Thanks for letting me know I’m not the only one. I don’t know if it’s that common these days, given how precarious and regimented childhood has become. How society immediately pounces upon people with readymade discourses that drown out any narratives that would naturally arise. Discourses that place a thousand masks upon one and impose the lifelong task of tearing them off, only to find beneath each mask another one.
In ancient times, and seemingly in every part of the world, people built and sustained these narratives not just in childhood but throughout their entire lives. My experience has been a beautiful gift – a true, first-person understanding of primordial modes of consciousness associated with the perpetual unfolding of such narratives. Of being in an awareness, and being continually called forth to enact that awareness. To keep one’s story and the story of one’s people alive. Yet my experience is also the source of great longing and sadness – not simply in forgetting the primordial experience, but in the realization that such modes of being cannot really appear anymore, not in any sustained way, unless we somehow recover them in marginal practices. Unless we can root our own concerns in the stories of those who still have them to tell. Beauty, longing and sadness – they do not neutralize each other; they profoundly deepen each other when mixed in this way. Too often the longing gets transposed into mere nostalgia, a longing for past glories, rather than a calling to transform a historical beginning into a new and more original inception rooted in the here and now.
This is the place I am always coming from, I guess. But it is good to know that I am not alone in some of these experiences.