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Is this Orthodox Existensalism?

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  • km81812003
    Hi i have read promotional selections from a novel, i believe it bears striking resemblance to existensalism, what do you think? (n.b. The Journey of the fool
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 3, 2006
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      Hi i have read promotional selections from a novel, i believe it
      bears striking resemblance to existensalism, what do you think?

      (n.b. The Journey of the fool is written by Fady Bahig)

      I was so confused that night. Lauren came late and kissed me, then
      she went straight to bed. Quickly she was fast asleep; the long tour
      was too tough for her. I lay next to her and couldn't close my eyes.
      I kept on thinking of my feeling, of Hans' analy-sis and of the
      questions. I kept on thinking and thinking till I was very tired and
      feebly slept.

      That night I had a very strange dream. I dreamt that I was a poor
      villager who traveled and traveled, who passed endless realms in his
      quest. Finally, I reached a huge black mountain. I fell exhaustedly
      to earth. I slowly raised my head and looked before me. I saw him.
      He was wearing a black veil to hide his face. As I tried to approach
      him and take off his veil he took a step backwards and pointed to a
      chessboard on earth. I had to beat him to see his face. I sat and we
      started to play. He defeated me. I tried again and again and I kept
      on twisting my mind to solve his riddles but in every time I was
      beaten. I got mad. I threw the chessboard violently away and all the
      pieces scattered on earth. Quickly I threw myself on him, opening
      both hands to catch him. He melted and slipped from between my
      fingers then solidified again far from me, still retaining his veil.
      I ran after him. I chased him. I tried to bypass his divine
      censorship and strip him off his veil. But I failed. I lay on earth
      closed an eye and kept the other half opened. I knew his love would
      fool his wisdom. He slowly approached and as he leaned towards me I
      suddenly threw myself on him again, and again I was holding air. As
      I chased him I asked him if he knew the impossible, if he could
      create an empty full glass or draw a circular square. As I did he
      laughed with cut voice, tired of the chase and responded with an old
      man's voice "Oh, Faust! You are still too far from knowing me! I am
      that empty fullness! How can I draw that cir-cular square when it is
      nothing but the very shape of my heart?"

      ===========================================

      Immediately I felt so bitter and walked away from that place as fast
      as I could. I walked for a long time, and was starting to despair,
      but I could see large buildings from faraway, so I re-called my
      strength and marched on.

      It was a very decent quarter. Everything was neat and clean. It was
      not a commercial quarter so the streets were empty. I liked that
      place. After a while I wanted to talk with anybody to know how to go
      back to the hotel. After a while I found an ex-pensively decorated
      shop. I didn't know what it sold, and I was not sure that it was a
      shop; there were no windows, just a closed fashionable door. Perhaps
      it was a hotel. The label was written in Indian so I didn't know.
      Finally I decided to knock on the door.

      Nobody opened. The sun was making the empty street very hot, and I
      thought nobody was there. I stood for a couple of min-utes then I
      walked away. As I did, I could hear somebody walking feebly and
      opening the door.

      As I looked backwards I saw a girl in her early twenties, she looked
      Russian or from Eastern Europe. She had heavy makeup on her face
      that melted hours ago and resolidified in a horrible manner. Her
      hair was untidy and she looked very drowsy and drunk.

      "Yeah?" she said with half of her mouth wide open and the other half
      almost shut, "Is it uncle the milkman?"
      "Milkman? No. I am a tourist, I want to know how to go back to my
      hotel."
      "What? She asked as she was staggering.
      "Where are we?" I cried at her as people do with a half-deaf, "What
      is the name of this district?"
      "I am Melina," she said with her tremendously funny tilted
      mouth, "Wanna get in and do me?"
      "Damn!" I cried as I walked away, "I am in no need of a prostitute.
      I came here seeking someone to reveal to me the hu-man nature."
      "Then you came to the right place," she said as she stum-blingly
      made a step or two extending her arm towards me, "I see them all,
      Boy, I see them veillessÂ…"

      =========================================

      As I left the ashram and walked away I saw a poor Indian practicing
      self-mortifications. He was sitting cross-legged under the burning
      sun. A large fire was set all around his bruised body.

