Reality Is Overrated

I think so-called reality is overrated. The human mind must escape reality on a regular basis or it goes haywire. This is done by (1)sleep and dreaming (2)hallucinations from REM sleep deprivation (3)altered mental states from alcohol/drugs and other forms of intoxication.

What does this say about day-to-day reality? That it's too stressful or terrible to bear for extended periods of time without temporary escape? That was Freud's conclusion in his book "Civilization and Its Discontents." If true, it gives human existence a very questionable quality.

In terms of human evolution the adaptive benefits of always remaining in contact with reality seem obvious -- to avoid dangers, accomplish survival tasks, etc. Then why do we sleep and dream? Some animals don't sleep. What is the adaptive value of losing awareness of reality on a regular basis? If this behavior was maladaptive, it would have been selected out of the human gene pool long ago.

Are we in contact with a separate but equally genuine reality when we dream or indulge in intoxication? If so, does this other reality influence our waking reality? Perhaps this explains phenomena like ESP, ghosts, aliens, etc.

Imagination is different than dreaming in that we remain conscious, but there are similarities. Symbolism, archtypes, wish fulfillment and escapism can be found in both. Imagination is a sort of waking dream where the mind is freed from the restraints of ordinary reality. So is intoxication and the things that cause intoxication: alcohol, drugs, sex, even music and dance under the right circumstances.

I have noticed something about people who worship ordinary reality. They are both weird and boring. By that I mean they tend to be anal rententive and obsessive-compulsive, they claim they never dream when they sleep, they lack a lively imagination, they discipline themselves harshly as if they are doing penance for a crime, they avoid intoxicants for fear of "losing control," they are dedicated to accumulating money and social status and I would bet they are lousy lovers.

In short, reality is a crutch for the emotionally lame.

Thoughts? Irate condemnations? Hit me with your best shot. If it hurts too much, I'll retreat into one of my hedonistic havens -- dreams, wild sex, the forgetfulness of intoxication.

Starr, my man, I'm glad you let that out. I concur with most of it. 99.999% I think that our interconnected,wired, drive thru(so fast they couldn't spell it correctly), logged in, persons are actually trapped by our possessions. Straight out of fight club. I could go on and on, but your ability to cover all the bases leaves me rather speechless. Then again I'm a revolution of one, so what do I know?

Yeee-hah! Long live the revolution, Baby! RPM - Carpe Diem!

Sorry I guess I wasn't all that speechless after all...I think I'm getting hoarse.

It seems for every post I stumble upon today I have some form of writing that corresponds to it. Easiest to retrieve is my poetry - but will post "letters" I have written with commentary that addresses the same:

8/2003

THE MEETING
(Dedicated to anyone who has suffered through an IPR.)

Three hours pass—
and I, glassy-eyed,
strive to die
to the tragedy of this
mess.

Another comment
planted here and there
between tired, half-hearted
smiles and locked faces
in blank stares
or bent in angry
frown, a furrow on
their brow.

How now brown cow?
How do we proceed?
Whispers pass in quiet
conversations in my
great hour of need.

Escape I would—
down the rabbit’s hole
into my garden of delight
a sweet, romantic comedy
or perhaps a Shakespearean
fright of double-suicide.

I would go alone by thought
to the wonders of my mind,
imagine Armageddon come
or spend an hour of time
locked in my beloved’s arms…

Till need or necessity
ripped me therefrom—a cruel act.
In such cases, tis better to refrain
For creative passion is priceless
while men drown in the mundane.

I have the kind of personality that has always sought escape inside itself. Because my parents were so domineering and controlling I spent most of my teenage existence secluded in my room listening to music and daydreaming. I was (and still am) capable to departing reality for extended periods of time - hours upon hours.

Because of my maladaption to my environment, I now have a rather active and potent imagination that is capable of much. Sometimes suffering produces a utile product. In my case, it did.

countess

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Countess

It seems for every post I stumble upon today I have some form of writing that corresponds to it. Easiest to retrieve is my poetry - but will post "letters" I have written with commentary that addresses the same:

8/2003

THE MEETING
(Dedicated to anyone who has suffered through an IPR.)

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I like the poem, but I don't know what IPR is.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Countess

I have the kind of personality that has always sought escape inside itself. Because my parents were so domineering and controlling I spent most of my teenage existence secluded in my room listening to music and daydreaming. I was (and still am) capable to departing reality for extended periods of time - hours upon hours. Because of my maladaption to my environment, I now have a rather active and potent imagination that is capable of much. Sometimes suffering produces a utile product. In my case, it did.

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I would call it successful adaptation to difficult circumstances rather than maladaption. You're a writer and you're still breathing, aren't you?

Nietzsche said nature punishes the most valuable and intelligent humans with the harshest suffering. It turns them inward to behold the abyss. If you stare at the abyss long enough, it begins to stare back at you.

I wish it would stop and look elsewhere,
but then, :) what would I do without it?