On the Fine Art of Being Helpless

There is a special skill involved in living when you are completely powerless and anyone on earth can do absolutely anything they want to you and get away with it. I’ve already talked about some elements of that skill in various other blog posts. The key, however, is to try to achieve complete detachment from everything, including breathing. You cannot live anything like a good life knowing that any random person on the street is completely free to take your breathing away with complete impunity, unless you genuinely stop caring whether you can breathe or not. And it is the minimal brute animal functions, such as eating and defecation and sleeping and breathing, that are the hardest to stop caring about, because the brute animal inside all of us makes us unavoidably attached to those things for as long as we are alive. Yet detachment from them is essential if you are going to live a 100% vulnerable and helpless life, which is the life I am forced to live.

There is also a special kind of good cheer involved in living at absolute suffrance. Any career lowlife who broke into this apartment and cut my throat would just get an attaboy from the police, so, if said lowlife refrains from doing so, regardless of his reasons, it is entirely through his choice that he refrains, and I have nothing to do with it. That leads to a constant awareness that every moment everywhere, 24 hours a day, is a mortal danger to me that I can’t do anything about. Yet it has been 39 years since anyone has laid a finger on me physically, despite absolutely everyone being completely free to do so, and there is a kind of comfort in people’s forbearance from venting their natural inborn spitefulness on me just because they can.

The theory side of things is that viability is directly proportional to being able to help yourself. The more you can help yourself, the more you are able to survive. I have literally zero ability to help myself, which makes it an amazing miracle that I survived for even one hour after I was born, let alone that I have survived for more than half a century. There is a lesson in my life story about the aspects of the nature of reality and human life that standard theories about such things don’t account for. But I leave examination of that lesson to those who have some motivation to help the rest of the world, which I don’t.

 

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