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by Ayesha Dhurue

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Posted on November 5, 2014November 5, 2019

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“I can stay here all my life searching for my soul even as it surfaces and hides back again. I can spend all my life on this shore seduced by this perfume of my being watching the grass grow out of the soil that is nourished by this force.”

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Susan Sontag’s writing is for the passionate and

Susan Sontag’s writing is for the passionate and the aloof. It’s for the performer and the audience. The tendencies of which exist in each of us. Her writing is the epitome of wisdom, knowledge, and most importantly, perspective. The specificity of emotions when pitted against the suffering of others. And still, it evokes disgust, horror, sympathy - all summarized in a single second, a final memory - through the medium of photographs.
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Photographs transform, they revivify, they infuriate, they provoke, but here’s what Susan Sontag considers in this beautifully intelligent book, Regarding the Pain of Others. And that is what if photographs anesthetize too?
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Humans possess the ability to switch from one mechanism to another. And technology plays the role of God in that it is both an enabler of emotions and the antidote to it. We lean more on immediate gratification than empathetic self-discovery. Only to retire to the world of appearances and find in them the dull passivity of words. So what can offer meaning and soul to the aspects of life that are omnipresent?
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A human is the loneliest person in a crowd. A human in a world of humans is a crowd. But Sontag’s writing paints a different picture. She wants you to imagine the limitations that manifest in a ‘humanity’ deprived of such a grotesque comparison. And the power of a photograph in a ‘humanity’ bred by it.
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Regarding the Pain of Others examines the conciseness of war, suffering, and history in the world of photography. Its role, comparison, and the Last Judgment. According to Sontag, the Last Judgment is not the judging of the eyes that view the world, the mouths that speak, the ears that hear. Rather it’s the judgment of the degree of compassion we all possess and deny. Photographs are objects of contemplation, no more, no less. In light of all this, can their role also be to steel oneself against weakness? To make oneself more numb? To acknowledge the existence of the incorrigible?

“Chaos is rejecting all you have learned. Chaos

“Chaos is rejecting all you have learned. Chaos is being yourself.”
It’s a rare thing to find in a loyally-pessimistic writer the bridge that connects wisdom with nothingness. Cioran writes about heroes and hermits alike. He shines the torch on the uncertainty, incompetence, and excesses of both. And the way they breed in humanity a need for religion, organization, and discipline.
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The book explains why myth and history manifest the ‘us’ of the world. This concept of unity and laboring humanity is the antidote to the ‘I’ that exists innately and primitively. It’s the way that we construct an architecture of calculated despair and suffering. The antidote to which, its medicine, is the hope of Fate; be it hope to overcome the dizzying nothingness of yesterday, today, or tomorrow. Or to hope that the wellspring of words and tears weigh higher against that which we have already lost on the day we were born. All of existence and existing, being and becoming, life and living is a method to analyze the monstrosity the lies between birth and death. To reclaim what we don’t understand only so that we never have to.
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To be born and to die are fundamental truths. While the “truths of beauty are fed on exaggerations,” the notion that to resign to happiness, success, and normality is absurd. The evidence of which creates false gods, fabricated fictions, and feverishly grotesque ideals to live up to.
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A Short History of Decay is the history of imagination, rationality, and myth. Intelligent, intuitive, and melancholic; Cioran penetrates the despair of humanity, anticipates the brutal expectations of it, and finally when all perception is void, and nothingness prevails over the scales of time and fate, he grants us the confidence of possessing an “I.” The loneliness of it and the unburdening of everything else.
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The book is about Simone de Beauvoir’s childhood

