The Eye of the Needle
On fictional dead-ends
I had this vision of me trying to find an opening through the ice that covers a lake: it did not have to do with a fear of drowning, but with the small odds I usually build my whole vision of the future upon. Then I thought: maybe it's not an ice cap, but a glass ceiling! I would have gone with this metaphor, but it has strong references that do not represent my situation — I am a man who actually dreams of getting out of the rat race altogether. So I came up with the image of the eye of the needle: even if it has some biblical implications, it probably describes best my present conundrums.
Let me say this right off the bat: this is not a political post. I will not attempt a critique of capitalism either. Even though we do not live in isolation of such major areas of activity, I couldn't care less about politics or macroeconomy right now.
I am attempting to paint a picture of my present situation, in search of alternate, creative options. In fact, I will dare to presume that some of you are looking for the same things: a more meaningful existence, less consuming and more producing, a more connected way of life. I feel like our current culture is amalgamating consumerism with meaning, connectedness, fulfillment.
I mentioned in my last post that I am hesitating to write a dark ending for the novel I am currently publishing on a weekly basis here on Substack. I want to write things as they should be, it's just that they are often boring that way. On the other hand, if you pack portals and time travel and aliens in the same story, there is so little of reality left to show, I wonder what the story is about.
I do think that the superhero genre is meaningful, a sort of post-millennial mythology that may be here even when the special effects are going to look childish. But outside that world, I think one has to be careful how one uses special narrative mechanisms. Finding the best means to end a story seems often like trying to squeeze a camel through the eye of a needle.
You may ask yourself why I switched so carelessly between talking about myself and talking about my writing. It has to do with how I see the two intertwining constantly: I try to live as if I am the main character in a story, while I try to write as if I were creating alternate realities that function in the real world. I like to do this because I never know for sure what it actually means — hence, I sometimes need to stop and ponder which is the way forward.
I love buildings that are connected above ground: these skybridges make me think about the relationship between reality and fiction. Not all buildings are connected, but the fact that some are seems to challenge the assumption that you necessarily have to go down the stairs to the main floor and walk over in order to get in a neighboring building.
The fact that there are so few skybridges in my life feels like an expression of the lack of creativity I feel all around me. It's not like I am brimming with creativity, I am rather a mirror that prefers to reflect original stuff. Thus I am highly dependent on being surrounded by creativity (or chaos) in order to be creative myself.
There is one interesting meaning (included in the Wikipedia link I referenced above) to the whole camel through the needle eye story: the impossibility of the action stems from a rational worldview, however it would be very easy in a dream state. This is what I love about fiction as well: if I can imagine a camel somehow making it to the other side of the needle eye, is it still 100% impossible? Even better — each of us may come with a totally different way for the camel to do this.
So then, if I feel I am at a dead-end, is it real or imagined? If I feel I would need to squeeze through a very narrow opening to get out of the current reality, does it just tell me I am not using my imagination to its full potential? Are entities like camels and needles just rational constructs, nothing more?
I tend to believe that this dilemma is centered around seriousness and how much one takes oneself seriously. In the end, square pegs will seldom go through round holes, that in itself is not a good or a bad thing. Beyond imagination, not everything is made to bend to our will.
Not everywhere there's a will, is there also a way — trust me, I tried! Sometimes, the will fades away before the way ever shows itself. All that there's left is the dream of the will revealing the way.