I sit here, high above my Brooklyn city below. My view is west, blotted by Brooklyn Heights, down to Buttermilk Channel, up to the East River, across to New Jersey. My view is distance and beautiful. It is away. My view is a perfect analogy of my consciousness. Distance, away. Ignorant. Call this the sub-ego, a portion of the self whose aim to to protect the self by ignorance.
I once recalled the difficulty of asking a friend to lend me $20. I felt a heavy obligation to pay it back. It took a week, where I saved a bit each day. The stress of this was an emotional stir. At this time in my life, that $20 was a large amount to me. It supported me. It was nourishment. Today, $20 has the same meaning to me as $100. They are peers in my mind. This is not me being a braggart. Perhaps, it is more of a confession of how far away I have gotten from my roots.
The sub-ego, or whatever it should be called, drove me to seek out what I did not have or did not want. I didn't dislike being poor, because it was what I knew. And no one could have considered me a pauper, for I wasn't destitute. But as I reaped the fruits of my experience, fertilized by the many in my society, I became ignorant of who I was. I forgot the meaning of $20.
It's amazing what this apathy, grown from ignorance, does to the self. From my view, I can see the tops of buildings, the iconic precipices jutting out of the jungle of Manhattan. Yet, I cannot see the trees below. Nor can I see the courage of those willing to camp out in these trees, waving their fists against what they deem is wrong with society. I cannot hear them, for indifference deafens the ears. I cannot feel them, because I am comfortably numb.
