we're all a little mad, you know

the meaning of...

“‘Freedom’ cannot avoid combining, in a unity that has only its own generosity as an index, the values of impulse, chance, luck, the unforeseen, the decided, the game, the discovery, conclusion, dazzlement, syncope, courage, reflection, rupture, terror, suture, abandonment, hope, caprice, rigor, the arbitrary. Also: laughter, tears, scream, word, rapture, chill, shock, energy, sweetness….Freedom is also wild freedom, the freedom of indifference, the freedom of choice, availability, the free game, freedom of comportment, of air, of love, or of a free time where time begins again. It frees each of these possibilities, each of these notions of freedom, like so many freedoms of freedom—and it is freed from these. … In sum, these bursts are all the possible determinants of freedom to the extent that freedom expends itself in the withdrawal from every determination…there is no freedom without some drunkenness or dizziness, however slight.”
--Jean-Luc Nancy, Experience of Freedom

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I read somewhere recently that freedom is (something akin to) “the absence of awareness of one’s physical body” which makes sense only in the ungraspable sense of an idea I comprehend but have not necessarily experienced.
In essence freedom, from this perspective, is a way of abandoning oneself—but only to oneself—not in the absorption of an other, not to another tense, not to imagining but to being in the truest sense because it is not conceived, it is not reflected upon, it exists: electric, ephemeral, explosive and transcendent.
And we can only know that this freedom even possesses the aforementioned characteristics because they are what we feebly associate with a kind of gap—a tremulous movement between that one can only ever look back on and never fully know— of which we have a kind of hallucinatory memory: it can never be recorded as it is happening or it wouldn’t actually be what we conceive it to be.
In this very elusiveness, therefore (because aren’t the most elusive things those which we cannot make manifest at our will simply by desiring them?), it becomes the prime commodity. Which is why you find the practice of emulating it: fumes inhaled, liquids imbibed, tricky sticky things injected and perpetually flowing through blood streams, and therein creating a contradictory and illusory “possession”—because in their physical reality and intentional onset, the objects’ ability to produce freedom from oneself is flawed: the release is internal, scientific, rooted in the physical. Dancing, sex, spiritual rapture, and even some kind of artificial flight, are madly-sought engagements since they are means to “lose oneself” momentarily—only to the pure exhilaration of being in and of oneself—as though one is able to cut ties to all physical manifestations of reality, and not only from the grounding earth, but from the containment of one’s mental landscape. Don’t we, ultimately, want to lose ourselves in order to unloose the finite constrictions of the mind and the things we think we know, that marry us to expectation? (Which, in being human, is inherently limited).
You might say, then, that where one expands the limits of one's being, therefore, one engages the possibility of merging oneself with the giant candle-light source of the divine infinite; by losing too much knowledge of ourselves we can therefore briefly, breathlessly, inundate and permeate ourselves with the flow of the world—and, because in that boundless moment we are lacking in awareness or intention, we are fully in it for that single instant.



So. I want to lose my mind to my body. And How. Forget that theory where’s that action.