posts a year or two ago. It's silly how a deeply rooted feeling of inadequacy is compensated by grandiosity.

It was the same with my martial arts and fitness journey. With good will, I could cut it as generic—that just took all I had in me.

This is not self-pity, it's an honest assessment and admittance of limits, from where I can start building sincerely.

I was too stubborn, too ignorant, too reckless. If I had been more in touch with my body, I might have noticed I was pushing too hard. If I hadn't been out to prove myself, for whatever traumatized reason, I might have tapped before I was injured. If only I had known how to take care of myself, got a physiotherapist, rather than try to 'somehow fix my shoulder myself'.

Imagine ... knocks against forehead

Regardless of how reckless and silly you were, you did not give up. I see your pain, younger me. You can't lie your way into a body with this many scars.

It will please those that followed my journey (hopefully), that I've finally attained blue belt status. My shoulders, my spine, my neck, my knees, my hips, my fingers, except my toes and feet are all seemingly able to take the beatings now (knocks on table). This is a hard-earned behind-the-scenes effort of multiple years of physiotherapy, diet and weightlifting.

So as you can see, it took all my heart and effort to get to where other people cruise. It is incredibly humbling, if anything.

This is also a reason why I don't want to leave.

I can finally fight regularly and enjoy it. I want to use this opportunity, before my body would decay on an unnecessary food and gym deprived journey, to take my skills as far as I can. The community, the spirit, the beef. I am probably most content when rolling and lifting heavy, that's just what I do.

In short, Jiu-Jitsu is more important to me than traveling. It allows me to live out the warrior archetype to its fullest, and potentially avoid a compensation through other parts of my masculinity. Probably part of the reason I wanted to leave was the lack of fighting?

Career-wise..

I'll be applying for an online bachelor's degrees in Psychology. Perhaps I could cut it as a clinician, with a lot of hard work. Hopefully. All this suffering and struggle, my healing journey, might come in handy.

Who knows, if I gave it my best, I could have all I wanted and needed, right here? Was the adventure, that which I always wanted, right in front of me this whole time? For such a prospect, I am ready to give up Neverland. No more waiting for riches to fall from heaven or cowering at home. And, if a cherry tree does not grow inside me, I'll plant one in my garden.

A hard fought hallelujah?

From the far forest, through the allies and streets of the city, a beast's wail reaches my ears.

"Did I just hear a wolf howling?"

Thump Thump

Thump

...

After the tree crumbled to dust, the boy and I walked for a while, his eyes scanning the ground, as if looking for that which could have been. My eyes alike, fixated, but on that which had yet to be..

His little hand in mine, so soft and fragile, has still to grip and claw, hold and mold steel, scrape knuckles, punch faces, but also write letters, caress lips, massage scalps and pet thighs.

"Sir?" he asked, ripping me out of my daydream.

"Hm?"

"Where are they?"

I stare at him askance.

"The cherries?"

"Hm," I felt a pang in my chest as I stared into the distance.

"What do I say?" I thought. We walked in silence for quite a while. His grey, colorless eyes tugged at my heart.

"I could tell him ... I do not know whether such a place exists, the truth, but could he--? No, no ... I can't lie to him, shelter him. He has to deal with it," I grappled.

Until finally, half-heartedly, I said, "I – I don't know."

He ripped his hand out of mine, his eyes seething with rage.

"Stupid! Stupid liar!"

Indeed, it overwhelmed him. His shoulders shook, and he covered his little face, breaking down in bitter tears.

I kneeled and tried to pull him in, hold him, but his fists flew at me, at my face, my nose, my shoulders, my temples. He pushed me, pulled at my hair, screaming his little lungs out.

"I hate you!" he repeated several times, saliva foaming and flying from his mouth.

The rage I saw in him was so familiar, I felt it burried deep within me, an inextinguishable anguish.

His hands punched a face for the first time, I thought, though his tears hurt much more. When the rage finally subsided to pain, I noticed how shame weighed on him.

"I'm okay," I assured him. "Your little fists can't hurt me. C'mere."

I pulled him into my arms, and he sobbed. Sobbed verily. Digging his nails into my skin. How could such a tiny boy feel such big emotions? Oh, how lonely he must have been, sitting at that tree. How painful it must have been to see it wither and never bloom again. And it was me! Me, who had left him. Part of me wanted to cry too, but it wasn't about me.

When he came to it, I looked into his eyes and said, "Hey, I will show you something cool. Wanna see?"

"Mhm," he nodded, rubbing his eye.

"Give me your hands and close your eyes," I said. He sniffled and put his hands on mine.

"Now. Try and imagine a tree, a green one. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Can you see it clearly?"

He nodded.

"Can you remember what your cherry looked like when it bloomed?"

He smiled and nodded.

"Can you see it? Okay. Good. Imagine how you sit and lean against it, the sun shining, and the petals fall on your face ... can you smell the fresh breeze and hear the insects buzzing? Hah! It tickles, doesn't it?" I said and tickled his ribs.

"No-o-o!" he squirmed like a little squirrel. We both laughed.

"The cherry is forever yours. No one can take it away from you, as long as you carry it in your heart. You can always go back to it, rest, and draw strength from it," I said, pleased with his now soft look. "As for this place..." I looked at the broken, dried out wasteland. "There is nowhere to go and nowhere to hide ... there is no paradise to escape to ... but who knows what happens if we keep moving? If we stick together and do our best? I am damn sure that things will get better, they always do," I concluded and smiled.

He squinted his eyes, as if scanning me with a lie detector.

"You trust me?"

"Well ... you're pretty strong."

"Hah!"

We began our journey forward, into a better place, hopefully.

"How strong are you?"

"Well--"

"Can you slay a dragon?"

"Ah--"

"Or perhaps a bear? With bare hands?"

"Heh," I rubbed the back of my head, "Uhm. I– I don't think so ... no."

"When I am big like you I will!"

"Let's hope the bears get smaller by then," I laughed.