Wandering in Wonderland

No, it's not Alice this time. It is me, the mortal being that dares to trouble the stillness of an already long established kingdom. The kingdom of wonder. And it is this moment that I wonder what I am going to say when I meet Alice. Oh, I would never try to chase her away from her own space that she's already been assigned to, I could peacefully live with her for that momentary instance I would be allowed to peer into this space. Because it won't be forever. Eternity is the time of Alice, she's bound to an eternal existence in Wonderland, unlike me. And she can't evade it. I wonder how that must feel like; the eternity versus the extraordinary touch of my isolated chunk of time in which I passingly linger in the realm of Wonderland. So what do I say to her when faith or some mischievous narrator interferes and makes our paths cross?I'm afraid I'm not going to live up to her wits. And suddenly a sense of fear overwhelms me. I shouldn't have trespassed, I shouldn't spoil the beauty of Wonderland with my rash worldliness, for it's a place where every line is wonderful and I can certainly say that it's not in my line to produce remarkable replies.

But what really makes Wonderland lines stand out is the very complexity behind simplicity, how could one create a grand content with simple tools like Alice or White Rabbit can with an amazing ease of spirit. There's subtlety in them, but it flows naturally like a water stream, whereas I'm bound to a conscious effort of shaping up my thoughts which to me, makes everything worse. I wish I could liquefy those thoughts and set them free like the afore mentioned stream like they do and that way not feel the pungent look of the outer self. The social censorship. The Superego. These "characters" obviously missed out on the wondrous realm of Wonderland which is why I'm here, while I dare to be here, at least while I'm carelessly throwing these words on the piece of paper, originally laying blank in front of my eyes. Yes, I'm here to learn, I'm here to heal that coarse, raw spirit of mine, to set myself free, a self immured to the dungeon of worldly matters, a self enslaved in a grey daily routine that the living mercilessly dictates.

At this very instance I can say I'm in Wonderland and I can certainly say I'm in wonder. Just about to plunge myself into the restful sleep of the night when it strikes me: no one goes to sleep in Wonderland, it's a constant state of wonder that keeps you awake. That's right. I don't remember anyone reporting Alice' bedtime, she ingenuously embarked on a continuous series of adventures. Boredom or sleep are simply markers of the downgraded humankind and Wonderland is by far a superior alternative to Man's Land. And still, here's a human being that dared to timidly pace into this marvellous space and to discover it with eyes wide open in simple, witty words. Oh, no, I could never pride myself to be that person; of course I'm talking about Alice. My immersion into this universe is nothing more that a mere, feeble copy less naive however, than Alice's endeavour. I knew what I was looking for, I knew what awaited me, while she didn't.

It is this very innocence and the courage to venture into the unknown that makes Alice a superior being and me, a poor observer fellow. Or, otherwise you could call me a cheeky intrusive narrator, for that was my part this time. Perhaps the characters took a peek and noticed the intrusion of a this queer being remotely reminding them of when they first met Alice and wondered, for we are in Wonderland, aren't we? As odd as I might have seemed, I'm under absolute certainty that the sight of me spurred some sort of witty exchange of lines that I wasn't able to grasp; for I didn't approach them directly. I dare not trouble the stillness of Wonderland. And Wonderland still exists. With or without me in it.     

The Circle of a Question

So I question. I question my questioning. Especially over my own helplessness of understanding myself and how I relate to the world. It's a whirling motion that tries to absorb me into the "what-to-do": go with the flow or try to resist the temptation of a comfortable trend and express yourself. But doesn't expressing yourself make fall into another overused, postmodern cliche: "being into yourself". Aurea mediocritas, Latin wisdom would say. In other words, find a "warm" way. Yes, so the answer to the deadlock is somewhere in between. But wait, here comes the real dilemma: how do you know when you don't know?Or if you ever know anything sustainable? I'm in a state of pure amazement at the frailty of beliefs. It's as if nothing can absolutely take a solid, unbreakable stand. And people need that. An iron belief, way, anyway you label it, to hold on to. To define themselves. So you build a world of your own, strive to fill it with a product referred to as a selection of criteria, values that eventually get to define you. It's natural in adolescence, but later on...?What does questioning stand for?Where does it stem from?Or is it just another discovery of an already validated reality that's starting to gradually dawn in you as you face yourself and the world: maybe the entire scope of existence and maybe not an exclusive one, but an additional hallmark of your self-consciousness that ruthlessly follows you like a faithful but haunting shadow?

It feels like a moving circle, a dizzying experience and the next thing you need is something to hold on to. Just that right now the circle is different and it occured to you that it's another circle you entered. An apparently new enthralling circle comes up, but it somehow feels painfully absurd. The Bildungsroman is no longer your trail, or so you fool myself to believe, that it is a long-forgotten path. But what really strikes you is the ridiculousness of the previous circle, belief, whose validity you hardly doubted. You are no longer in possession of that certainty. Gradually, a new one takes over, however, with a weakened strength. It's that very "what if" new companion that makes everything  fade away. What if the new circle is another illusion you innocently embrace just to let go when next one dares to pop up. At least "what if" will have a seemingly unshattered permanence in your conscience. Your doubt is your one certainty, dear self.

There's usually a title here...but there isn't one

I finally find that I and a Word document collide at a personal level. Oh, we did before, but this time there's no teacher at the other end to scrutinize every word cluster I might produce, which simply wipes away the tension of being critically inspected. I’m going to start by confessing that I feel driven by an acute sense of being freed. Yes, I feel truly free to express what I couldn’t voice before. Whether it was my own linguistic/emotional infirmity or it was society that prevented me from uttering it, it really doesn’t make the main point right now.

I come from a society that is still inveigled in a communistic aura, useless to mention which one, communism was terribly gifted in erasing identities.Why not admit it, we are still communistic to the bones and I’m a living proof of it. And what most people fail to understand is that the most obvious impact communism might have on a society is that very seclusion between individuals, doubt is disseminated everywhere; hence the incommunication. And when I say incommunication, I mean lack refusal to transmit a state of mind whether it is with another person or with yourself. So I should start by saying that having a conversation with your self is the first step translates into coming to terms with your self. It meant putting an end to a that “tense as a stalking cat” feeling. Yes, you finally decide it’s (high) time to stalk yourself a little and unfold what you refused to face.


Of course, there’s more that adds up in the equation of segregation, that is personal boundaries and the identity dilemmas that postmodern mankind faces, just to mention some of them. These are just few of the elements that sustain a such breach, a culture clash when exposed to foreign realities. You now need to re-create yourself, to forge into the mold you’ve already been carefully placed and you’ve kind of started to identify yourself with (a dangerous one I’d say) only to realize that a new environment calls for change. And change is under no shade of doubt an easy task; especially in the circumstances of emotional attachement to the set-up that you’ve first been exposed to. So what this situation obviously draws on is the personal effort of marrying an inner reality built in years of living in a dramatically different environment with a new state of things, new society, new ways of communicating; in other words, another level of relating yourself to the world.

What about this new world? What about its own incongruities? Does it show any sign of empathizing with the uprooted? Or you’re simply going to hit a wall that spells adaptation on every inch? It’s probably an ongoing reflection yet to find its resolution.




Signed,

The Questioning Self