Alexander Cutting The Gordian Knot, by Fedele Fischetti

The Gordian Knot

Entangled

Ancient legend had it that whoever solved the Gordian Knot would rule the world, then Alexander the Great sorted it with a single stroke of his sword. The rest is history, or so they say. To me the mystery of the insoluble knot seems like a decent analogy for the human condition. Or at least in terms of my own peculiar malfunctions and deficiencies, being the kind of melancholic weirdo immobilized by a myriad of unarticulated thoughts and notions. It's strange, because in a sense I AM the knot and the idea of me is just another entanglement. Like my name, country, language, or just me reverse-identifying with whatever I'm not.

Either way, we're here and despite the possiblity of solving the mess that is us, maybe it's not the best solution. Actually, it might be a huge waste of time, about as much as waiting for somebody to unscramble those eggs for us. We're all more or less waiting to be rescued, or rather to be convinced of whatever we already know needs doing. A bit like Arjuna in the Bagavad Gita, who found himself psychologically paralyzed in the middle of an impending battle between the Padavas and the Kauravas. All it took from there was nothing but a heart to heart with god himself.

Spite

When I was a kid I hated school, about as much as being dragged to church by my catholic grandma. Me and some classmates would ultimately end up being altar boys. I don't remember much, but the sacristan woman asked us what kind of animals we would like to be, in some transparent attempt to gauge our characters, I guess. I told her about being an eagle and as such I ultimately flew away and stopped going, much to the dissatisfaction of my pious grandma. Truth be told, I'd rather sit at home and watch my sunday morning cartoons. After a while the church lady would show up at my house, a bit unannounced, and ask me where I've been. When I told her I was being bullied she sighed in relief and that was that. In retrospect I figure she just wanted to know if I was being molested. Fair enough.

When I was older I started skipping school and when the law finally caught up I was consequently institutionalized. Some daycare for troubled children, run by some doctor guy doing both therapy and the occaisonal penis inspection. Being a medical doctor and such he would also treat occaisonal wounds, like when I accidentely burned my hand with a flat iron. I think him repeatedly peeling the crust, in order to check for "dirt underneath" was just him getting revenge for me acting like an asshole. To him and the birkstock wearing Jeff Lebowskis in charge of the day to day business and moderating the mandatory group discussion. Conscientious objectors by sentiment, tasked with enforcing gun-free zones during Lego sessions.

I'm not sure what I learned from the experience, besides the concept of – or else. Don't get me wrong, I deserved an intervention (hell, I still do). It's just that instead of god setting things right, it was just mediocrity failing to disentangle what should've been split apart. In my case at least. Like learning how to integrate one's shadow, meaning the proper utilization of one's negative tendencies in a constructive manner, instead of denying yourself and becoming a victim in the process. Like Arjuna you need to fight back, in one way or another. Lethargy is death.

Pitty

A year or so later I went back to regular school. Most of my memories have faded, but one thing that stuck with me was visiting the fulltimers, who were permanently living in another part the facility. I'm not sure why I was there, I believe we were just picking up some food containers, but I remember standing in front of a room and seeing a skinny teenage girl lying in a bed, with tubes sticking out of her nose. We looked at eachother for a moment and I felt... like I was seeing who she really was. She smiled, the way only people who seen death do, and I pondered if I should go over and hold her hand, before I got shooed away by one of the hippies.

I didn't quite know what to make of it, still don't. Despite the slightly violent connotation of I've been talking about, I'd argue cutting through the bullshit is more than just that. Sometimes it might just be as easy as reaching for a hand, or sharing a smile. You're not the center of the universe. It's not all about you and your precious problems. I guess I'm trying to say your issues might get relativized when you feel compassion for the suffering of others.