Some analogies between life and mathematics

In math and physics, we often find equations which we cannot solve immediately because they are too general - we need what are called boundary conditions. These allow us to make the problem concrete and soluble - per example, if I want to find how the temperature is distributed in the room, I need to know the shape and size of the room.

In life, I might want to find the solution of how I should act. But this is too general - how you should act in what context? We have to first define what your space of action is, so that the boundary conditions are well-known. These boundary conditions can be your ethics, fears, troubles - such that they represent the limits beyond which you cannot act - and thus they define what your space of action actually is. Then a solution can be formulated - how should you act, given these conditions? Of course, in real life I would say that the boundary conditions are the real challenge to solving any problem. If I have a very clear sense of what my ethics, fears and values are, then I would have a perfect recipe to act in any given situation - unfortunately, the boundary conditions depend on the nature of the problem, so they are ever-changing.

Another example in math and physics is the concept of change of reference of frame, or let us just call it change of perspective. Some problems might not seem trivial - e.g. if we want to figure out the evolution in time of a spinning top as seen from an outside perspective. We can change our point of view, imagine that we are spinning with the top, study it from that perspective and then go back to our original outsider point of view with more information.

In life, a problem is often seen as unsolvable from the perspective of the individual. If taken from a different perspective, the problem might be trivial or even disappear at all - be it a psychological or a practical problem. At a minimum, a change of perspective often makes the problem more clear than it was before.

It is interesting to think that perhaps some strategies used in mathematics are general forms of what we learned in particular cases throughout life. I do not want to expand on this here, but just pin down a very abstract idea for the sake of later reflection.

The Ideal Tune of the Violin

The aspect of being was never easy to me. 

Ever since I remember remembering, I was in angst with existing in this world. It was like a disconnect - a noise produced by a poorly tuned violin. This destructive interference between my way of being and the tune of the world was the cause of my suffering and existencial crisis for about 20 years. How can a psychologically troubled kid like me express this pain in the most clear and concise manner? Even if I could, who would be capable of understanding my complexities, my own shadow? As far as I could tell, this shadow extended far beyond the capabilities of my verbal articulation - but it always accompanied me in my journey through life and was never ignored.

Having a different tune than the world can be hard as hell - but it was by no means the whole story. There was more - there was this ideal. The ideal tune; the pure tune. I could feebly hear it - far beyond in the distant future, deep into the abyss of my own consciousness and in the background of the metaphysical landscape. Every time I paid attention, it was like seeing this picture which captured the true dichotomy of what I was. This picture was two-fold. In the first scenario, I was in chains - weak, coward, oversensitive, destructive; the dissonance was the background music which I knew so well. In the second scenario, I was unchained - strong, brave, confident, balanced, flying; the background music was a finely tuned violin song.

I never knew why this ideal was with me - I just remember always having it, like my shadow. I tried desperately to make sense of this painful way of being to someone - to my mother (in her own words, I was an "(...) extremely complicated kid"), to my grandfather and to characters in books. No one could hear me, no one could tell me. Even the other children did not seem to have this dissonance - they were not smiling all the time, but they seemed happy with the world in general. This only added to my resentment. Having the notion of an ideal was painful, since my self-awareness was right in telling me that I was as far as I could from it - perhaps that it was even unattainable. The years of self-hate that followed were a predictable reflection of this distance that existed between what I was, what the world was and what the ideal was.

It was clear to me that I had two choices if I wanted to keep on living. Either I would bend the knee to the dissonance of the world and make myself one with it - at the risk of losing my identity and ceasing to hear the weak but beautiful melody of the ideal violin - or I would struggle to remove the distance between me and the ideal - at the risk of suffering so much from the fight that I would die.

The reason why I chose the latter, in retrospective, is not so obvious. As far as I could tell, the world was filled with people whose knees were bent to suffering. Not only did they accept suffering, they did not think about it - their shadow was the true sculptor of their way of being. Beings sculptured by shadows are resentful because they hurt inside - because they hurt, they hurt others, intentionally or not - because others are hurt, suffering takes over as they let their shadows tame them - and the so goes the cycle. Human beings can only stand a certain amount of suffering without giving up their construction to their shadows - that is because it is far easier, when you are tired of fighting, to give up responsibility than to take it up. I did not want to contribute to this cycle of existential suffering - so I made a choice.

My mind was made up on taking responsibility for my own suffering; on closing in distance to the ideal tune. The question is clear, the answer is not: how to do such a thing? It took me years of action and thought and destruction and reconstruction of myself to figure out the answer and a clear way of articulating it.