The book is about Simone de Beauvoir’s childhood and the years leading up to her education, her political and philosophical contributions. It is, in every sense of the word, an intelligent and liberating read. There is so much knowledge in this book. Simone de Beauvoir grew up in a bourgeois French family. As a child, she was torn between idealistic ambition and blind faith.
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What really appealed to me, aside from her existentialism and feminism, was her thirst for knowledge. She doesn’t linger on the fundamentals of gender: the roles of each in society. Rather she cultivated her own ideas and her own being. Her childhood, education, friendships, the temptation of ideals, and the rejection of them stems from her truth and self-awareness. This is also largely because she was a voracious reader. Though she sought human relationships, she found her solitude and individuality in literature.
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An empathetic soul is always at odds with the indifference of society and its apathetic nature. And it’s this compassionate self-awareness that grants a person a visceral understanding of the self leading up, consequently, to the world. And it is because of books like Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter that you want to justify having a solitary existence. To sculpt yourself from essence rather than appearance.
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Preconscious physic disposition - something that y

Preconscious physic disposition - something that you think about only rarely but that exists as your instinctual notions, ideas, and dreams. And at the heart of this lies Carl Jung with his Four Archetypes. Such an honest, radical interpretation of the human mind is bound to have you questioning the human psyche. Not so that you can learn to defy or deny it, but to restore the contents that seem to have been misplaced and projected outside the mind.
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Carl Jung talks about the universal collective conscious - that acts as the very core of all that we experience, even seeping into our religious beliefs, life philosophy, moral ethics, and on and on.
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“The mind is not cultivated for its own sake but usually remains in its original condition, altogether primitive, unrelated, and ruthless, but also true, and sometimes as profound, as Nature herself.”
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You and I often think what we think because we feel entitled in some way or the other. And the influence of this ingrained entitlement is often so vast and powerful that any unknown or alien state of consciousness begins to incite tremendous fear. But Jung also believes there is no position without its negation. The sort of yin and yang that seems to balance out everything.
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The Persona, The Shadow, The Anima, and The Self - all four Jungian archetypes are the way of life itself. They’re no external entity, just an eternal presence that you seek for your own existence; so you can live in a world without feeling like a stranger.
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It’s such sophisticated and symbolic writing. Ja

It’s such sophisticated and symbolic writing. Jane Eyre is Bronte’s psychological and emotional vessel - molded and contoured through vivid descriptions of nature, gothic landscapes, obscure shadows, and alter egos. It is masterfully-adorned in unconventional romanticism and wisdom.
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Straightforward, candid, and unreserved - Jane Eyre coalesces courage and impeccable writing to revise the narrative of the ‘invisible’ woman. The woman who is regarded for her words, her forthrightness, her conduct. The woman who is trained to expect less of society, of ambition, of unconditional love and affection, in relation to herself.
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You can feel the artificiality that society places upon the shoulders of such silence and inhibition. This book somehow scales the tides of such suffocation and discrimination. It epitomizes the complex and androgynous spirit of a woman who’s not deprived of her own identity. When a woman’s personal growth and self-discovery is not gauged by a misogynistic and patriarchal society. The woman in the attic, the merciless depictions of nature, the sequestered loneliness of Jane Eyre, and her devotion to her master. All these illustrate the undying foundations of womanhood misconstrued as servitude and meekness. Bronte reclaims, at an impressively confounding pace, the ‘coming-of-age’ of women.
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Feminism, equality, spirituality, freedom. Jane Eyre draws from many wells. It’s a product of Charlotte Bronte’s childhood, education, and society. The image she finally drew on 500 pages or so is a vivid and provocative one. You can read her “story” through the lens of many - Jane Eyre herself, Mr. Rochester, and Bertha. You can view one as one or one as many. You may perceive Jane Eyre’s devotion as a constraint; Mr. Rochester’s virtuosity as manipulation, Bertha’s terror as a form of subjugation, and so on. But there is more to the story than what has been written down. You, as a reader, have to find the creases that make the story complete. Your final summit is to realize that fertilizing moment of self-discovery in the story. If you have to be told when it occurs, you can never know. If you know, you know it all too well and feel it even today.

