A Boy I knew

Dualisms are hard to escape. It seems that much of existence is a passing between two poles; a going from one side to another.

I knew a boy once called Pinnochio. He was a puppet on a string. Pinnochio, due to the string and the way in which it controlled him--made him who he was--was a puppet. His identity was tied to another. His existence was at the end of a string. His movement as pre-defined. His presentation was limited.

Dualisms leave us wanting. The grass is always greener . . . and the far up and far left and far East is always attractive when we are trapped in the far down, the far right or the far West.

Pinnochio was bitter. He was humiliated. He wanted to be free, to move, to act, to present, to make himself how he wanted. He wanted to make himself. He didnt want to be made to . . . He freed himself from that string--cut the string and went running.

The problem with duality is that it is dual. Desire is never quenched, rather, satisfied, by saturation.

When he cut that string, he realized something. He realized he was no longer Pinnochio, for no one called him any longer. He realized that he was merely a wooden box. His efforts to create, to make, to determine were purposeless because they were the end--the only--the horizon. He knocked on his 'body' (which was by this time only wood) and realized it was the end.

Duality is a vicious circle of bitterness and nausea.

He didnt know what was worse--bitterness or nausea.