Dostoevsky - I

There is one fundamental power within the human being, one core desire that exhales all the use of language, signs… communications, and that is to become understood! The human mind is complicated, yet simple, thus making it twice as complicated. We use the method of metaphor and other linguistic maneuvers to steer our tongue, to better paint before our observers our thoughts and feelings; simply because our words, our whole language is poor. There are not enough words, and fewer that are learnt. How does one ever know what the other means through verbal communication, body language or elaborated scripts? In whatever sense, we attempt to reach out and provide meaning to others from our thoughts and feelings, there is always a certain portion that remains undelivered, indescribable and concealed within ourselves, giving a burdening effect over our shoulders: we find ourselves unfulfilled in unsuccessfully sharing parts of our mind and flesh into the person in question (whether it is a stranger or a beloved, a friend or foe.) Humans seek to show their gratitude, but also to make their gratitude understood (and by gratitude establish a foothold in another being’s territory). One can go by a lifetime without be able to reach out properly in the fullest extent of the will. Is one even truly familiar with oneself? Can at all one be understood by others? Can the simplest outbursts be clear to the person in question? If so I do not believe it will be through the means of verbal language as us civilized human beings are used to. Behind the forehead everything is uncertain. However, if a sentence is spoken instinctively and natural, more like a response to a sudden event, the message may be pure (of forethought), but the message itself will be as framing a panorama into a mere picture – however blissfully executed the painting or picture is, it could never match the sensation of actually _being there_. If conversation is spoken without forethought, it is as pure as a painting can be. Forethought and deliberation of one’s experience from sensation into spoken or written words, corrupts the picture – one must use the thoughts at the present moment to dawn into language! One drawback with this is that one can never be fully equipped with the desired words and frames at all time with oneself, thus a review may seem to be a necessity.

Receiving information from another person, depending on the value of the information (on how secretive, important, and laborious it is), and inasmuch depending on whom we receive this information from (a stranger, a friend, a colleague, a loved…) gives us certain meaning as the keepers of this information. If, one receives very uncommon information from someone rather close to mind (someone who is often thought of), one is immediately bestowed with the sense of self-worth, self-appreciation (sourced externally), and the aftermath of this is a prolonged contemplation, seeking every possible meaning and outcome in what known and even project hypothetical scenarios (often unrealistic and too much to the liking of the ego, thus discouraging from the original scientific excavation). How will the benefactor ever know, or more importantly understand, what dire or pleasant tidings given to the receiver? It is normally thought of the other way around: the benefactor of information is the one whom must carefully consider the value of the information to pass, the weight of trust towards the receiver, and the effects, and possible backfires of the information that is about to be transcribed. However, manipulators, or persons that aim to divert others, cleverly transcribe their information so that it leads the receiver into disarray. Also, there are times when we indifferently or in pretension of compassion, oblige information, but that too has its purpose, to uncover the colors of our shells. Where do we end? All the information we give (as benefactors) is always is of self-interest.

Where does that lead us? If all information we give is of self-interest, then all that makes our contemplation as receivers obsolete to a certain point (unless we modulate the information given and make use of it). The romantic spirit within us too easily, too many times, leads us astray, obliterating resources permanently and most, if not all, events occurred will be buried and specifically sheltered within the mind; not erased from memory, but put aside so that one must thoroughly conduct investigations (with exceptions of emotionally painstakingly haunting recordings that are connected with more than pure lust and desire). Nothing is absolute. Man is as unbalanced in his thought allocation as the world is in its economy and wealth.



Influenced from Dostoevsky's The Idiot.