What tortures me? Surprisingly in this life, not a lot of things. Sometimes my body tortures me, (but then who is this me who is not my body?) and sometimes my failures torture me (ditto—who is the me who is not my failures?), failures in writing, in love, in generosity, in courage, in fidelity, in adherence to principles, in having principles. It tortures me that when I was seven I stole the shoes of a dear friend’s barbie doll, and to this day I cannot tell her I took them. It tortures me that I didn’t visit my grandmother more when she was dying or speak to her when she couldn’t speak anymore. Jackhammers torture me and jackasses too, and I am not too thrilled by the shape of my knees, but I guess that’s not really torture. In an imagined life the scale of the world’s violences tortures me a great deal more than it does in this life, which sort of tortures me.
I don’t think there’s such a thing as relative when it comes to severe pain. To me severe suggests the loss of the scale, the singular bubble that pain can form around you, erasing everything else. Comparison stops because there’s nothing left to compare to. Severe pain is almost by definition a kind of isolation, the fading away of the And and the Or.
What would no amount of torture attain? Hm, what does this question mean? Does no amount of torture mean the absence of torture? Then no amount of torture would attain a certain pleasantness. Or blankness? A kind of default, unquestioning autopilot? But if no amount of torture means the most extreme imaginable torture, then the question asks what is safe from torture. Only truth is safe from torture, I imagine. No amount of torture can ever attain truth because facts are not the same as truth. Facts are unhinged bits of data. Truth is something about the world. A person on the edge of fear and pain has nothing to say about the world. The world is lost to them.
What is severe? A hardness, a texture that doesn’t have any give.
And pain is the forgetting of all but one place and one moment. Pain is when your body thinks and your mind shudders. Pain is the warning that will not stop warning.
I didn’t used to believe in mind over matter until I met Master Shin, my brilliant Korean yogic cult leader in Seattle, with the black eyes you could fall into they were so very very dark and deep. He told me that my body is a rock but that my mind is the heat at the center of the earth that melts rocks. And he was right. And then I believed in mind over matter until I moved to Ithaca New York, which was sort of a rock that fell on me and squelched me and I didn’t melt it. Nope. I fled for my life.
I don’t know. To conceive of torturing…I want to say that nobody can conceive of torturing, that it’s something people do, and not something people think about. But I know that’s not true, otherwise that new movie ‘Hostel’ wouldn’t exist, nor the whole field of horror, I suppose, nor Sadism. And then, that’s just physical torture. There are a lot of other ways to torture people that don’t involve the body at all but that can be thought about, planned out. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.
This is too hard to think about because I don’t know.
Well, maybe the answer to the last two questions is that we cannot reconcile human violence. For all our modernist revolutions, our angst, our resignation to fragmentation, we can’t help believing still in some kind of progress, at least I can’t help believing that there in every place where people are killing people there is a reason that doesn’t have to do with the killing itself, and if the reasons were fixed, the violence would be too. I don’t believe it when I think about it, but I believe it when I turn my mental gaze away.
I do not think that humans are particularly resilient. It’s much easier to stop being human than it is, say, to stop being a mountain. It’s much easier to stop being the sort of human I think I am or seem to be than it is to change the sort of cat a cat is, or the tree a tree. Memory provides certain biological advantages but I think it is a bit like a kudzu tree, growing up over the self, overtaking the self, eventually remaking a self out of the past. Human beings seem to retain everything that touches them, to carry it with them, to be marked by it.
I don’t think there’s such a thing as relative when it comes to severe pain. To me severe suggests the loss of the scale, the singular bubble that pain can form around you, erasing everything else. Comparison stops because there’s nothing left to compare to. Severe pain is almost by definition a kind of isolation, the fading away of the And and the Or.
What would no amount of torture attain? Hm, what does this question mean? Does no amount of torture mean the absence of torture? Then no amount of torture would attain a certain pleasantness. Or blankness? A kind of default, unquestioning autopilot? But if no amount of torture means the most extreme imaginable torture, then the question asks what is safe from torture. Only truth is safe from torture, I imagine. No amount of torture can ever attain truth because facts are not the same as truth. Facts are unhinged bits of data. Truth is something about the world. A person on the edge of fear and pain has nothing to say about the world. The world is lost to them.
What is severe? A hardness, a texture that doesn’t have any give.
And pain is the forgetting of all but one place and one moment. Pain is when your body thinks and your mind shudders. Pain is the warning that will not stop warning.
I didn’t used to believe in mind over matter until I met Master Shin, my brilliant Korean yogic cult leader in Seattle, with the black eyes you could fall into they were so very very dark and deep. He told me that my body is a rock but that my mind is the heat at the center of the earth that melts rocks. And he was right. And then I believed in mind over matter until I moved to Ithaca New York, which was sort of a rock that fell on me and squelched me and I didn’t melt it. Nope. I fled for my life.
I don’t know. To conceive of torturing…I want to say that nobody can conceive of torturing, that it’s something people do, and not something people think about. But I know that’s not true, otherwise that new movie ‘Hostel’ wouldn’t exist, nor the whole field of horror, I suppose, nor Sadism. And then, that’s just physical torture. There are a lot of other ways to torture people that don’t involve the body at all but that can be thought about, planned out. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.
This is too hard to think about because I don’t know.
Well, maybe the answer to the last two questions is that we cannot reconcile human violence. For all our modernist revolutions, our angst, our resignation to fragmentation, we can’t help believing still in some kind of progress, at least I can’t help believing that there in every place where people are killing people there is a reason that doesn’t have to do with the killing itself, and if the reasons were fixed, the violence would be too. I don’t believe it when I think about it, but I believe it when I turn my mental gaze away.
I do not think that humans are particularly resilient. It’s much easier to stop being human than it is, say, to stop being a mountain. It’s much easier to stop being the sort of human I think I am or seem to be than it is to change the sort of cat a cat is, or the tree a tree. Memory provides certain biological advantages but I think it is a bit like a kudzu tree, growing up over the self, overtaking the self, eventually remaking a self out of the past. Human beings seem to retain everything that touches them, to carry it with them, to be marked by it.
