FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Once upon a time there was a little grey witty mouse. Since he didn't like his nest, he went out. After he had left his circle and had to face the necessary dangers, one day it met a cat. I mean, by cat, CAT. Only the mouse didn't see it, it only saw the beauty of the cat. She had deep black shiny fur, was young and had intense green large eyes looking captious into the world. On one of their nightly quests, they met. Though the mouse was skin and bones, the cat thought mmm, what a tasty bite, that mouse. Her hypnotic eyes sucked him into her life, as it were. And what never should have happened happened anyway, the mouse was very much attracted to the big black cat. But the cat only wanted to play and only her own game. After a while the game became less and less fun. The mouse retreated to his hole, which he had recently found and did not want to go out. The cat unfortunately managed to find his little cave and occasionally she lay down in front of his hole and looked inside with her big green luminous eyes, untill the point that the little mouse, overcome by desire carefully crawled out to greet her. Never, never a good idea. Eventually, after the game became wilder and meaner, the fierce cat left the mouse for dead in the entrance to his hole.

The mouse was found, looked after and recovered. He moved into the wide world again, seeking happiness. Never a good idea. Life certainly didn't get easier, but the mouse is still alive, much and much longer than expected.

For each problem there is a solution, but often the solution is a different one than you were looking, but is it still a solution then? Problems lead to questions, leading to answers through exploration. Answers that lead to new questions and often raise new problems.

Growing up and learning to stand on your own two feet, Carl Jung called this the process of individuation, is something we only start to begin out of necessity, according to him. It is the game of questions and answers, that must be played to infinity. Sometimes it might seem like a better idea to stay safe inside and leave the world around you to the world outside.

It is a clear, but moonless, quiet night while skipper Briny, from the bridge and with his binoculars stares up into the deep dark blue aether above him. As he often does,and thinks, "Let's see if I can see God." Immediately he realizes the foolishness of this thought.

Still, there's an old saying that unfortunately I haven't been able to place or date, that I encountered in a book by Aniela Jaffé about the work of Carl Gustaf Jung that reads: The first drink of the cup of knowledge separates man from God, but at the bottom God waits for whoever seeks him. In this case, a search that has been going on my entire life. Moreover, as far as I am concerned, the search for God coincides with the eternal and recurring search for the ultimate truth, with which it has not been said beforehand that those two are the same. In my penultimate blog pollination I explored the field of the unconscious as God, whereby God and the unconscious on a level unknowable to man, will turn out to be two different qualities.

Right now my thoughts are wandering towards Socrates and his last swallows from the cup of poison. It'll be that cup. During one of the apogeums of truthfulness, which my life has so far been rich, I received Plato's recently published works in a new Belgian translation. Unfortunately, all my attempts to go through this heavy work have been stranded in the translation so far, trying to stay close to the style and form of the original lyrics, resulting in an unreadable style for me. One of the texts that I did eat in those days contains that on the alleged life of Socrates, which is also supposed to be. Where have I encountered this uncertainty as to whether or not a spiritual greatness existed before? Signed by one of his students, the not entirely unknown, I hope, Plato, the question arises who is speaking in Plato's texts. Apology and Symposium. Socrates the hornet of Athens. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear the voice of that other genius, Eric Idle, saying, "need I say more? wink, wink."

Back to that time of true love of truth, it was the beginning of the 1980s, that my interest in Socrates and his method of calling fellow citizens in Athens on a, at least intellectual, sly way of reasoning, down from their self-chosen pedestal, which ignited a certain thirst for knowledge and philosophy in me. At night I wandered through the great quiet dark, lonely city, along the great river that cut her through and had my countless exchanges of thoughts with God. For a young boy, who had been meticulously and incessantly raised by his parents in the atheistic mindset of the modern heathen, this was an awesome, numinous step.

Unfortunately, 45 years after have passed, I still don't know who or what God is, if there is anything that can carry that name. In spite of all the people I have known personally, who, like the many texts about this enigma who deny that there is such a thing as a God, and despite all the unrelenting attempts on my part in the same direction, I still have a firm faith in God, or at least his presence. Whether it's Tao, some doctrine of salvation or the moments that Jung cites this discussion in one of his many essays, it continues to fascinate me excessively. However, it is much more than an intellectual exercise, it is my deepest and most inner, indestructible drive, which in turn drags me through this life, pushes me, pulls me, kicks me, cherishes me sometimes and then takes care of my wounds. I have no idea why this is so and whether there are many or few fellow sufferers around in these days of what is sometimes called "the Almigthy information highway." is mentioned.

While as a young man I had my incessant friendly dialectical dialogues with God for days and nights, so I have now had a period, which has lasted far too long, in which I argued with God and debated with him and verbally fought with him as if I was Job myself, without possessing Jobs pure and chaste nature. Although I, too, daily surrender to a constant and ceaseless stream of criticism on the way my neighbors and fellow citizens try to waste their time. Often I heard around me well-ment warnings and advices, that I would never win my battle with God, all alone against the entire universe and creation. What seemed to be an open door to myself as well. Unfortunately an open door that I like to slam in a high frequency on a daily basis.

After this lonely and unseen hell ride I now have the feeling or the idea that I have fallen into calmer waters in this respect. One should still, in no way, put any strobe in my way, but with due regard to the personal conditions, limits and possibilities, which I have fortunately discovered, there are times when I now and then discover a pale glimmer at the end of this dark and yet oppressive tunnel to which my life has become.

Standing on my balcony in the early morning, looking at the many stars with my binoculars, in this city that never sleeps and yet does not wants to do anything else, I have my moments in whichI think it must be possible to see God. Maybe I'll love Him or Her as vehemently, as I did in the first phase of my, yet seriously troubled, life. Hopefully I'll come to a redeeming insight and judgment before it's too late and I kick the bucket and, who knows, finally meet God. What can I say?