I look at it in this way. My shadow represents an amalgam of all my fears, insecurities and troubles. It represents the chains that hold me in my place; the distance that separates me from my ideal; the boundaries of my comfort zone. Beyond this zone lies what I do not want to face - darkness. At the same time, that is precisely what I have to face in order to get hear the sound of the violin louder and louder and get constructive interference between what I am and the world I live in. So I take a deep breath, get closer to the boundary - I am shaking - and take a step into the darkness. It is cold, it hurts but I can hear the violin. My eyes adjust to the darkness, my body gets used to the cold and when I look back my comfort zone is a little wider. I did not die from taking a step forward - in fact, I expanded my zone of action by being brave and thus shedding light on the surrounding darkness. I can now hear the violin a little louder and my being is more resonant with the world I live in. The answer was clear:

Whatever things you fear and do not face become your limits.

The things you fear are nothing but little monsters which, if you do not tame, will consume you. If you face them, the fear will eventually go away - you become their master, you are now in control. You take the chains that bound you and use them to tame your own shadow so that it does not define your limits. This requires bravery and suffering and determination - but as far as I am concerned, it is the proper way of living. I started facing my fears; speaking my mind even in face of fear; being okay with failing over and over again. Lack of confidence was tamed and it turned into confidence; over-sensitivity became balanced and I dominated the fear of being hurt - the list goes on. The meaning of freedom becomes clear:

I am as free as I can be, precisely because I refused to be bound by fear.

Along the way, I noticed that my ideal was way closer to me than I originally thought. My ideal was precisely the realization of the way for me to properly live - I felt in resonance for the first time. An ever-growing light circle; a dissonance that grows weaker and weaker; a gameplay between looking at my vast comfort zone but always wanting to step into the darkness, seeking to hear the violin louder and louder. Beside me, all my past fears that are now my friends - they are the part of my shadow that was tamed. Ahead of me, the remaining darkness.

Curious, excited - I plunge.

Os Frutos não nascem podres. [texto de 2012].

As Batalhas não decidem a Guerra, e os Frutos não nascem podres.

É como tentar remar contra a corrente. Quando se toma a decisão de lutar, está-se inevitavelmente destinado a encontrar obstáculos. Não há evolução sem desafios, é como tudo. Está-se destinado não só a sofrer, como provavelmente a perder batalhas atrás de batalhas. Dizem que batalhas perdidas não decidem o desfecho final da guerra... Mas quantas batalhas temos de perder até ficarmos aptos o suficiente para ganhar? Quanto sangue temos de derramar, nosso e alheio? Quanto cansaço acumula? Quanta esperança morre? Tanta esperança morre... Morre e renasce, demora a renascer, demora a morrer, tudo ao mesmo tempo. Existem momentos de glória, pequenas batalhas são ganhas, batalhas que, apesar do seu tamanho, nos enchem de triunfo e esperança, mais do que poderíamos esperar duma batalha tão pequena. O sol vai e vem, alterna com a lua, como se não houvesse espaço para os dois lá em cima; sempre foi assim. As tempestades vão e voltam... os fortes alimentam-se dos fracos. Os fortes e fracos lutam com fracos e fortes, e as guerras continuam, tal como o sol, a lua, e as tempestades, e o sangue, e a vida e a morte.

O mundo está para além do bem ou do mal. Somos um misto, um misto de bom e mau, de quente e acolhedor, de frio e inóspito. Somos um misto dentro de um misto. Bem, se uma fruta está metade podre, chamamos-lhe “fruta podre”. “Está podre”, dizemos com toda a certeza. Bem capaz. O que eu costumo fazer com essa fruta é cortar a parte podre antes que se alastre a corpo inteiro, antes que contamine as irmãs, as vizinhas, as sementes. A podridão alastra-se, e quem não vê, consegue certamente cheirar, esse cheiro horrendo a morte. Isto falando de frutas é claro. Falando de pessoas, bem... Como se corta o podre? As pessoas são feitas de carnes e osso, de tecido e nervos, de corpo e alma. Não existe uma faca que corte alma, mas existem armas que cortam pessoas. Existem armas que acabam com o corpo das pessoas, e a alma e o podre desaparecem por não ter onde se agarrar. Já que não se pode cortar só o podre, acaba-se com a pessoa por inteiro. Vai tudo à vida. Oh, mas sejamos sinceros, existem armas que cortam especificamente o que interessa ou não interessa, sim. Armas que podem fazer bem ou mal, mas são demasiado difíceis de manusear, que são mal usadas, ou usadas em pessoas erradas, ou por pessoas erradas, e que acabam por alastrar o podre. O que se faz? Tenta-se extrair o podre usando as armas certas, ou entra-se em guerra e destrói-se tudo por completo. Destrói-se tudo por completo, a outra opção é demasiado arriscada, é demasiado difícil, demasiado.

Mas porquê temer a podridão alheia quando já temos suficiente da nossa? E de armas na mão, as guerras começam, e o cheiro a morte e a podre alastra. E o sangue derrama, e a esperança morre, e renasce, e demora a renascer e a morrer. Enchemo-nos de glória por pequenas vitórias ganhas, e suores frios escorrem pelo corpo cada vez que uma batalha ameaça ser perdida, e o cansaço acumula. O sol brilha num momento, e depois não, e as tempestades vão e vêm.

