I am at odds with relief that man experiences when landing on ostensibly plausible explanations in science for things rather inexplicable. Who said we were born to find fitting elucidations to inquisitions, reject all other that is beyond us and master the art of complete universal manipulation? Is it not presumptuous to create black and white verdicts about the one entity that drives creatures? How can we mock and imprison it? Do we see the soul that’s connected to it? Do we dare accommodate mystical possibilities before discarding them? It’s our brains that refuse to be put under the microscope – they don’t take scrutiny well, for they weren’t made to be scrutinized. It’s our brains that refuse to let us fathom them, yet trick us into false triumph – in my opinion the “bliss” that is ignorance. You know what I hear at the end of every “nearly” successful psychological study attempting to understand the depths of us? I hear trumpets of delusion in a half-hearted reverie. Those who once claimed the earth was flat now explain our emotions to us based on serotonin levels and MRI scans.
There’s no denying the imperative part chemical balances and neurotransmitters play in the regulation of our emotions and brain function, but they in no way weigh heavier over years of developing ideas, thoughts and experiences. How does an MRI scan justify a recurring thought or a memory you can’t unshackle from your flesh? In terms of the dopamine levels it may circulate? Proving causality has always been condescending from the scientific perspective – and quite unsuccessful, too – but assume, thee shall. I say dreams are every bit as concrete as reality because they stir emotion in us. How do we define reality? Tangibility? To the sense of touch do we owe our ideas of “real”? Emotion is as real a “sense” as touch, and if dreams were to evoke in us true emotion, who dares deny us of that reality? People sitting behind desks who decide which drugs we must adhere to? If thoughts or memories stir in us emotion, how are those thoughts and memories less real than occurrences? Neurochemistry, for the alleged grandeur of it, has always attempted to provide foundation and hence, the answers to many disorders, including depression and bipolar.
I have studied neurochemistry with regards to psychological disorders – and I render it arrogant and sneering. It’s the empty vase, the illusion of glory with an empty inside that makes your voice echo for years. Cut your wings and limit your vision, adhere to all that’s objective, and abuse the universe. How do you justify the soul? The mind? The subconscious? No, instead of entertaining these concepts before proclaiming conquest over all, it merely shies away – disregards ideas that could open eyes to the possibilities of “what if” and infinity. It is infinity that science runs from, the countless ideas that it cannot validate, a thousand emotions that it cannot rationalize.
Science is in the now, always striving to explain, to legitimize. The before and the after, both unknown foes to it. The “norm” it keeps as foundation to base all relativities on may be just as unreal as it deems the concept of a soul, or the subconscious? What if there was chaos since the beginning of time and this is chaos that we live – even the silence with the eerie cricket sounds deep in the night which seems like calm to us, is in reality, chaos in another world – but because of no absence of it, we have believed it to be the 0 on our scale to prove its neutrality, purely to back scientific findings and feed our sanity, the 0 being the benchmark for us. Why does the “now” always have to be neutral? Real? What if since the beginning of time, man has known no peace? Why is there more solidity in the majority?
What are the preestablished standards of normalcy, and who established them? Humans? Science? God? What’s to label one human as normal and the other as one who suffers from a certain mental disability? Why are high levels of norepinephrine and serotonin normal and a lack of them alarming? Is it for the desolation it brings, or the desolation that is responsible for the imbalance in the first place? Is happiness normal and depression shunned? What if your happiness comes from imprudent bullshit and complete foolishness that brings no one any benefit, you die without playing your part? Wouldn’t you rather embrace your despair as warriors embrace their scars, and let them enlighten you? To understand, to see, to feel, to open yourself up, to feel your own insignificance, to hear the voice of the universe, even if it means letting go of the limited sight and breaking free of the shackles of the controlling science, and asking within yourself the most terrifying questions?
Thoughts are welcome.