Saturday, October 11 2014

Utrecht → Amsterdam → Paris

As the Thalys pulls irrevocably out of the Netherlands on its way to Paris my eye falls on the first line from a naff sounding novel by a Belgian writer (Niets Bijzonders by Paul Mennes) in which one of the characters is a zombie Andy Warhol, quoted in the review in the Standaard, and my eyes fill with tears.

"The pain is gone. Wow. For so long I had so much pain. I had 
almost forgotten what it was like to be free of pain." 

That is zombie Andy speaking.

The tears came because I realised my pain had gone. The pain of coming and going. The pain of somehow feeling responsible for the pain of others, one other in particular, but through her, other others.

In my own case the pain would have begun when I was about five. I don’t remember. All I remember is hanging on for dear life to this bear which had clothes on then, and the smell of the straw inside it’s little body comforting me.

And here I was almost exactly half a century later bringing Beer home and realising that I have to write this. It is important. What I have to write is how you can make the pain stop. Because the world is full of wounded people and their pain causes them hurt others, or themselves. Not because they want to exactly, but because they can’t help it.

People become parents because they want to be free from their parents. They think they have to be parents in order to feel like adults. The more desperate someone is to become a parent the more desperate they are to escape the feeling of being a child themselves, it is the only way they can think of to properly individuate.

And then they perpetuate the fault line with their own parenting. Either they do everything just like their parents or they do the exact opposite or the inverse and raise children who are unhappy for the opposite reason that they are unhappy themselves.