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Where there is no law, but every man does what is right in his own eyes, there is the least of real liberty
Henry M. Robert

Temple of the Labyrinth

13 November, 2012 - 00:00

The attempt to promulgate Ukrainian geopolitics beyond our own kitchen walls seems not quite successful. The discussions in the squares and streets have again returned to where they have always been conducted most zealously and sonorously. However, something has changed in the home of our spirit. Ukrainian men and women, like two political parties, are honing their intellectual swords in a domain which has nothing to do with politics. Now even financial hardships are assuming a certain metaphysical sense. Accusing the government, the racket, or even shameless Deputies is no longer enough.

The nation’s history, rehabilitated and interpreted in whatever way, is being assimilated by us in all its enigmatic wholeness. Modern history is determined not by political contests but by precisely these two parties, men and women. The family is being turned into a living hell. The nation is entering a phase of philosophic existence. Thus begins the labyrinth of solitude. We come to know solitude in its distilled form.

Our kitchens are ruled by a world of mirages. Mirages are, of course, associated with the labyrinth. The world of kitchen utensils is losing its age-old convenience and order. The kitchen’s inhabitants wander through a labyrinth of objects that are constantly changing. It does not matter whether a kitchen dates from the 1950s or 1960s, or if it is freshly furnished and equipped according to the latest European standards. What matters is that the man and woman in it have separate hand-held TV remote controls, and that the man prefers to watch US thrillers, and the woman watches the news once in a while. All our discussions about civil liberties, religious beliefs, aesthetic and sexual preferences could end amicably on this note. However, while our statesmen, Mafiosi, legislators, and presidents of news corporations feel content with acting and promising, promising and acting, our families refuse to put up with this philosophy. And with reason, because they have to move on through the labyrinth of their homes, and this movement cannot be reduced to actions and promises. Here a man and a woman are condemned to solitary, even though synchronous, wandering through their domicile. Every moment they may think that the surrounding objects are playing games with them, that a newly bought armchair will be suddenly filled with rumpled clothes or stacks of books and newspapers. Thus thoughts of insanity creep into one’s mind. But keeping such thoughts to oneself is the mandatory condition of wandering through the labyrinth. Once a man or a woman gives way to despair, has a fit, or goes wild, the labyrinth will show even more unexpected surprises and turn into a shambles. In other words, one has to stick to the mysterious ritual, remembering that the end goal of each such wandering is one’s bed. The less damage the man and woman receive while struggling through the labyrinth and finally reaching bed, the sweeter their dreams will be. Even if their nuptial bed is too narrow, they will somehow position themselves so as not to touch each other. Many a family tries to arrange its daily life in a such manner, as though following some sexless marital tradition, like the one professed by Hindus, thus breaking the vows given each other when betrothed. Paradoxically, their marriage grows only stronger, because both are now united by a common mystery; they are engrossed in watching for ever new variants of travels through the labyrinth. Mind you: the way out is not the main thing. One’s consciousness, tired after a day of routine chores, is on the verge of drifting off to sleep, yet it strives to inhabit its imaginary labyrinth with living beings. Falling asleep, a man and a woman imagine themselves not victims but at least spectators. With their knowledge of the labyrinth they plot the movements of other wanderers through it, enjoying the game as much as their imagination allows. Often these dreams become erotic.

Lest the other suspect him or her of such sinful imagining, they idly discuss or debate some trivial event. Why not? Our kitchens lose another male or female friend, and we lack his or her stories and complaints lasting well into the night. A wife leaves for America to get a job, while their daughter stays with her father and gets hooked on drugs. Well, one has to help or at least try, but here the only philosophical conclusion can be expressed in a few words: How? With what? Is it necessary?

Good night, my beloved couples! The labyrinth is endless, and is looking for a way out worth it when building onto this temple is so sweet?

 

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