The Season of Disadornment

In considering what to give up for lent, I ran through the traditional list of vices (smoking, drinking, ichthyphilia, etc.) but nothing quite seemed suitable. After all, to give something up simply because of pleasureableness seems to belong to the belief that suffering is a virtue, a belief to which I do not subscribe. And to give up something for lent that should be given up anyway seems to be a token effort. And so, I decided not to give up anything for lent, but simply to give up. That is to say, I renounce all claim to anything but the sustaining Thought-Fire of the universe. You might remember me saying, loyal reader, that if I am meant to be alone in life, I refuse to play. I have shifted from that. What I am and what I receive are enough; I have no need to chase after or grab for anything else. This applies, not only to intimacy, but to knowledge and approval as well--I have deposed my triumvirate of vices. I do not renounce the things themselves (what sort of a ninny would I be to renounce knowledge?), but that I forfeit all claim to them. Knowledge, intimacy and approval may still come my way, but I no longer demand them from the universe.

In the book "Culture Jam," Kalle Lasn defines successful living as developing a healthy "stuff to happiness ratio." Though a person completely bereft of stuff may not necessarily be successful or happy, between two equally happy people the more successful is the one with less stuff. It is not necessary to live ascetically, but one would do well to consider whether they are getting a good return on their investments in terms of actual contentment. While I am doing pretty well in terms of posessions (I have nothing), it seems to me that this applies to encumbrances that are other than material. For example, I have a complusion to adorn myself with skills--to be good at everything. I want to take tap and gymnastics lessons, learn to speak all sorts of languages, memorize Hamlet, become a cinematic connoisseur, etc.. What are these things but more stuff? To the extent that I wear them like a Louis Vuitton handbag, they occlude me in precisely that manner. My goal, therefore, is to disadorn myself, to boil myself down to the essence. If, when I become so reduced, I still want these things, then I can add them without fear of darkening myself to the fundamental light of the universe. It is this light, the Thought-Fire of Marcus Aurelius and the Stoics, which always passes through me where I am transparent to it, and which is God.