      "Oh, what a poor creature," I thought to myself as I walked past the
      poor man, "He is mercilessly torturing himself as if the truth would
      see him and feel all the pain that is devouring his flesh. He is
      tearing his body so that the truth would reveal itself to him out of
      pity. Doesn't he know that the truth is at farmost from being
      sentient?"

      =========================================

      Down came the heavy ice balls like a bomb rain eating what-ever had
      the courage to stand in front of them. I miraculously escaped my
      doom. As I looked backwards I saw no Raji, no jeep, just an endless
      white field.

      I walked wearily on the ice. I was afraid that the earth was
      brittle. Just one wrong step and I would find myself buried alive in
      an icy cave.

      Hours passed slowly, I was walking without a destination, marching
      towards the unknown.

      Soon my poor legs could hold me no more. I fell on the earth in
      despair. My bag fell off my back and all my possessions were
      scattered on the ice. I knew it was the end.

      The seconds passed slowly, I remembered Keiko, I remem-bered the
      kindhearted Matilda and I remembered how my father looked like
      saints the last time I saw him. Then I saw the smiling face of Hans.
      I saw Mom and remembered how I felt warmth in the hug of my beloved
      Lauren. I remembered how it felt the first time we practiced Tantra
      together and I remembered how I stood weeping next to her as I blew
      air towards her face without a re-sponse.

      My weak eyes moved slowly till they saw something half buried in the
      endless Himalayan snow; it was Blanky, my moth-er's puppet.
      Immediately I remembered how I felt on the night I dreamt the
      mannequin dream. Hot tears fell on my frozen face.

      As I looked at the horizon I saw the beautiful mountaintops from
      faraway. And I started to think about the gurus, the true gurus who
      didn't act like clowns for the westerners but instead celebrated the
      beauty of being in this place. Can it be that in this very spot in
      which I was to die one day a holy man walked? Can it be that he then
      saw this same picture that I was seeing, of those beautiful distant
      mountaintops? That was destined to be the last picture that I saw
      before I died?

      As I was diving in my turbulent thoughts suddenly I felt that my
      eyes were `opened'. Everything around me started to appear as if it
      had an `inside', a kind of `internal nature' just like the one I
      had. Everything appeared as if they were alive. As if they were
      internally alive, but they were more than alive, they somehow
      were `conscious' but their consciousness was so faint, perhaps they
      were `preconscious'. As if they were striving with their lim-ited
      ability of expression to tell us that they were alive inside, for
      our realization of this fact would further bring them to the light
      of consciousness and being. Seen in this manner, everything ap-
      peared to be exceedingly beautiful and precious. Those moments were
      the most precious moments of my whole life. I was seeing everything
      as totally new and vivid. I was certain that my eyes were
      penetrating directly to the deepest depth of truth, that all is
      alive, sharing one universal essence. I was not Blanky, but Blanky
      and I shared a common life, a common inner spark of being. My heart
      was full of emotions that I wept as hard as I could, I was deeply
      grieved that all this beauty surrounded us without being noticed. We
      humans were miserable indeed, to live amidst all this beauty without
      being aware of it. We made things ugly with our ignorance of this
      certain `approach' or vi-sion to the world. I had seen all what was
      there to be seen. I saw how absurd had been my expectations of a
      vision of God. I went here and there seeking him. Now I was sure
      that I had seen God, and he turned out to be nothing but the world
      that I looked at everyday.

      I came to India seeking enlightenment, and now I found it. I didn't
      find it through following a guru and I didn't find it before a holy
      text or a statue. I found it amidst the forgotten snow of the
      Himalayas.

      For all my life I have been crying my heart out for nothing, driven
      by unexplainable anxiety towards something that I didn't know,
      feeling suffocating thirst to that one more missing piece in the
      puzzle of life.

      I have been fighting windmills, chasing shadows, desperately seeking
      meaning in the meaninglessÂ…

      And now I have found it!
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