There is a peculiar play of forces which are not seen as force but as things which have been unified. Beyond the senses, and out of the understanding, forces make an appearance, through the laws of their existence, into the moment. Moments are tied together through force and are really one force penetrating another, overlapping and being overlapped, by the next and the next. This ‘covering over’ of the past is really the interplay of force, the separation of moments which are perceived in thought and implicitly joined to experience. It is the unity of differences, the overtaking by understanding, to string together an effect which begins as the cause of that effect. It’s reason reasoning; and appearances appearing, and how differences, unique and particular, form into one experiential reality. This infinitely repeatable interplay unites the different effects into one solitary moment, which the mind takes to be the real, before the next moment emerges and thought captures it in its unity and relegates it to a new unity. This commingling of invisible forces, through their recognition, hides reality from the senses and allows experience to be experienced. If these forces were, on the surface, perceptible, reality would become an examination of the thing-for-itself and would displace the thing-for-another. In that sense, they wouldn’t exist together and only for itself would the thing be true. All things would no longer have reason for existence once they end being for another. The world couldn’t be experienced as a universal entity complete with causation and effect. It would be a motionless, empty, world where life and death could not be differentiated, and the truth of things would have no place, except for which they would stay within a suspended nothingness of complete silence.
All things have in themselves the character that makes it both in and for itself and in and for another. It relates through separation, and is separate through that very same relation. Separation is a thing for itself relating to another thing that is for itself by differentiating the two. This difference of being is their very relation. And, that relationship would not exist if they were not separate by what they are in themselves.
In the relation of separation a thing is always a thing for itself. Its character, qualities, belong to it only and is, therefore, in itself through its separation from other things. However, this separation sets in motion a relation to other things by the fact it is not the other thing, which by that contradictory existence makes it relatable. Furthermore, another thing in itself, which is for itself in its separate truth, could only be for itself by its relationship of not being ‘this’ thing. Alternatively, a thing is only a thing, or a one for itself, in so far as it does not stand in any relation to other things. The things separation, or being-for-itself, is undermined by itself. It alienates itself to be itself. This self-alienation comes to be the unity of the many. This unity is characterized by all things being for themselves in themselves, but, in so far as they are for another. Without contradiction, opposition, a thing cannot stand out as a thing. It would annihilate itself through its sameness with other things. It must separate itself through being itself, but at the same moment, being for that which it is not. This is not an opposition of things being. It is an opposition of moments.
When we perceive an object, we sense it as a thing with different properties both related and unrelated. Consciousness sees the thing as ‘one’ in that its unity, its form, is immediately taken. Perception senses the same form, however, it knows that the unifying identity of the object is due to different parts coming together and becoming what it is in itself. There ensues an underlying conflict between consciousness and perception. Consciousness is interested in the immediate, while perception is always mediating. Consciousness senses unity. Perception senses the contradiction of unity; the assemblage of different parts and properties which are related to each other in the thing, but outside the thing are absolute contradictions of it. For example: a basketball is round, made of rubber, and filled with trapped air. This air, this roundness, and this material, are both independent and dependent properties of the thing. The roundness, ultimately always being for itself, if taken away from the object would still be roundness. The object itself may take on a different form, but the round shape will be independent of it. It will always be a roundness in itself outside of the object. Hence, it contradicts its former being. It is still round, but round for some other object. This ball is forced to now become square, or rectangular, and so on. The object, as perceived, is itself and not itself.
In knowing the material of which the object is formed, possibly originating in a dense jungle or an exclusive farming operation, perception sees the object as having parts that can only exist for that particular object in that object. The object, or thing, would not be what it is without them. Alternately, consciousness immediately takes to be what is before it as a particular, a peculiar thing that is universally recognized.
The properties that together create the thing will always be subjected, in one way or another, to other properties once they come together in it. These would be relatable to each other, coalescing and combining and, when not relating, contradicting one another. These contradictions, or negation of one property over another, is what brings an object into being what it is. You cannot have a ball without air inside of it, or the proper material to keep that air in place. Air would only always be air, independent from all things except itself.
