Tuesday, April 8, 2008


I’ve been reading a lot of blogs lately where the honesty and painful revelations of individuals astounds, humbles and appals me … and I’m not entirely sure which reaction is stronger.

Oddly, I completely comprehend the necessity to vomit out the complications of a wounded psyche and try, with words, to create a semblance of understanding. It is (I think) like lancing a boil, allowing the poison to trickle out, the pressure to be relieved. For surely, one has to expel the thoughts which tumble and roil in our heads, the twisted, hurting emotions which can destroy equilibrium and create an imbalance in our psyches that is detrimental and at times, fatal.

Certainly, the way my own thoughts tumble and fight and create in mind and soul confusion and a terrible lethargy, followed often by a rage whose very nature frightens, is most decidedly worth an outlet of some description! And when the ecstasy of an encounter leaves one breathless and so full up that your joy brims over …

But other than in euphemisms and veiled references, I find it incredibly difficult to open myself to the extent to ANYONE– something someone close to me labels DIShonesty. My own thoughts are inevitably couched in terms that are at best, open to various interpretations, at worst, incomprehensible. I just don’t seem to be capable of truly opening up … and yet… and yet .. I do NOT see myself as either dishonest nor by nature, exclusionary.

In today’s society where privacy is seemingly non-existent, where individuals blare forth every passing thought and experience in facebook, myspace, blogs, twitters …. are we necessarily being fair to those of us who for whatever reason – psychological, emotional, culturally, CANNOT or, truth be told, choose NOT to?

Surely the world is large enough for everyone?

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

`Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, `I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

`What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. `Explain yourself!'

`I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, `because I'm not myself, you see.'

`I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.

This, I find, an apt quotation in that one of the issues I struggle with is that we are all so multi-faceted, so complicated and there are so many factors that influence or otherwise impact on each of us, that a facile rendering of apparent facts can create confusion and false interpretations.

Does anyone else feel that way? That as time clicks away in seconds and moments of our realities, so that the imperceptible erosion of the thread of life which Fate holds in her hand is pulled inexorably tighter, that vast universes of experiences occur between the greeting of dawn and the cessation of reality when we close our eyes each night?

I have claimed in the past that I NEED writing in order to release the pressure of thoughts suppressed and a voice strangled in my throat. Yet, in hindsight, I realize in my own convoluted illogical way, I am incapable of trusting anyone or anything enough to vocalize – written or otherwise.

Not that I have NOT been honest. With one person and one person only, I have opened parts of myself and taken the risk of (and been) hurt terribly. Conversely, offering that kind of vulnerability also opens one to a reciprocal sharing, the blending of which is beyond words.

The quandary of course is whether one has the courage to choose the sublime, knowing the despair ….

In the end, I read the blogs and marvel at the courage.


Angel said...

I can understand your strong reaction to so much sharing being unleashed upon the net.

I once thought (and this was not so long ago) that it was horrible how open and vulnerable people let themselves be from putting so much of their selves out there for public consumption.

And then one day...I posted a poem on a blog. And felt so...free.

It was an incredibly cathartic moment for me.

In some ways, yes I do open up lots of my "soul" when I post my writing (especially my bdsm writing) on my Enigmatic Angel blog.

But I still hide behind an image I found on the net, on my blogger site. And so this way, I feel I can walk the grey area of the in-between. Very public, but hiding behind some cover.

It works for me.

Everyone needs to find their own comfort zone. Whether you may choose to push your own limits more...only you can decide that.

Angel :)

selkie said...

Oh, I actually "get" it in many ways; indeed, emotionally I understand the catharthic freedom of what I have always seen as the "public" nature of private journalling Hell, I've been blogging for years!

I know that spewing out that which is festering deep inside truly can be, in the end, a positive thing; after all, how different is that from the advice given by pre-net gurus to "let go of your anger".. certaintly facing up to things, owning them, vocalizing concerns, anger, depression, hurt, joy - those CAN help.

But the private part of me cringes at the thought of MYSELF doing that and crings again at the snippets that I have obviously let out.

the reality is that I find myself endlessly intrigued by the "global village" in which I now find mysefl

Buffalo said...

There are many doors in our soul. We open some to many, others to a few, a few to one and one to no one.

selkie said...

YES to that Buffalo ....especially to that last one!

littleone said...

OH MY GOD...... selkie.. as in the commenter on Buffalo's Ruminations??!!!

i was going to say that i like when people comment on my blog because it gives me a chance to read their blogs (if they have one) and here i find someone whose comments i truly enjoy reading....... wow !!!

i will be back to read more of your writings here on your blog!!

morningstar (owned by Warren)

Beth said...

Mmm. Thought-provoking post. I am guessing that I reveal more of myself through my fiction, than through my 'daily life' posts (not that I have many of those anyway). I can't not write, that much I know. I need it just as much as I need to breathe.

1000SP said...

The courage comes from the ability to toss words into the abyss.

They echo softly on the way down the well.

For me, it is the need to purge, to scrub out the buildup that collects in the pipes of my soul.