I was reading about Jacques Lacan the other day. He was a Freudian psychoanalyst that structured the human psyche into three registers: the Imaginary, which has to do with our image of ourselves, ego development, I guess; the Symbolic which has to do with our existence as related to social structures, laws, institutions, mores, rituals and such; and the Real which, he says, is realized in infancy but lost with the development of language and almost impossible to realize thereafter. What I think he means is that the limitations of language to fully grasp the complexities of our experiences interferes with any possibility of deeper understanding. A deeper Reality, Kant’s thing-in-itself, I guess, is lost.
And speaking of lost, I am; in the wilderness again. I find myself somewhere out here in a place that doesn’t seem to correspond to my map, which, I suppose, places me in a situation without a referent; sort of like being without language.
I suppose I should be afraid, being as I am truly lost, but there’s something magical about looking about and not knowing what’s beyond the next island. Everything, rock, water, forest have come into acute focus. Sight, sound, odors are enhanced. And I think I can probably retrace my steps (or paddle strokes as it were) to find my way back. But if I do I expect I may lose this wonderful enhanced awareness I now have.
So, I’m staying put for the time being; I’m in a better place. At least as long as the weather holds.