Identifying the Identity of Identifiable Identities
"The real meditation is... the meditation on one's identity. Ah, voila une chose! You try it. You try finding out why you're you and not somebody else. And who in the blazes are you anyhow? Ah, voila une chose!" Ezra Pound
In times long gone, there lived a boy of exquisite beauty. Narcissus they named him. Many tried to woe him, but none succeeded. The boy took great pride in his beauty. Only one as beautiful as him could truly deserve his virginity.
On one fine bright sunny springy day, Narcissus was out and about frolicking through the forests of ancient Greece. Till he came upon a sparkling pond by whose side he lay and the grass along its banks cuddled and cozzied up to his beauty. As he glanced into the pond, he saw a beauty like he had never seen before! He saw his own reflection caressing the still waters of the pond. So beautiful and desirable was the boy in the pond! So delicate and oh so fine! Like a Lotus flowering on top of her watering mother. So beautiful was the boy in the pond, Narcissus forgot the reflective qualities of water. So enamoured was he that he fell in love!
Oh, Narcissus had a great fall
Oh, Narcissus fell off a great wall
The greatest beauty of them all
Scubbed to his own reflection in a mall
Narcissus fell in love, he fell in love with his own reflection! Oh, he was enchanted and enamored, and boy did he fall and damn me if he did not fall hard, but a nobler reason he could not find to fall! His own beauty and good looks was on par with the damsel, queen and the holy virgin Mary all wrapped in one.
And how the tables were turned! As many had tried to woe him, he now tried to woe himself. And how aptly they say what goes around comes around, as so many others before him the boy in the pond ignored him and paid his advances no heed.
Unsuccessful but unrelenting
Narcissus tried and tried
Until he wasted away
By the pond's side
Surprisingly and somewhat unexpectedly
From his pining remains daffodils arose
You'd think after a few days of not eating, drinking or sleeping beauty would disintegrate into the watery depths of the pond… but I suppose the Greeks always were a bit too idealistic.
The daffodil family falls under the scientific nomenclature of the Narcissus species. Coined by the Greek philosopher and scientists (two words bearing the same meaning to a few but completely different to most) Aristotle, who by virtue of being openly bi, Greek and wise had undoubtedly heard of the story of Narcissus. Having pined after one Alexander who was so 'great' Aristotle knew Narcissus quite well I would say. I believe a bed of daffodils was their first day.
Although losing much of its pride to humanity, daffodils still retain their founder's sexual luster and beauty. Banished from the realm of feelings, thought, and sex daffodils live and relish their beauty, while unbeknown or very well known to them, compel others to propagate their being. Perhaps Wordsworth places their surrealistic state most aptly when he writes,
A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
As beautiful as daffodils are, and as glamorously carefree as they can be, let us not forget their human legacy, the boy who gave them his name. There is much to learn and much to take from the tale of Narcissus. A tale so short and so simple and so illogical! A take which survived over 2500 years of humanity's suicidal attempts and cultural convulsions must after all have a few tips and tricks up its nonexistent sleeves. The obvious one being "don't let pride in your good looks get to you," lest you rot away at a time when all names of flowers are taken.
One more inclined to a natural world explanation might point out that a basic prerequisite of awareness and in particular self-awareness is to be able to recognize yourself. So Narcissus never really knew he was Narcissus or he was the classic hotty without an ounce of putty in his little cavity.
It has also been suggested that with the Narcissus blunder, humanity came into self awareness. If things were shaky till that point, things most definitely went downhill from there. Humanity suddenly realized it wasn't really that hot after all, neither was it at the centre of the universe nor was it playing the role of tokens in god's roulette game. To its horror it just realized it was there or alternatively here, and it had no god damn clue for how long it was supposed to stick around. Perhaps it was this premonition of the existence of the future, the need to eat to survive, and the comfort of others bringing you your food that the Oracle at Delphi had the words "Know Thy Self" inscribed upon its entrance.
Throughout known history man has been trying to live up to the Oracles advice. That's right, period after that. Most are more than willing to accept the identity given to them, while the few that seek it out for themselves, find little worth living for. For instance, Socrates really took the Oracle's advice to heart and spent a lifetime seeking to find Socrates. Eventually he realized he really couldn't know much of anything. Perhaps that is why he willing drank the hemlock and died. Around four hundred years later, a person would do the exact opposite and accept the identity given to him. Although little known is the phrase he uttered when he did find out his identity, "What? Whose son do they say I am again?" This man was to die, come back alive and die again for this identity. Some would call him the trend setter for being identified as sheep, however, around six hundred years before him was another remarkable playboy turned saint. When it came to identity he just pointed to the river. Perhaps the fish were all the girls that he swam through.
Around four hundred years ago from our present precision clock time, a tide of nationalism allowed us to add a layer of identity that till then remained weak and dormant: the self as a part of greater whole, representing all of humanity, namely the nation (till then "the whole" as god and humanity was just sulking in the corner). But of course humanity ended when and where the wise men drew lines on a map. This however had the makings of an identity crisis as there were way too many people with pencils and erasers. This gradually built into an acute identity crisis in the early 20th century, when humanity attempted a couple of suicidal attempts at attaining Sunyata. Sadly, the psychiatrists caught up and planted an iron wall between the world to sort things out. So here we are today, no iron wall, no solid "Other," and no drugs to balance out the self. But we seem to be doing a good job in finding some others….
A final note on our scholastic attempts to find ourselves: religion and philosophy, the two subject areas that delve into the quest for self and identity have rather wide array of views towards it. The answers, if there is a question to all this goes from "The Self? Nah! That don't exist" to "The Self? Its all love baby" to "The Self? Well I think it's out there or in here somewhere, but I can't really seem to find it," although a recent but minor revaluative revolutional revelation put it, "The Self? It's me! It's me!"
Judging is simple and straight, but when you start judging the judge and jury and every word with a jug, things get complicated. So without further adieu… Celebrating confusion and finding a misplaced self within our confusions, the Stationary Gypsy is proud to present our third issue.
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