Zoon Politikon

3:09pm 2-7-12

I remember looking into the bathroom mirror after a light tiffy with my parents about something petty. Perhaps it was about a ski trip or something along those lines. For the sake of this argument, lets just say it was about a ski trip. The physical act of skiing is "free". Every step along the way costs money.

- hats

- gloves

- ski suit

- helmut

- skis/re-waxed

- etc...

Not to mention it costs money to buy gas to even travel to the slopes. Even food (which should come from the ground naturally) is costly.

I looked around the bathroom in attempt to find something entirely free. Toothbrush- there was a price-tag right on it...next. Washcloth- even though the wash cloth predated me, it was purchased at some point. The only way that wash cloth would be entirely free would be if somebody made the fabric with their own two hands. Even then the person would have to had purchased the thread. No? Okay so I already had the sheep, trimmed his coat and spun the thread. At some point, one would have had to trade something (monetary exchange or trade of great substantial value) for the sheep. Perhaps this sheep was found in a meadow someplace and some ancestor took it into farm-tended captivity. How unrealistic is that? NOTHING is free. We are all forced by a socio-political structure to act as robots. I play my part and you play yours. Ho anthropos phusei politikon zoon.

La Maison du Macaron

11:30am Saturday, Nov. 12

I'm sitting in a cafe called 'La Maison du Macaron' on 23rd street. Rachel and I are going to a lecture and the early bird that I am (joke...insert laugh here) decided to wake up and get things done and then go out to breakfast followed by a long walk. So here I am at 11:30am sitting in a cafe sipping tea and reading Plato. I'm reading about how the body prevents the soul from achieving ultimate knowledge due to the body's automatic response to experience through perception (sense perception). Socrates discusses how people are so distracted by material and the pleasures associated with that obsession that the soul is distracted...hidden and masked, inaccessible. That being said, I am sitting on this couch at the cafe livid. I'm angry and distracted by the Woody Allen voice behind me who has been rambling on and on for the past 30 minutes about the iphone and how amazing it is. This extension of the body, this miracle of an object has the ability to 'know your voice'. This object, if lost, can be tracked by GPS from your very own Macbook pro (of course 'pro'), iPod, iPad, iTouch or any other technological device, which would be very well lingering in your bag (fully equipped with a padded space- sleek enough to protect any metallic product). So here I am sitting reading about how terrible these pleasures are...these pleasures experienced through superficial interaction between the body and object. I sit here asking myself how I can live a 'pure' life in a city. My body is forced, like a lab rat in a maze, to travel this labyrinth; blind to the forced structure. I'm that test. I am that rat, evolved from all 4 legs to 2 heeled feet talking the grid of the city in search of....of what? According to Plato, only the 'wisest of men' accept their life is in the hands of the gods. Only a foolish man is rumored to resist this grid-like structure questioning their fate, their free-will. Okay....well...here Socrates is discussing suicide and why only a foolish man would not trust in the gods with their decision to separate their body from soul by way of death when time permits. So here I am sitting in this lab we like to call the world...no, universe or how about galaxy? Here I am, a spec of a being, sipping tea and reading Plato, entirely sickened to my stomach (at the expense of being late to a gallery lecture) listening to the blindness, listening to the retrogressive murmur behind me rattle off about the GPS system on his 10 technological devices.

My palms are sweaty, my forehead is wrinkled, my eyes are squinted as I read from the dead words of this bound book. I hear the final words from the man behind me responding to another lab rat, lost as a heartbeat of his bodily extension is about to loose charge. He is scurrying about the shop in search of a plug. Woody Allan, behind me, helps him out: 'Oh yeah, hey...yeah they don't have working outlets here. Yeah, they cut off access so when I want to charge up, I go to the Starbucks next door.' Naturally, I already knew this within the first few minutes here and have my distracting connection to the rest of society (my iPhone), plugged in behind the counter so that I can maintain a heartbeat for the duration of the day...so I can assure my friends that I haven't dissolved entirely if I don't respond to their text, call, poke, e-mail, tweet, wall-post, blog post, instant message, Skype, Face-time or video chat request.