Relations of objects come under spontaneous creation, or in consequence of their otherness. A ball needs a wall to be bounced off, or a bat to be struck, or a person to throw it, catch it, and so on. One object leads to another to another to another. Even a sharp object, as in a knife or long nail, relates to the ball since it can be used to puncture its skin, thus ending all semblance to what it once was. There are an infinite number of relatable existences which are, in effect, unrelated and independent. If a water fountain were constructed in the center of a town square, it would attract persons to view it and animals to drink from it. It could cool off a hot day and invite some to wade in its waters. If this fountain did not exist as the thing that it is and what it is not (not a cathedral or a house), in effect two existences, there wouldn’t be a convergence of beings visiting it; it would not invite a refreshing destination, nor would it occupy the space it’s in. It would not be for-itself-for-others, and the cause of its existence would have never arisen except in some other place, with other visitors in another time, if at all.
A simple ‘this’, as an object, is in its own universe and is its own essence. It has both unity in itself and with itself. Its properties are its own in a universe of infinite properties and universes. It cannot penetrate other properties, or universes, as they are also in themselves. It can only penetrate the ‘medium’ which holds separate properties together. They combine in their exclusivity, but are distinct and indifferent to each other. A grain of sand could be circular or cubicle. It has different colors, minerals, origins, yet it is one grain. Its properties are distinct and exclusive, but stay a ‘thing’ in their interpenetration of the universal medium that holds them together. It reaches beyond its specificity, in its formation, and creates a distinctive object, a universal object, a grain of sand. But, its ‘parts’ are still indifferent to each other and remain separate. However, for perception it is a granular substance within a world of granular substance and is never thought of as divided from itself in its specificity, but as a simple object similar to, and relatable to, other grains of sand. These differences are not immediately perceived, but determined by the senses as one object. Their being of separate colors, minerals, shapes, etc., they are indeterminate determinations, or complex simplicities, coming together in infinite, unsolvable, patterns of phantom-like entities, invisible and visible in the immediacy of perception.
Wandering from this ‘now’ to the next ‘now’, not certain which is the true or which has faded into contradiction. Stopping to see my shadow paint the wall, wondering which of us is the most certain of itself. It may contain more certainty as it follows my every gesture. But, I can change my movements, alter my place, and thus my shadow would follow. I may attempt to retrieve it, to run or turn from it, to imagine that it does not exist; closing my eyes and seeing only the walls of my eyelids as if they can disguise what is real or imagined; what drives my perceptions into a heated gasp of disbelief playing to the clouded portals of memories, which are only memories of appearances of appearances.
These meanderings into the past, resurrected from eternity, drop away like melting ice, never regained in the same light, but captured in the glimpse of an elusive gaze seeping deeper into the flesh of yesteryear. What goes around is simply what has slipped into appearances that paint the mind and crawl along a canvass of interpretation.
When truth is truth it turns to falsehood for qualification. When imagination renders the opposite of truth it is still only imagination. It can only dream of what can follow through the emergence of what has been. It races towards the carnage of life in an experiential madness, toying with the spirits lurking ‘out there’ and the moments that separate themselves from each other; each deserving a title, and each playing to the mind before a nightfall of despair.
We have, as a truth of our sensations, a combination of the past and present; of being and not-being; of presence and having been. The inclusion of negation belongs to every present thing. It is the presence of what-it-is and what-it-was. If I point out a house, then turn and point at something else, then back to the house, it is not the original object I pointed to. It has become a different now and a separate moment. The original now, along with the house, has receded into the past. The new now, which in the act of pointing is no longer now, takes its place. A new presence has fused with the past and this now, this object of my concern, is having-been. What I before perceived, along with other perceptions that may have occurred during my act of pointing, negated itself by that very act. If I move one step, my “here” is no longer. I am now “there.” My new “there” becomes my new “here.”
