Wanted: Cathartic for the soul...

Do you remember that commercial for some feminine hygeine product when in the midst of an intimate walk in a meadow between an adult daughter and her mother, the mother tenderly prods her daughter to give up the goods on what is bothering her? The daughter finally gives in, but can only muster the non-descriptive query, "Mom, you ever get that not-so-fresh feeling?"

Now as a man, I have no idea what it is like to feel a bit yeasty, but I do know that every woman who was a potential customer for that product instantly knew what that vague feeling was that the daughter could only begin to speak of euphemistically. But the whole point of the commercial is that in spite of the fact that the daughter intellectually knows she is going through something most women will have to deal with from time to time, she still has to ask the woman she more than likely inherited her body chemistry from if she has ever felt that way too. The daughter steps out on a limb so the women of America don't have to, yet they get the sage advice that only our little hygiene-challenged heroine is courageous enough to go get.

You see there is this other vague feeling that I have never known how to communicate to anyone. I would say its something like good old fashioned shame, but it doesn't feel that dirty or filthy. Well whatever it is, it definitely doesn't feel that *turntables appear* fri-fri-fri-fresh. This feeling seems to be an unavoidable byproduct of living. Intellectually, I know that I am not the only one who has to contend with it. I just have never really known how to ask people about my vague feeling, because I cannot find a tolerable euphemism for what I essentially know everyone feels from time to time. Perhaps I should accept that, but it seems extra fraudulent to feel like my soul needs a douche and not say anything. But there is never a magical moment in the meadow where it seems okay to bring it up. Plus, whom would I ask? Sure, mom changed my diapers, but who do I trust and respect enough to give an honest and insightful answer to a conflict that nobody wants to admit to having...hell, her whole reasoning for having me might have been rooted in trying to keep that same feeling at bay.

Wilsonism #2: Nobody knows the meaning of life, but few will ever admit to actually having a problem with that. As a matter of fact, in western society it seems that success is personified by he who is able to most adequately convince himself this eternal mystery poses no problem at all. In other words we celebrate and hold up the people who appear to not give the slightest fuck that they have absolutely no orientation. In order to be a part of the social fabric we must all either fool ourselves, fool others, or foolishly betray our own feelings and emotions. Perhaps this is a psychic necessity for the continuation of civilization, but it does seem ironic that no one is actually encouraged to dwell on the temporal and mysterious nature of life for too long, but instead we are encouraged to develop faith in that which we have no experience of OR develop faith that whatever we experience IS the complete mystery. As for me, every moment that I pretend that meaning isn’t my most sincere curiosity, want, and need comes with the twinge of a slow, but steady betrayal of my soul. Here I am given the gift of consciousness and it seems every single sign external to my own mind is suggesting I ignore the inevitable desire that my consciousness wants to satisfy...and that doesn’t feel fresh at all.