There was a point in my life when I thought that p

There was a point in my life when I thought that past a certain age, I’d have it all figured out. At least the “big” stuff. The job, the personality, the social circle (or lack thereof), and the ambition. Because then, once the dust settles, the blank canvas would have some boundaries, here and there strokes of color, the entirety of a portrait that not too long ago was poked and scrutinized by others. So that past a certain age, I have that portrait of myself, that totality of my being - you can call it my shadow, my shield, or my ghost.
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It’s because of books like Baldwin’s Go Tell It On The Mountain that the colors that were once so vivid have now completely evaporated. Because the thing is that the moment I let a part of my being harden on that canvas, let those colors dry up forever, erasing it would be just as painful. And to believe that I can be just one thing, possess one definition, the light of my existence goes out.
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Go Tell It On the Mountain is a book about self-discovery and individuality. In terms of length, it’s a short read. But in terms of depth, it’s quite intense. James Baldwin reflects on the stubbornness of being oneself. The stirrings of a soul to live despite what one inherits in culture, in society, and in the world. It touches upon many topics - religion, race, and family. The most vivid of all are the descriptions of people. Reading about the violence and misogyny in the name of dogmatic beliefs is difficult, I must point out. It’s terrifying because this is James Baldwin’s semi-autobiographical novel. And it highlights love, hate, loss, and gain. It reclaims suffering and heartbreak for those who are not equipped to face it.
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The thing about James Baldwin is that he translates the untranslatable. His writing is swift, poetic, and emotionally penetrating. His vivid prose remembers the horrors of inequality and harrowing scales of organized religion. You read it once and it demands to be felt forever.

To understand the myth of the hero, we must first

To understand the myth of the hero, we must first assume that the hero is real. Then continue along that trajectory to assume that the humanity that presupposes the role of a hero is also real. The truth, from that point on, is governed by a set of rules, tests that dictate the social and political bind that ties the hands of those it governs. The idea of the “greater good” is then used as a weapon to foreshadow the truth. Until that vicious cycle of heroic ideals is stripped bare and those governed play the part of heroes themselves.
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Dune is a science-fiction and universally-timeless novel about political philosophy, history, human rights, and prophecy. The story is a fertile soil possessing many roots. Perceptive realism, cosmic consciousness, the exploration of an individual’s instinctive, inherited state of mind, and of course, the deep connection of the mind with the body.
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The writing and characterization of Dune can easily be translated into a vast cosmos of ancient, archetypical, and modern structures. You can extend your hands and grip in each character the mythical and psychological traits that makes humans seem immortal. These foundations are familiar, debatable, and undeniably felt in both fact and fiction even today. Whether you digest this story as art or literature is beside the point. Because when looking for proof that rebellion, in any kind of social construct, is inevitable and hope is merely an illusion, this book contemplates what’s beyond.
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“Mankind has only one science… it’s the science of discontent.”
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Dune is the first in a resounding series of sci-fi novels written by Frank Herbert. I am convinced that Dune can seductively wipe out the illusion of the hero. In an interview, Herbert said that he wrote Dune “for readers who do not read science fiction.” He coalesces shades of religion, environmentalism, mythology, politics in an imaginative plot. The writing makes his characters futuristic as well as historical. A book that forces you to rely on your senses in order to be wholly read.

Hermann Hesse’s nuanced writing style focuses on

Hermann Hesse’s nuanced writing style focuses on self-discovery and the balance of opposites. That’s where the beauty of Steppenwolf lies. The story is existential and intense. Somehow the book also seemed very humanistic since it’s about a man who harbours both a humane and animalistic perception of humanity.
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Hesse navigates the dimensions of a self through Eastern and Western ways of thinking. It’s an unyielding combination of spirituality and pessimism. How such conflicting philosophies have been pressed together in a single book is astonishing. And the way Hesse has sketched his protagonist, and how he has carved out the world the story is set in, it’s quite extraordinary.
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There is no one way of interpreting this book. I’ve read this book twice and each time I have retained something new. The underlying theme of the book is very psychological. It focuses on the many layers of the self. The hedonistic as well as the altruistic aspect of human personality. And the infinite and chaotic nature of consciousness. This is what makes the book a must-read. The protagonist doesn’t feel alienated from society, he’s somehow the best reflection of it.
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Can a fantasy-fiction book push you in the directi

