[This essay is linked to, though entirely independent of, idiotic investigation the 6th.]
“One thing happens followed by its opposite. Then the first thing happens once again, but for a different reason.
For example, you go along before you turn against; then you go along once again, but for a different reason. Or you uphold the family before rebelling; then one day you return to family once again. Again, for a different reason.”
––Is returning the only option?
“Isn’t that how things go? An escape followed by a return to the familiar? And doesn’t one always say that they have returned because it was the wise decision?
Aren’t we most daring when we have admitted our mistakes? And aren’t we most certain about our return only when what is needed is …”
––more Daring?
“… No, familiarity. Safety, security, semblance.”
––There’s no talking with you.
“Nor with idiots.”
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As though it were some final conservative attempt by my biological inheritance, as though it were a last-ditch ploy to keep me from the cliff I was inching toward for my first decade of thoughtful life; a seductive idea came to me early one morning – it must have come in through the keyhole – and wormed itself into a primitive cavern in my brain, remaining there like a promise (a number to hold while in line):
One returns to what they know best.
And the clever does it for a new reason.
The thought was a ponderous one, and I pondered it heavily while I put my legs through my trousers; what was revealed to me was “the truth” that any thought I might have had on my own, any thought that challenged my origins, was really a distraction.
A cheap rebellion. That to mother and father, in the large sense, one returned
And that before I returned, I would have to think up a good reason for it, so as not to … disappoint––who?
At that time it was about God: One starts by believing, then one becomes an atheist.
I reveled in atheism for a time; but perhaps that only happened because I was still on the verge of returning to God:
The tension – like a tightrope – was a helpful support.
Admittedly, I eventually returned – along the tightrope – to thinking that belief in God and religion was preferable over not believing in anything at all––that wisdom was seeing this necessity; and I almost returned completely … had I not leapt off the rope entirely, plummeting away from God and No-God.
But what was that process about?
For a long time I was tempted to think it was an extended visit to the other side of the coin, forgetting that the value of both sides draws from the same fund.
The metaphor is not a bad one; money keeps us close to our roots––whether your root sprouted money or not.
That metaphor is a good one too: the tree stays with its roots; how else do you pick fruits?
I grew up believing in these “natural” lessons: like with like, opposites attract only erratically, and so on and so on.
Who hasn’t observed a colony of ants?
But now I don’t think such thoughts about my deviance any longer. Instead I ask:
What was I hiding from?
What is it that anyone hides from in these comings and goings?
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What makes a person leave the familiar––permanently?
What, if not the certainty that what is left behind will remain? And doesn’t that certainty already pull us back from the moment we betray our origins?
Hence the law that held me back. Even Ulysses returned!
One scales the the most jagged rocks, knowing that the Earth still sits, fat and heavy. Unchanging.
Are all your decision like this?
I answer in the affirmative, whether sadly or joyfully.
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But despite my failure, the thought of a permanent rebelliousness seduces me even more now than the thought of returning to origins.
Consider a decision that cannot be taken back.
Like climbing a staircase, the ground under which is annihilated with the first step.
What’s left to do but to keep climbing?
––Or to throw yourself over the banister …
These are decisions like suicide, like murder, like speaking and writing.
Are any of your decisions like this?
So far, I answer in the negative, sadly but joyfully.
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I fantasize such a style of life like this:
Suddenly.
Possibility always comes that way.
––knocking, knocking.
But its night and its better to stay in bed.
––knocking, knocking.
But its night and the stranger’s clearly lost his head.
––knocking, knocking.
The idiot is knocking, knocking.
The idiot is knocking, knocking.
The idiot is knocking, knocking.
And you can see his crazy eye in the keyhole.
idiotic investigations 