On Feeling Good

            The meat of my body, and perhaps my mind (if the human mind even exists and, if it exists, if it is in fact made of meat like the body), is fully marinated in the Christian work ethic and Western concept of fulfillment. I, like the chicken breast basted in teriyaki, had little to do with my own seasoning. I received my spiritual and philosophic flavorings from external agents (perhaps in anticipation of eating me alive?!?), who I hope had the best intentions in mind when they began their preparations, but who nonetheless have convinced me that nothing is truly as good as feeling truly bad about failing to be truly good. The culinary analogy has gone a step a step too far. I apologize (apologies are crucial to the Christian concept of [un]fulfillment, as you will soon see).

            In preparing for a fast last week (which did not prove as successful in practice as I had hoped it would be in planning), the words of the 1^st century Christian evangelist Paul of Tarsus came into my consciousness (thanks, mid-1990’s Sunday School!). I forget the exact passage, although I know it is one of the epistles, but basically Paul states that his Christian faith has taught him how to be both poor and rich, both elated and depressed, both full and hungry; he knows (and this I hear in the voice of my dear mother) how to abound and how to be abased. The act of fasting, at least in the Christian tradition, is meant to be a physical embodiment of the understanding that first-world humanity often abounds (we have things like high-definition television, advanced healthcare, and the Internet), but we are rarely abased. We spend most of our time profiting from our efforts to survive and flourish, even if we don’t realize it, and very little time taking a loss.

            After taking some time for reflection, I have come to an understanding of why my fast was so unsuccessful. It was unsuccessful because it felt normal. What I expected to serve as an act of monumental sacrifice was actually quite routine. I expected my head to be spinning with low blood sugar. I expected my guts to be screaming for nourishment and attention. I anticipated feeling my human desire to live bursting from inside me, longing for fulfillment.

What I actually felt was a dull emptiness in the pit of my stomach, not an altogether unknown feeling. It is the same feeling I get when I seriously consider the fate of humanity, the state of current global politics, the order of human economics, the status of art and education within our collective consciousness, the memories of past and current personal pains, the anticipation of future pains. And this feeling leads me to disagree with Paul’s assertion that humanity knows (or should know) how to be both rich and poor, both full and hungry, both satisfied and unsatisfied. It seems that as a whole (and by “a whole” I mean that my wellbeing as a human depends on the status and wellbeing of my brother and sister humans), we know lack, poverty (both external and internal), and suffering very well. It is true joy and completeness that is unfamiliar to us.

I am a mish-mash of Midwestern Anglo/Christo/Conservito values, the American Academy’s maniacal and paranoid skepticism, and a heart (a meat part?) that simply wants some understanding of peace (in the all-encompassing “shalom” sense of the word). I have been taught that when I am happy with my current state of being, it is only because I am selfishly not considering the sufferings of others. When I am content with my understanding of reality, it is only because I am not truly opening myself to the realities of those less privileged than myself. When I am at peace, it must be at the expense of other people’s peacefulness. In short, if things are going well or I have hopes of things going well in the future, I must be doing something wrong. The true saints/geniuses/artists of our time having nothing to feel good about or hope for because they see things as they really are.

I often wonder if there is any space for healing in the world, specifically for artists and intellectuals. Can one make things that show his/her anger for the world’s sufferings without letting oneself succumb to despair? Can one feel good about oneself while still understanding that goodness seems so far away from so many? My co-blogger will understand my fascination with drag queen extraordinaire RuPaul’s catchphrase, “If you don’t love yo’self, how the hell you gon’ love anybody else?”  — will the Powers that Be (the Institutions we work for, the States that govern us, the Audiences that so often control the fates of our creative efforts) allow us to love ourselves and each other in spite of how worn-out the activity of love seems to be in the modern world? Or are creators destined to hate ourselves and the things we make because of the mysteriously-cloaked privileges we must have in order to be and create?

There is nothing so sad as emptiness that feels like fullness. I read somewhere that the stomach bloats itself when it is starving to alleviate the feelings of emptiness caused by malnutrition. I often feel our human feasts (economic riches, advances in technology and civilization-building, extended periods of time without conflict, intellectual and theoretical breakthroughs) are starvation in disguise. If they really satisfied us, I wonder why there is still so much human suffering, longing, and hopelessness. Why do things still feel so bad? Why does it seem like they will always feel somewhat (it’s the “somewhat” that makes it hurt) bad?

I don’t know the way to a road that leads to healing, but an interesting start would be a common human understanding that one does not have to participate in suffering in order to care about alleviating suffering in others. Our Powers that Be (our teachers and leaders) could encourage us to love ourselves (although, after so much indoctrination, I’m not sure I know what self-love even looks [acts?] like anymore. Would I recognize it if someone showed it to me?). Maybe they could even aid in our educational journey towards self-love. Until then, I suppose our best hope is every human individual leading her/himself in a revolution against despair (What are the resources that aid in this revolution? Are they available to everyone? Are some resources better than others? How will we know what the right resources are? How will we know how to use them?). I don’t know where the resources that aid in these revolutions will come from. I haven’t found them in the American Academy, Church, Government, or private sector. I have even struggled to find them in the Arts (that often cynical place of no regret). In our efforts to feel good in the face of feeling bad, I don’t know who or what will help us. But when I encounter her/him/it/It/them I hope I can still feel the help. I hope my senses for good/help/hope haven’t been dulled by my mis-education, the Powers’ obsessive and never-ending curriculum of self-hatred.