I was driving home from the violin shop today, listening to Jimi Hendrix sing “Foxy Lady”--not my favorite Hendrix by a long shot, but I’ll take Jimi any way I can get him. The sun had emerged after hours of gloom, the traffic was light, and I was slightly buzzed from my 2nd large coffee of the morning. I was feeling really good. Then suddenly I started thinking about perfume, and I didn't feel good at all.
I often laugh at my obsession with perfume. I recognize the absurdity of owning more perfume that I could use up in several lifetimes, and of having so many different scents I lose track of them all. I recently bought a backup bottle of one of my favorites, and when I went to squirrel it away, what did I discover? Another completely forgotten backup bottle, of course. You just have to smile at that kind of foolishness.
Sometimes I don’t smile, though. Sometimes I feel quite guilty about all the money that goes into collecting, and other times I’m disgusted by my need for this sensory crutch. Binge sniffing is not unlike binge eating in the way it turns a healthy sensual pleasure into a kind of curse.
But my thoughts this morning went beyond any such ordinary misgivings. I flashed on all the bottles cluttering my home, and the millions of other bottles floating around the world, and the ocean of poison that fills them--and I just about lost it. The absurdity of it was just too much to take. It’s almost impossible to accept that humans have evolved to this degree of pointlessness.
I should hasten to add that I have this feeling periodically about things other than perfume. In fact, I think today was the first time I ever linked it to perfume. Usually it hits me on those rare occasions when I happen to be on the highway at rush hour. I look around at all the other drivers and their passengers; I think about the fact that we are collectively hurtling along at a speed that, until quite recently, humans could only experience by jumping off a cliff; I consider that this entirely avoidable dance with death has become an indispensable part of our daily survival; and suddenly, the incongruity is intolerable. I feel, as I did this morning, that my awareness of it is about to push me right to the edge of insanity.
Just lately, I’ve found that cash register receipts also tend to set me off. Have you ever thought about the madness of paper receipts? There’s probably not one commercial transaction out of a thousand that actually requires a hard record. How many times have you bought a coffee in Starbucks, had the clerk ask if you want the receipt, and then when you said no, watched her tear it off and throw it immediately into the trash? Think about all the resources that went into the production of that receipt; i.e., the trees felled and pulped, the energy expended in the paper mill, the fuel used to ship the rolls, the ink used to print it. Then think of the cost of hauling the unwanted bits of paper to the landfill, or off to be recycled and start the whole ridiculous cycle again. You worked to earn the money to pay for all that. Kind of seems like a sick joke, doesn’t it?
I realize there’s nothing unique about my reaction to the deeply warped nature of modern life. Everyone has these moments of awareness, and the root causes of our predicament have been keeping great minds busy for quite a while now. (Marx, anyone?) But do we regard these flashes of (in)sanity as a true sight of sin, dump the ‘fume collection and hope renunciation means something? Or do we just dismiss them as existential alienation, crank up the Hendrix and have another cup of coffee?
The Vision of Daniel, Willem Drost, 1650. Image from Web Gallery of Art.
16 comments:
I can relate, M. Whenever I start to amass a certain amount of something, I pull back. It doesn't feel good to me, or for my psyche. The only exception being books, because...well, books are books and are necessary for survival!
Did you have to mention books, Mary? OMG, all the books...
On a happier note, are you preparing for Beltane? It's not usually one of my big days, but I really feel it this year.
DON'T mention books, OK ?
I'm in that corner, too...
The irony is excruciating, and it didn't escape me that-
In yesterday's over-90 degree heat [ on the top floor]-
It wasn't good for MY PERFUMES !
Forget that I was a mere menopausal puddle on the carpet....
Beltane sounds wonderful.
LET'S focus on THAT !
Kisses to you, my sisters.