The weight on my shoulders is unbearable, yet I am used to it. This is my identity, both physical and then there is my cyber counterpart. Valid, both valid as 'me'. Is death really the only way I can access my soul? How does Plato even come to this conclusion? Does his soul really somehow convey its past, since it is immortal? On what grounds does he make this claim anyway? If its previous manifestation was in another 'good' man, once locked in another body, knowledge cannot be accessed, god forbid, by a thinker such as our dearest Socrates. Why should I believe him? Why should I listen to him when he assumes, 'It really has been shown to us that, if we are even to have pure knowledge, we must escape from the body and observe things in themselves with the soul by itself. It seems likely that we shall, only then, when we are dead, attain that which we desire and of which we claim to be lovers, namely, wisdom, as our argument shows, not while we live; for if it is impossible to attain any pure knowledge with the body, then one of the two things is true: either we can never attain knowledge or we can do so after death' (Phaedo, 65d 6-67a 1).

Death it is! Well, no. I suppose if I took my own life in search of achieving ultimate knowledge, not only would I be a 'foolish' woman, but I would feel horrible about gipping my parents on their poor investment decision. Anyway, what actions and choices in my mortal life can even shape my soul? What is one suppose to do once told that perceptions are a distraction, that perceptions are deceiving? Experience is made possible through the use of the senses so without those 5 gifts, there is only the mind, which cannot think without learning. How does one learn? Touch, smell, sight, taste, and through auditory forms. No, I believe my search is made valid through my sweaty palms, my visceral reaction to the petty and superficial talk of plugs, of material clutter. Even in 400 B.C.E. If it was an issue then, Plato must be lingering around this coffee shop shaking his head and saying 'tisk, tisk'. By, Zeus! Look at the time! I best be on my way, as it's 12:26pm and the lecture is far away. I must retrieve my plugged-in mobile device and make a few 'connections'. Thank you, grey notebook, for indulging in thought with me, for listening to the rambling thoughts in this tea-stained journal of a high-heeled fashion major, this 22 year old girl in New York, sucked into superficial clutter, craving materiality. Dare I say that I can only really appreciate the rawness of each indulgence experienced when blind to the form of another? 12:37pm. I'm late.

Money, numbers, symbols

How can one claim ownership over words?

Do you own a series of letters?

They are nothing but a series of symbols, in which,

we as a cult, the cult of humans place a high value on.

We trade pieces of paper day in and out

and take pride over how many pieces we have.

It is all in wires, tangled, coded in zeros and ones, waiting patiently to be traded again, yet hands don't touch hands.

It is all relative, this happiness we claim.

By the by, these words, these symbols belong to Rebecca B. Joslow so don't steal them because that isn't virtuous, right? Ha.

Thoughts for Sale

If the thoughts I think happen in *$ (Starbucks...clever, eh?) and the only way I can sit here is through monetary exchange, which provides me with tea, then following this logic, the quantitative value of today's thoughts=X. Are today's thoughts valuable at X and to whom? To one person, these thoughts can be exchanged for whatever the person values to the same degree. I just traded $3.75 for a cup of hot tea, which is now lukewarm. I enjoyed the creamy froth at the surface of the cup and found myself calculating how much happiness that brought to me. After I finished the froth, I was left with a tall cup of Starbucks Chai Tea and as I look at the cup, all I am left with is the memory- a perception based on experience (some form of empiricism), which is no longer. That happiness lasted a very short period of time and I wonder what thoughts were released during those moments of happiness, which brought me to what I am thinking and subsequently writing about now. By suppressing the feelings and hindering the ideas, which would have been to follow, if I didn't have work to do, I will never know what X could have valued. If I were true to my inquiries, I would not be able to tell people my true thoughts without an equal exchange. Why, you ask? The foundation of the universe was created and sustained through balance and opposites. If it isn't ultimately true, rationalists do a darn convincing job proving the false truths. I really think that I should get some work done and put a dent in my reading. I am only getting one tea today, only one cup of caffeine to keep my mind awake so X=$3.75. If you are reading this, you are reading this for free, and I hope you realize the mentally manipulative effect I made on you for not paying me X.

Side note: This was written in my journal at Starbucks. I used watercolor pencils to color in the illustration I made on the bottom of the page and used the last drip of my chai to blend the color. The perfect blend.

My mind travels in and out of focus.

My mind travels in and out of focus. Pain and pleasure are opposites so both are crucial for harmony and balance. What are emotions? Can they be categorized if they are impulses, different to each person? Maybe, as Plato observes, pleasure is a distraction from the soul. "And indeed the soul reasons best when none of these senses troubles it, neither hearing nor sight, nor pain nor pleasure, but when it is most by itself, taking leave of the body and as far as possible having no contact or association with it in its search for reality." That can't be right because it is through my own senses, that I have ever experienced the closest alignment of body to soul. Heightened senses are what make me more aware of the world, so as I see it, that is how I get closer to my soul, whatever that may be. Senses aren't a distraction, they are enablers. When one sense is used at a time, in conjunction with the mind, I have a greater awareness of experience.