Can a fantasy-fiction book push you in the direction of its antithesis? Or are they somehow interlinked - both fantasy and fact - beyond what is supposed to be perceived as sci-fi? As I read Frank Herbert’s Dune, I’ve been yearning to re-visit my understanding of unconscious self-deception. And I thought of these books right away.
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In a sense, these books are each other’s contradictions. However, the anomaly that brings them together is ‘spiritual re-existentialism’. Hannah Arendt’s ideological loneliness, Jean-Paul Sartre’s conditioned existentialism, and Alan Watts’s philosophical spirituality. The belief that reality is an extension of illusions can often clash with our understanding of self-deception. Because self-deception, psychologically, is irrational disbelief. Ideologically, it’s a strayed belief that continues to place humanity on a pedestal before heaven and hell.
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Spiritual re-existentialism is to re-imagine the boundaries of self-perception. Is it possible to perceive a ‘self’ that is emancipated from the system? Does that nullify every strategy we have employed to glorify the way we see ourselves? Happiness, money, religion, faith, love, family, etc.
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When you read books like these, it blurs those perfect landscapes you believed you were a part of. Until all that’s left is a black, fathomless smudge; the stain of which deepens by every choice you make or the lack thereof. It might be too steep an idea to drown out. Because if I can read all three books and find in them existential, philosophical, and spiritual periscopes of wisdom, it’s only one step away from establishing a new, recognizable blueprint for existence. One that exists just for me. So that everything I do adds to this new transparent reality.
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This poem, 'Kind of Person', felt like a wave that

This poem, 'Kind of Person', felt like a wave that violently crashes into the shore only to recede into a flat, shimmering surface.
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One poem for my every mood, every now and then.
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#poemsofig #newpoem #poetry #poems #poetrycommunity #writer #thoughts #poemsporn #poetrylovers

“You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a p

“You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity, which is the number of grains of sand. The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened.”
- Jorge Luis Borges on Dreams
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After reading a book like Quiet, I wonder, how do

After reading a book like Quiet, I wonder, how do you become who you are?
Becoming yourself is a process. It comprises of hours and hours spent in deep silence and contemplation; figuring out YOUR “being-ness” of becoming. Every realization, every insight into oneself is like a thunderbolt - it evokes the most terrifying and beautiful truths and ties them together at the core. Perhaps this is one of the greatest and invariably the loneliest of journeys for a person.
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So when you read a book like Quiet, you’re not only mapping your journey, you’re embracing it. Susan Cain delves into the meaning of introversion and how society has characterized it as an imperfection; a deficiency that needs to be cured. The scales of the world are always in favor of extroversion. The world demands noise and quantifiable strengths. The louder that noise of the world gets, the more distant you become from your true nature.
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Debunking the fairy tale of cliched “self-improvement” models, Susan Cain explores the emotional and creative value of being an introvert. How solitude is a catalyst for innovation. And practicing introspective thinking, empathy, and compassion is more conducive to creating an authentic self than illusive gregariousness.
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The structure of the book is quite comprehensive and organized. Her ideas are backed by studies, statistics, facts, and most persuasively, famous people. So it is an eye-opener for someone who regards others as being either introverted or extroverted to an extent that it subconsciously shapes one’s entire life and how they communicate with others.
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From my personal reading experience, though the book fully embraces the introvert’s journey, it is strategically written to convince and engage the reader. While this is in no way the book’s drawback, it is something that I find unpleasant, and oftentimes a bit dragging, in self-help books.

