“It always shocked me when I realized that I wasn’t the only person in the world who thought and felt such strange and awful things.”
― John Green
Enveloped… means to me exploring the layers which shroud us, inside and out.
And all the variations of thought and feeling, and more, separate and combined, of self, of others, of self and others combined, and so on into the infinity of et cetera.
“It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize just how much you love them. ”
― Agatha Christie
I have this theory (I call it a theory of mine just for brevity’s sake, but it belongs to no one) that thoughts are how the brain gets oxygen to move around our system. When we’re busy thinking, we’re oxygenating our body, which feeds the rest of us with an essence that keeps us alive.
Too much of it and we’ve over-oxygenating ourselves. Beware of side effects. Don’t light a match.
Something like that… I haven’t really though this through.
So… what are feelings?
Depends on whether the feelings are actually feelings or thoughts disguised as feelings… there is a difference which shrouds.
If feeling is truly a feeling rather than a thought, then…
I have this theory (which I’m making up right now, but may be something made up before me) that feelings are how our brain gets blood to move around our system. When we’re busy feeling, blood flows through our veins, which nourishes the rest of us with the essence that keeps us alive.
Too much of it and we’ve drowned ourselves and others in it. Beware of side effects. Where’s the life ring? Who hid it?
Something like that… I haven’t really felt this through.
“Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night’s sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can feel this way, too.”
― Lemony Snicket
I often see people talking about ‘thinking too much’ as though this was a crime which their mind was committing against them.
Or people talking about ‘feeling too much’ as though, yet again, some part of them was abusing them in some way, their heart was beating them up by beating too much, and feeling each beat.
I used to think and feel that way too. My mind and heart were trying to make me insane… compared to what exactly, I don’t know? Did I think or feel I was sane? Did I think or feel others were sane?
“Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.”
― Albert Camus
But then I hit that wall known as getting older, being that age that is thought and felt to be ‘old’ (conditions apply depending on this and that), and as I passed through it, I lost some of the fears which were a part of youth.
I thought and felt that I’d never get rid of such fears, maybe I didn’t, maybe they just got rid of me.
Some call this getting wiser, this aging thing which envelopes you whether you want it or not. I’m not sure if that’s what it is. It was more a case of being relieved that my mind still thought and my heart still felt things, which meant that I was still alive in spite of mortality looming, in spite of decay, in spite of beign old in a world which worships youth, in spite of the layers of build up which experiencing life tends to accumulate and envelope us with.
Don’t end a sentence with a preposition… why? Is it going to kill me? If it is… so what? If that is what kills me, then life is ridiculous and so is death and dying… and dying from such a thing seems appropriate. It would probably be the most appropriate thing I have done.
Or are you going to kill me for being grammatically incorrect because such a thing kills you… and you’d rather kill than be killed? Over such a trifle?
Such is… human.
“Lord, what fools these mortals be!”
― William Shakespeare
Layers and layers enveloping us.
Layers which are ours, layers which belong to others, both past and present, and perhaps even future.
Our layers laid upon others – I feel and think this therefore so must you… bear this burden… because I bear the burden of the layers laid upon me.
And so it goes…
“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.”
― Ernest Hemingway
We’re conceived (hmmm), born (maybe), live (sort of), die (uh oh)… and along the way, we think, feel, and experience…
We label it, others label it. We label ourselves, others label us… we label others and ourselves.
Enveloping… putting a stamp on it… sending it… giving… receiving… returning to sender… address unknown…