From questioning the intangible, hypothetical beliefs, to discussing such absurd concepts as tangible land is petty and it makes me sick. It is embarrassing to call myself a human, with such barbaric actions "we" stand for. Land, laws, amendments? Who are we and what is this nonsense? Are we conditioned to fight? What is this territorial issue about? Humans are so out of touch with their own purpose that their interests subconsciously shift to the pettiness of ownership. Does it make them happy? At the end of the day, what is the value of that apparent "happiness"? Ownership is connected to happiness. Where does this happiness manifest itself and what is the value of it and to whom does it concern? I am never really sure what brings me true happiness versus what I am trained to associate with that feeling. I don't want to live a mediocre life in the brink of falling. Is anybody truly content?

Plato suggests that senses are distracting to the soul. I believe that my senses enhance my experience of life and impressions are based off a series of perceptions, churned by senses. Though the body dies and the soul continues, being swallowed by yet another form of physicality, this body holds captive the only soul it will know until my heart stops. If I'm trained to enjoy taste, smell, touch, soul and sight, then why not grab life by the horns and and embody these senses? To Plato, they are superficial and distracting but at the same time, I cannot be sure if souls are immortal so why waste a life denying my seemingly superficial senses? I should spend a day in Central Park and break up my day through measured time, experiences each of my senses individually. What a thought!...I suppose this is a circle without a kink so I should end now.

Reflecting on Taglit

I went to the Jewish quarter and prayed at The Kotel (Western Wall). I have heard stories of people breaking down from overwhelming emotion at the Western Wall. I did what I was supposed to and wrote a note but questioned it as a methodology of communication to G-d. I stood there and kissed the Western Wall, noting in my journal:

“bowing, crying, consoling, bowing again, eyes closed.

Backing up from the wall. I kissed it. I will forever be on that wall long after my physical body. Time and place. Is this a 2,000-year remorse for the loss of the Second Temple or are these people crying for their own personal losses. In the grand scheme of things, life, what will this one prayer do? What will these 60 seconds do? What will become of paper I just jammed into a crack in the wall? Will its message transcend? Transcend to where, a geographical location?”

I backed up from the Kotel. I wasn’t content and didn’t quite feel the connection emphasized by so many people.

A few days later, 8 Israeli soldiers joined our trip. We introduced ourselves and did a few icebreakers. At age 18, Americans are given freedom to make their own choices, go to college, not go to college, work, move away or do what we choose. At age 18, Israelis have their freedom taken away. They join the military and defend their country. Over the course of the trip, I discovered their time in the army made them stronger, united and mature. At age 18, they were all granted the opportunity to represent their country through pride.

On the 3^rd night, we traveled south in the Judean Desert to stay in Bedouin tents. That night, we walked in the desert, which is where I experienced my moment. It wasn’t at The Kotel, it was there, in the desert among the shadowed dunes and stars, which exposed my moment of intangible belief. I decided it was through living in the moment and for that, I needed to find a solution to satisfy my longing to appease this identity.

When they left, their final words were to tell us to have pride over our land, the land of Israel. They emphasized since we are all Jewish, Israel is ours, Israel is our home too. As I waved goodbye, I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with the fact Israel is my land too, yet I had just spent 10 days as a tourist, not as a family member who defends her home.

I look myself in the mirror and say I’m Jewish because I wear a star around my neck. What makes me Jewish? Is it my upbringing? Maybe it is because I go through the motions at services every Friday night. Is it because I bow towards Jerusalem when reciting the Amidah?

During the night hike in the desert, the group of about 50 of us stood in a circle and recited the song,

“Lo Yisa Goy” while gazing at the stars in Israel, the same stars I see on the rooftop of my New York apartment. We are all family and it is time to give back.

Lo Yisa Goy

Isaiah 2:4

Lo yisa goy el goy cherev

Lo yil’m’du od milchama.

Don’t walk in front of me I may not follow.

Don’t walk behind me I may not lead.

Just walk beside me and be my friend,

And together we will walk in the path of Hashem.

Sea Horse at RISD

Medium: Charcoal on Paper