Four years of my life were spent writing, theorising, analysing and extrapolating about various social phenomena, mythological inferences about human origin, the psychological trappings that govern our thought patterns and behaviour…and so the list extends. However it was only in my fourth and final year nestled amongst the bookshelves and the ivy covered stone walls of the University of Cape Town, that I found true familiarity with the minds of the authors I pursued. It was as if passion had finally found fertile ground within my soul and begun to extend its roots. The cultivation, however, of this seedling has taken much care and dedication. Part of which begins to lack when the cosmic fireball that is life decides to throw various other passions, chaos and life combobulations at you.
Thus, today, when I found myself stumbling upon an author whose mind I practically climbed inside of during the writing of my thesis; my heart fluttered, my knees felt weak and I was deliciously reassured that my burning investment in deciphering the language of our mindbodysoul existence lives on!
Just when I thought that academia’s sharp jaws had begun to release their grip on my gypsy patterened skin, I have felt the grip tighten once again. And despite the biting incessancy my mind has of wanting to flee such complex and intricate thinking, I find that it is with smoothly thought out philosophising that a bizarre of sense of solace and calm finds its way into my existence.
The phenomenological and hermeneutic way of reading life astounds me. Maurice Merleau-Ponty will remain a kind of unfathomably brilliant hero in my mind and I take great comfort in knowing that I can quite easily slip back into this epistemology and feel star-bound.
My point is really, that, even after a large gap in between my last deep dive into the world of theorising and mind-cog turning, the passions of great minds live on inside of me and are of inexplicable aid to my mindbodyspirit development. It excites me. We are such wondrous creatures. The amount of wisdom stored in the seat of our souls is surely infinite; the mere fact that we can access wisdoms from a couple of months ago shows me how intricate we really are and that life is indeed cyclically interconnected. Wisdom is not linear it makes up our entire being, our collective conscious.
Thank goodness for the ability to think, to feel, to love, to write, to laugh, to cry, to dance, to breathe, to creep, to crawl, to sleep, to breath, to live to live to live to live.