The experience of immediacy, once it is mediated, is annihilated. It negates itself as an immediacy by being sensed as an immediacy. It is no longer now. The pure now, which it becomes, never retains its purity as it dissolves into the past. It is a having-been. The moments of the past are the pure moments. They are our concern since we have them as always present. And, it is in the act of the past that the present emerges and, through that emergence simultaneously becomes not-now. If we stand above something, there is always something below. If we move to the right we create a left. There is always a before and behind. The universal is what-is-being-in-its-having-been. The now vanishes along with immediacy. We are alien to ourselves. We can never truly be who we are, but who we were. Our appearance is the moment of negation; of our being and not-being.
Time is mediated through the immediacy of the ‘this now.’ The certainty we attach to time is not that it passes from moment to moment. What passes is the now to the now.
We are always in the immediacy of the moment. When we view an object, we are seeing the ‘this now’ which has it. It comes to us as a universal object drifting from one now to the next, from one object to the next. The only changes are not in the objects. They are in the separate ‘this now’ which is the real. Our first thought is not of “what is this?” Our real object is “what is this now?” It is the simplest form of knowing, yet we suddenly are conscious of the thing in its immediacy in the ‘this now.’
As time passes, such as day turns into night, the ‘now’ is still preserved. If we write on a piece of paper that it is now morning, and in the evening see what we had written, we know that the truth of the now has changed into a contradiction, and we are in a different ‘now.’ The specificity we lend to objects, or moments, is what they are in the ‘now’ and not what they are in themselves. We are immediate mediators and we rely on contradiction to separate the now’s from each other. The contradiction is always between objects, but the now is always preserved as ‘this now’ which holds these contradictions to be the true.
The now is permanent. We see this permanence in the fact that all things around us change except the now. It remains, always, this now and this now and this now. We do not separate objects from the universal where they come to us under different circumstances and perceptions. They remain as they are and as the ‘this-here-now.’ They are in the moment…for now.
All thoughtful, normal, beings seek society. It is a necessary product of nature; a binding, progressive compact of providing security for its members as well as their well-being. It’s the basic makeup of beings to live in accordance with laws that allow them certain freedoms as well as protection. Even the animal world lives by particular axioms, mostly keeping to themselves, replenishing their species, surviving day to day in a way not so different from primitive mankind. Nothing in a society can remain constant, nor can it offer a unity of its persons, if particular segments of its membership decide to stray from the basic social compact and decide that the laws are not directed towards them and, moreover, are against their fundamental beliefs. The general course of nature is effected by the actions of the few. The consequences become detrimental once the detractors decide to take action and turn militant towards the union.
Within the different stations of life, the necessary and the determined will always fall into place. It is the basic course of nature to fill every void and, in doing so, apply an imaginary protective shell over everything. This layer of reason, in which all living things are encased, is the guiding principle, the destination of all, marked by the wish to be free from hardship and pain, and always able to fulfill, or control, all desires of a moral foundation.
The crossroads, the elements of incontrovertible calls for change, cloaked in terror and hatred, is a threat that man has faced from the first moment of existence. It is the contrariety that plays a part in all things; a necessary product of nature which is there to give a choice. The choice should always be for the improvement of life, or for the moral side of the choosing, yet, in some historical instances, it becomes an all-out conflict involving more than a mere few. It becomes societies combatting each other. Fundamentalists versus fundamentalists. One side embracing the illusion of a singularity of beliefs, while the other side always accepting the beliefs of others. In order for a society to be one, it must contain a unity of the many. The threat to this unity, the danger of undermining a civil society, and its citizens, is when one of its parts decides it must be the only part; the last word on all things and all lives. The never questioned, the irreproachable demands of the one party than grow to the point of destruction.
In today’s world, some are willing to allow the “one” to dictate, to decide the course of action whether it be harmful to the other members or not. This goes under the all-so poetic term of “tolerance.” However, it can actually be defined as “suicidal.” Those complicit with the subversive voices of the militants of evil and death, feigning their love for humanity through their attitudes of elitism and unquestioned terms of behavior, are more like the parents who insist on giving their young children sweets up to, and beyond, the point where they begin to run amok and destroy the furniture and harm the pets. These so-called protectors of humanity are, in essence, the tools of the murderers. They pretend against the truth of their compliance with these killers by berating and admonishing others who feel differently. They go so far as to name these “others” as racists, bigots, fascists, haters, and whatever disparaging term they could think up and falsely claim.
