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Can you hear me calling you? - Laughing Moon [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Laughing Moon

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Can you hear me calling you? [Sep. 5th, 2006|01:35 am]
Laughing Moon

laughing_moon

[playing_tragic]
I read many things on the uses the conscious self makes of the unconscious self. The prevailing attitude appears to be that the unconscious self is subservient and sub-par to the conscious self. It is primitive. Less evolved. The closest flattering thing I've run across is a backhanded compliment likening the unconscious self to an idiot savant. Brilliant, but in need of constant supervision.

There is an intuitive, knee-jerk denial in me towards such avenues of thoughts. The consciousness is the undisputed realm of the ego, after all. The ego is innately chauvinistic, rarely altruistic. How can something which has the power to kidnap me in my sleep, dress me up in bad '80s make-up and club clothes, then abandon me on a defunct bus stop bench in a deserted, desolate warehouse district at 3 in the morning be considered my inferior? How do I defend such a stand? So we (the conscious we) live in and deal with the "real" world while our unconscious selves don't have to deal with bills, bad hair days, boring classes or jobs, screaming children, jealous partners, and mechanical voice mail button hell. That right there should be demonstrative of the unconscious self's superiority. That it is above-it-all.

But I really didn't start down this path to argue or determine which is superior or which is the parasite. My thoughts turn around and around the as yet unanswered question: What, if anything, does the unconscious self gain out of its partnership with the conscious self? The conscious we seem to universally agree that creativity, intuition, inspiration, muses, and dreams are born of our unconscious selves. That without the unconscious aspect of humanity there would be no arts. That the conscious we descend down into that bizarre nether world and steal away a crust or two and in a sense, plagiarize ourselves all the while deluding ourselves with flattering self-casting roles of Prometheus when all we really are are milk stealing pixies.

But, what if we aren't stealing? Aren't duping some hapless savant into doing our bidding? What if we're being willingly given these things? But that still begs the question of why? The unconscious realm being the native land of the id and the shadow hardly makes for a sound argument that the unconscious is anymore altruistic than the conscious self. I know what my conscious self wants and needs from my unconsciousness, but what does my unconscious self want and need from the conscious me?

I read where the unconscious self exists in a timeless, self-contained, insulated inner world unaware or at least uninterested in the outer world. That we stumble into its cave like realm, get lost for a bit, stumble our way back out with miraculous tales to tell of our adventures. What if this stumbling is two-way? What if, somehow, someway, the unconscious finds its way into the conscious realm? Is as baffled and mystified by what it finds as we were in there? Perhaps, that's all a daydream or waking vision is - the unconsciousness intruding accidentally or intentionally into the consciousness. Am I as much a vehicle as I am a driver?

I am left with no answers, only with this image of two mirror souls on opposite sides of the same door. Ears and palms pressed intently against their side of it with curious eyes opened wide and mouths rounded in tiny, thunderstruck O's.

X-posted playing_tragic and laughing_moon
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