dr. P.

This week, I met an acquaintance of mine that I haven't seen in quite a few years. He's been living in the woods, alone, in a cave in the ground. When I first saw him, I didn't recognize him; he now looks like a monk. (My sight is really bad, so things like that happen all the time, people greet and I have no idea who they are, but that's not the point now.) I am not proud of my immediate reaction that day. Looking at him from a distance, I was a bit afraid but I didn't know why I felt that way. When I realized who he was, I was no longer scared. He's a nice guy, very open, and I do admire his life, even though it would be (or would it?) impossible for me to live that way myself. But reflecting on this, I tend to go astray. I become too self-involved, too self-aware. "What is possible for me?" Soon I realize that my reflections on possibilities amount to nothing. It's just a self-loathing, intellectual excercise in which I come up whith one example after another of how big a brat I really am. These thoughts don't change anything. That doesn't take away how meeting him changed something, how I learn things by talking to him. My immediate reactions also taught me something about myself. It is not fun to realize what an asshole one is. But, again, it is hard not to aberr from what I really learn. As a matter of fact, it's surprisingly easy to despise oneself. But self-loathing is static, it's the cynical, weary "well, this is who I am...". Despise and grandeour tend to go hand in hand: "at least I am able to despise myself!" Nitzsche: "Whoever despises himself still respects himself as one who despises."
When I started talking to my friend, all these thoughts disappeared.