From Procreation to Pure Creation

 "Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me."


           Many people have a very clear path in life, one that involves, first and foremost, securing a good livelihood, in order to find a good mate, with whom to have a few children, all of whom, they hope, will continue along this path as their parents and their parents and their parents before them. Yet every once in a while, for some mysterious reason, something goes horribly wrong, and one of these children may turn out to be gay, or, heaven forbid, philosophical. This is such a huge problem for so many normal people, and by “normal” I mean most of the breeding segment of the population, because the main force that has directed the entirety of their own lives and thought processes is none other than the basic genetic procreative urge. One might say it’s the true law of the jungle, absolutely binding for the very smallest all the way up to the very largest, yet this is a law that we alone, along with some of our closest cousins, seem to be able to intentionally break.


           The truth is that a lot of people would say that I’m basically defective, but that’s primarily because these people see all things from their far more common biological evolutionary standpoint which I just described above, and, basically, I don’t. Contrary to what they may see, I don’t think that I’m a broken machine, although I can understand how one might think so, thanks to this fundamental and often intractable difference in perspective. You see, I don’t think that I’m a broken machine; rather I believe myself to be nothing less than the very thing that “broke” it.


           It appears to me that most people, almost all of them really, are actually little more than machines programmed by genetic instinct to do what must be done in order to replicate their bodies, all so that, in this small and superficial way, they will survive. However, at this point in my life, I've become undeniably aware that I’m not the machine body that generated me, the shell that I somehow sprang to life inside, not mostly anyway. Because of this singular and distinct self-awareness I feel that I must strive to transcend the dictates of what one might call my “hardware,” because, when it all comes down to it, I’m much more a creature of software anyway.


           This Gnostic dichotomy is the best means I have with which to articulate what it is to be a Djinni. I am the sum of all my deepest held beliefs; I’m the ghost in the machine, the spirit in the flesh, the mind over the matter, the force that shapes the form, and, of course, the Djinni in the bottle; I am one big idea, complicated by the places where I’ve failed to resolve all of this idea’s various internal conflicts and merely apparent contradictions, but all of this simply means that, if I’m ever going to “reproduce,” it’s going to be through the replication of this idea’s constituent parts, and not via the perpetuation my body’s pathetic genetic codes.


           To put this yet another way, the call of my memetic legacy, if you’re familiar with the concept of memes, completely trumps the bland demands of my genetic one. Therefore I absolutely must continue to create my art, in one form or another, the more enduring the better, in order to survive, not only as an enduring resident within this body, but in all of the other forms that I might force myself inside. I know, without a doubt, that this is the truth of me. Even if most people can’t really understand where I’m coming from half the time, I don’t have to feel bad about this difference of perspective, and I probably won’t get terribly confused about whether I’m living my life the right way or not when compared to most other people. This is because I’ve worked very hard at understanding this one important point very, very, well, and, now, I really get it. I know and understand, on a deep philosophical level, exactly how and why I’m so different than most other people, and I’m grateful for this understanding, because most people suffer a great deal without it; in direct proportion, in fact, to the degree of spirit that they're unfortunate enough to be saddled with inside.


           To be perfectly honest I think I owe a lot of credit for my spiritual development to my first true love; a girl who, due to internal conflicts of her own, continuously turned my genetic imperatives back against me. I know that many women do something a bit like this to nearly all other men anyway, but in that case it’s more of a game designed to ensure that they each end up with the best possible mate. This game is just that, a game, one which eventually, for the good of both players, has to be won by someone. Yet this girl, in my opinion, had something truly special in her, which, for many, many, years, resisted the mating impulse like no other, and thanks to her, I came to feel those “other parts” of myself grow stronger and more undeniable throughout every difficult moment of this long and painful romance. I actually think that, early on, I made her my one and only true love in a large part because I knew that she’d never really give in; her dysfunction and autonomy encouraged my own dysfunction and autonomy as nothing else could. This, more than any other single thing, forged me into all that I am today.


           Now that she’s truly left me, I’m sort of curious to see which of us, if any, will backslide into procreation, since I know that we each relied on the other to support the détente under which we managed not only to come into being as we currently are but also to stay on fire for all of these years. Perhaps, without the other, neither of us will prove to be better than our genetic drives for very much longer; or perhaps it was only one of us, all that time, who was truly the “restless spirit,” and the other will soon abandon all art and simply settle down into domestic bliss; but perhaps, and this is my sincerest hope, we’ve each forged the other into a rare and inextinguishable demiurgic force, one that, henceforth, has little choice but to breed an endless line of lesser spirits like itself, as well as countless other new and fantastic dreams; for primordial beings, such as we may now prove to be, can never truly die.

 
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