I would rather be a live bigot, than a brain-twisted, confused and enabling fraud who is willing to die on his knees and not fight on his feet.
The band, disguised as celebrities, journalists, “lawmakers” and others of questionable labels, keep playing the same tune, singing the same verse, pounding out the same crescendo. They will do so until their tune falls silent and their melodies of moralistic hubris fade into space, as their spirits fade into extinction. And those they’ve condemned with their elitist high-talk, can look down on their graves until they can be certain they’re dead.
At what point do we attribute personal identity to a person or object if they are constantly in flux? Can we claim an infant has such and such identity even though it is in the process of growing and aging? When that infant becomes a man or woman, is that when its personal identity is asserted? When a vegetable seed is sown and it grows from a seedling into a fully fruit producing plant, is it at that point it is identified, or was it when it was simply a seed? At season’s end, when that same plant loses the capacity to produce fruit, yet its stems still grow and flowers or seeds appear upon it, is it at that point when we decide that this is absolutely the identity of the plant, that if it had been pulled from the ground earlier, when its fruit production had finished, we could not discover its true identity until it lived on and acquired new characteristics which contrast with its earlier stage of growth?
We only notice changes in identity in proportion to our perceptions. Should a mountain range, at some specific place, lose an inch from its surface due to years of wind, snow, and rain, we wouldn’t notice this change and continue to view it as exactly the same as it was before. However, a smaller object, as in an axe, should its handle become cracked and replaced, would still be identified as the same axe, but we would perceive its handle as being different and, perhaps, due to a newer, stronger wood, feel lighter and easier to swing. The true identity of the axe does not change. It is only our perception of it that changes.
If we see a person at a distance they seem diminutive. When they move closer to us they become larger and their features more pronounced. Which identity do we place on this person? One where they are miniscule in stature, or upon their approach, when they’re seen at a closer range? If we close an eye, their approach is coming from the west. If we open that eye and close the other, they are coming from the east. Which direction they approach from depends on what place we view them from. If two or more are seeing the same person at the same distance, slowly approaching, their view would differ and the true direction could never be exactly determined.
Our perceptions depend on our memory of cause and effect. The way we view objects is in direct relation to our self or person. Objects do not change as they are in themselves. Only our perceptions of them change. Therefore identity will always be the product of perception, and perception the product of the mind.
The identity of an object is such that it stay uninterrupted and invariable through a variable length of time. When we consider an object, give it identity, within a diversity of objects, the imagination transitions from the many to the one. This imperceptible transition allows that perception will always perceive something; that it defines and identifies what it perceives, within a diversity, and that it would always be in distinction to the self.
The imagination is in constant flux, going from one impression to another, but not allowing all impressions at once. There must be a separation, a channel which distinctly separates one object from a collection of objects. When we find an object, within this diversity, the mind transitions to that object. This transition is smooth and imperceptible, but allows for the imagination to sort out its impressions and to “catch up” to itself so that, ultimately, a sense of self-identity is reached and a distinction arises between the self and the object.
When perceiving an object, or a number of objects, the mind follows a constant procession of thought in which we perceive all things as distinctly existing within one world. In a sense, the world is our first and last object and all things within it is its own diversity, its own multitudinous collection of objects seemingly to all exist in one place. We differentiate ourselves from the one world concept, counter the diversity of objects, by imagining our own self-identity, our own separateness in which we always stay the same and the only change takes place outside of us among the differences in which we are in constant transition. This notion of self-identity allows for the idea of existing in succession with other things, but also gives us a separation between the objects we relate to and the self, so that we don’t become the objects we perceive, but are at a distance from them; a corridor of separation in which we thrive against that which we are not.