Books like Sanshiro make you reminisce about that

Books like Sanshiro make you reminisce about that one event in your life from when you started to understand yourself a bit more attentively. When you felt the heights of your reality falling right toward the depth of your identity. When you began to observe the beauty in truth rather than search for unrequited truth in beauty.
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Soseki draws together the wakefulness of the protagonist’s young innocence with that of the chaotic and eager tide of city life. Perhaps “coming-of-age” novels like Sanshiro depict the loneliness of growing up in a strange place. Soseki also explores the ordinariness of existence. The anguish of bearing a simple life is enough when one is still looking at one’s feet before taking a step rather than looking up at the sky wondering how it came to be. It being the universe.
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That’s not to say that Sanshiro is not a complex read. It is. But it’s complex in a way most books aren’t. It’s intelligent in a way certain thoughts are instinctual. There is no structure or tenet that makes Sanshiro an imaginative and masterful story. Soseki beautifully traces the ongoing celebration of living. The places mentioned in the story are the places you want to visit. The conversations of Sanshiro are conversations you want to remember.
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Sanshiro discovers the timeless philosophies of Eastern culture - which is the characteristic takeaway of most Japanese literature. It radiates wisdom, freedom, love, friendship, and self-discovery in ways unimaginable in real life.
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A person’s self is everything that time fails to

A person’s self is everything that time fails to be. A self preoccupies space in translation. It moves through itself, through others, and through passions. Time’s ephemerality is unable to hook this net of presences that only run deep into a self’s soul.
Time’s soul is rather quiet, it flows like a river, into the ocean, and with it takes from a self most of its memories. Does time ever conquer a person’s self? Perhaps it does; when time is even more powerful in its own absence than the self is in its.
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You’ll never read any book the way you’ll read Lispector’s The Passion According to G.H. Perhaps some stories aren’t stories at all. They’re transient realities of dreams through which desire, imagination, and melancholy summon up the courage to shine forth. Every page is a contemplation of life. Every utterance felt alive and perceptive from the dawn of the writer’s mind.
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What is the book about? It’s hard to say because I’m yet to recognize what the reading felt like. Clarice Lispector writes like a magician. In this book, she has weaved together a very conscious way of savoring life’s idiosyncrasies. Her words are meant to be read one after the other as if new words appear anew page after page. As a book that hasn’t been read yet, it sits on your desk or shelf as a bundle of blank pages.
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Clarice Lispector urges you to understand her words as an ode to all the passions of the selves you’ve inhabited over the years. And as an ode to the unrequited longings of the selves you’ve had to let go off. She wraps language with the divinity of time and belonging. Only to give birth to a truth that is misunderstood and cast aside. That beauty is not the answer to a human’s miserly and intolerant existence, it’s identity. When for her “reality is the raw material,” language is the way she embraces to search for it.

Cioran parades humanity in a shell but then quite

Cioran parades humanity in a shell but then quite blatantly starts to pierce each and every corner of that shell. Not concerned with what’s spilling out. Just as long as it makes the reader more aware of that fruitful nothingness of life.
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Watch my full review of the book on YouTube. Link in bio.
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This is, by no measure, a foolish book. It is, as