E a árvore nunca apodrece, e os frutos nunca nascem podres.

My Despair.

I feel like I am inside a sphere made of despair. This sphere is contracting and I am at the center - pressure builds up as it tries to crush all that I am. I have been trying my very best to escape for the last few months. I look as hard as I can for some way out, but every point in the sphere seems to be exactly the same as any other - despair is all around me. I can see myself projected into the spherical surface as it contracts - it tells me both the present, the future I wish I could have and the future I will not have.

• I can see myself waking up sick and anxious in the morning, after crushing nightmares.

• I can hear the sound of silence when I am alone - a whisperer to joyful memories of the past. The unbearable feeling of loniless and solitude in this world.

• I can hear my heart beating as I run to escape depression and catch up with happiness.

• I can hear my heart stopping as I see my mother and grandma, alone in their own houses. They are decaying and I can do nothing to stop it.

• I can see my grandfather trying to give me the strenght to carry on.

• I can see my brother playing the violin as he remembers how much mom and grandma have done for us. How much does he miss grandpa?

• I can see the ocean and the waves at the beach; I feel the sand under my feet - I am happy in a summer that has long past.

• I can feel the embrace of someone who does not exist but who I need so much. Someone who can quench the suffering that I am feeling, even if for a while. I know I should not wish it - but I cannot help wishing it. Precisely because of that, I know I will not have it.

My dreams of salvation will not be fulfilled. My expectations, my needs, will not be met.

Help will not come.

Suffering will not stop for now.

The sphere will not stop contracting.

For the first time in a long time, I am afraid.

For the first time in a long time, I feel impotent in the face of adversity.

Hunter (x) Hunter

Suffering rarely hunts alone and partners with other hardships. Lack of sleep, sorrow, solitude and sickness are often seen in this disastrous pack, trying to take down the victim with their infinitely sharp fangs and claws, shredding through metaphysical flesh and bone of those which have the capacity for feeling. It is interesting to note that their hunting is not an easy task. Most victims do not fall down easily before these psychological overweights - but they do fall down eventually. 

When I was a kid, I used to fall down pretty quickly, to the point, I thought, of no return. You cannot turn a psychologically-damaged kid into a fighter, I thought. I am what I am, I do not remember ever being any other way - I do not remember not being a perfect prey for hardships in life. I will probably grief until my physical life is over - then, if there is not afterlife, I might get some rest.

Today, things are different. I have been through my fair share of suffering in the last months. Lack of sleep goes for my neck, solitude tries to drag me to the floor and suffering hits me in the stomach so hard I go to sleep and then wake up feeling sick.

However, something changed in me which I cannot fully describe. One one hand, these hunters do not bother me so much anymore. Their wounds still hurt as if I was in hell - but now I know I am not in hell. I never was. If I was in hell, suffering and sorrow would be obsolete - they would probably leave out of boredom because I would have nothing on which they can feed themselves. 

If I was in hell, I would be dead inside and still living.

Yet, I have never felt so alive inside. There is something in me that screams for more, which I do not know what it is. More of what I am right now. More of what I can deal with - and it feels so good. I am suffering and paradoxically I have never been happier. These days are, if anything, the most interesting days of my life.

I feel no fear of whatever is coming. I know I will take it face-to-face with hard will. I know I will not bow down to what the world expects of me - to fall down on my knees when I am struck with grief and shut down my feelings so that I can take the bites and live another day. To separate myself from the external world and avoid risks at all costs - even if it means hurting someone I care for. To lie to myself about what I might have done wrong because I cannot take it that I made a mistake. To hang on to someone in hope that the flesh of us combined will be enough to feed the hunters. 

No! I will take none of it - I will drink not a drop of it - of weakness.

Weakness is the price you pay for an easy, short-sighted route to escape suffering. 

I have taken what little I liked about me as a kid - my sensibility, my intelligence - and taken on the world when it challenges me, without falling into the traps of life hardships that so much of us fall for - without weakness as means for survival. I finally feel that I am on my own shoes, after years and years of trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

Now, it is almost as if I am enjoying the journey and the challenge of being alive. I have not reached any point at which I cannot handle the world because I am sick of it - I have reached the opposite point, at which I am ready to take anything and I love the adventure.

So yes, I feel awful;

but yes, I feel awesome.

I am still prey to the hunters. 

What I am not, is a victim to the hardships that are trying to eat me away.

I think that is because I am myself searching for something. I am a hunter in a certain sense (as all of us are). I am a hunter for more. I don't know what more is, but I have a feeling I will never get to it - and I also don't want to. If I get to more and I eat it away, there is no more.

...

The sun is not shining today - outside, that is.