This is, by no measure, a foolish book. It is, as the title so blatantly confesses, a misanthropic read. It’s sincere and grim. And it gets better as the story deepens and reveals its philosophy organically. Even better was its effect after having read Cioran’s The Trouble With Being Born. If there’s one constant in my philosophical endeavors, it’s this yearning for what exists independent of human emotion and thought. Consequently, it is what governs our lives so emphatically.
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The Misanthrope is Moliere’s play. It focuses on many key aspects of what possesses human consciousness and habituates the subsconscious. Since it’s all dialogue, the characters and their revealing and burgeoning discomfiture with society feel palpable, which is ironic. Their hate, frustration, hypocrisy, and outcries are general, not fictionalized. You can reach out and stroke their angst and nausea as if they inhabit physical dimensions.
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This play should be read as a serious universal comedy; where humanity is mocked and criticized for its coquettish and greedy mannerisms. Seneca wrote that “a man is unhappy as he has convinced himself he is.” Moliere wants this to echo throughout his play. That mankind and his genius, which is not a matter of courage but ideals, can never be reasonable. For in a world of fools, it’s better to be nothing than what the world thinks of as wise.
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So the defect is not in human flaws, which society often condemns, and paradoxically implants in our psyche. But it’s in the appeal of the absurd cultural and social conventions of society. The subconscious of the world that makes the world function on self-interest, meaningless embraces, and empty words.
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Books like Azadi, swelling with soul and spirit, c

Books like Azadi, swelling with soul and spirit, can be read in a single breath. And if you happen to read it, bit by bit, musing over her choice of words and her literary coordinates that point you to this human-made “doomsday machine,” you’ll begin to view the world differently.
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Arundhati Roy truly translates the untranslatable. Azadi, her book of essays, chalks up the discomforts and bearings of today’s world. Writing about the country’s caste, class, language, politics, and literary contours, Arundhati Roy has brought back the becoming and beingness of humanity only to plant it right in front of society’s inherently skeptical lens. Would it be better to say then that the horror of life is in the eyes of the beholder?
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The book also cradles Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things and The Ministry of Utmost Happiness. The depths of both novels, their poetic and political orchestra. Azadi will spur you to read and stitch together a present that’s quieter, perhaps less ambiguous in the world of literature. The questions that throw light on unsettling answers. The answers that overshadow the questions that were never asked.
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The result is a book that is humanizing and relentless. Arundhati Roy’s Azadi is not a calling card for action. Nor is it a staple that holds the country’s vocabulary together. Just like her novels, her essays are complete in that they are alive and intimate. They don’t feel detached or alien, even to a stoic, because you don’t just read her writing, you feel it like a confession.

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There is no other writer so gifted to have diagnos

There is no other writer so gifted to have diagnosed Time as Eternity’s disease and to have endured it as a means to verify Existence as Emil Cioran. Existence, according to Cioran, would be very impractical were we to discard all our illusions. For even a single illusion of time, history, or life is enough to propel the rest of humanity forward. Such a philosophy is rare because it ties up no agonizing ends. It has a language of its own that is perpetually abnormal, profound, and instinctive.
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The Trouble With Being Born is a collection of morbidly gratifying aphorisms about death, religion, time, history, and self-ness. The book has a bit of everything. No utterance of thought feels out of place. There is not a single alienated sentence in the book. Not the slightest trace of dissimilarity between the passages. I can read it over and over again - it is reality and unreality itself. What is when nothingness is the norm? And what dies when nothing can?
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Cioran’s “inner metamorphosis” through his soliloquies feels absurdly familiar. His nihilism is sincere and it does not nullify humanity, it resuscitates it. He would blatantly argue with somebody who believes that philosophy is optimistic. He questions normalcy as a disease of life; and life as “a disease of matter.” This is a condition we have manufactured ourselves to become everything except what we already are.
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There is no “whole truth” but there are varieties of experiences that we shed like dead skin for the sake of being born. And this burden, this responsibility, Cioran believes, is something that all of us will end up regretting sooner or later. Because to commit to any one ideal, in this realm, seems like a delusion. It is as it has always been and “probably always will be until there’s nothing left any more.”

Introversion- along with its cousins sensitivity,

Introversion- along with its cousins sensitivity, seriousness, and shyness- is now a second-class personality trait, somewhere between a disappointment and a pathology. Introverts living in the Extrovert Ideal are like women in a man's world, discounted because of a trait that goes to the core of who they are. Extroversion is an enormously appealing personality style, but we've turned it into an oppressive standard to which most of us feel we must conform.
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