Your question is, of course, rhetorical, so it would be supremely arrogant for me to try to answer it. Which is exactly why I'm going to do just that ;o)
Even before I started practicing Buddhism, I've always been drawn to the Middle Way. I'm a Libra, what can I say? Extremes chafe at me. I can appreciate other prople who are extreme, but my mind always wants to find and appreciate the person at the opposite extreme. So, when it comes to consumption, neither asceticism nor excess make sense to me.
Renounce everything? Burn the books for heating fuel, pour the perfume down the drain, swear off double fudge cheesecake? Lord, no ... Would pouring all of that perfume down the drain do any practical good? It's already been made and paid for. Someone should enjoy it. Why not you?
But maybe there is something to your realization, too. I'm of the firm conviction that Americans, at least, and probably much of the rest of the world, need to stop buying so damn much stuff.
My solution is to realize whatever I want to buy won't really, in the long run, make me happy. Sometimes, that keeps me from buying one more piece of junk to clutter up the house. SOmetimes, I decide the thing is worth having anyway. I try not to buy things that hurt people or the Earth and, whenever possible, I try to buy used things. Got two great "new" cameras for myself at Christmas time that way, both at less than a third of their retail price (and yes, I realize the irony of talking about buying myself two cameras in the middle of a lecture about overconsumption, but one is for toying around with and one is for my freelance work).
Oh, and happy Beltane. I'm not even Pagan, but I'm feelin' it, too.
I was just thinking, in the shower, how sanctimonious I must have sounded in that last comment: "I try not to buy things that hurt people or the Earth." Almost everything I own, from the Old Navy t-shirt I'm wearing to the computer I'm typing this on to the car I drive, hurt someone somewhere ... There's not much I can do about that, other than try not to buy into the mentality that says I should throw the T-shirt out once it gets a hole in it, or replace my iPod with the new shinier model every year (and I do love my iPod ...).
And, since we're confessing guilty pleasures, I just have to say that I LOVE driving. Not point A to to point B utilitarian driving ... I love getting on really windy country roads and taking the curves fast on a crisp, sunny day. There, I said it. One of my top five deepest pleasures in life is a purely bad thing that wastes resources and pollutes the air. But, gods, I love it!
Chaya, you are not alone. When it's hot here, which it often is, I also fret over my perfumes. I'd probably keep my thermostat a couple of degrees higher if it weren't for them.
I didn't think your answer sounded sanctimonious, J. It's certainly better to try to find a way to live responsibly, even knowing that the effort is futile, than to refuse to face the problem.
For me, though, it's not just a problem of ethics--though my last sentence makes it seem that way, I guess. There's a deeper question about what sort of creatures we are. We have this incredible capacity for abstraction, which we rightly regard as a gift--but that ability is also the very thing that created the absurdities of our present existence. Could that absurdity have been avoided? If so, how? If not, well, WTF?
PS. I love driving, too--just in case that wasn't completely obvious from how often I write about driving on the blog.
Step away from the coffee and no one gets hurt...
and send me your tired , your poor your unused...
What distresses me is that in the US we are a "consumer economy," such that when consumer demand diminishes (like now) the economy crashes. As President Bush said of the downturn after 9/11, the patriotic thing to do is go out and buy something-- in today's terms, a new GM car. He was right for once. The stimulus package is simply a replacement for lost consumer demand, though at least it is buying something (wind and solar power, for instance) more important to us than an expensive cup of coffee.
I wanted to say something, but Jaime pretty much said what I felt. Must be the Zen Buddhism. . .
Though, one thing I could relate to that you questioned are those "flashes of insight" that we immediately slough off (or try to). In my experience, those too, are usually pretty extreme.
The problem is, that we do not heed their warnings, because of their extreme nature. Swearing off perfume or dumping it is, well, extreme. Ignoring the feeling is good only in that it'll keep you from doing something you'll regret later. But the feeling DOES reflect something true. What is that under the surface? Maybe it's the call to be less obsessed, or hoard less, or countless other things.
Yes, I do agree with Jaime that moderation is the key.
Also, PLEASE be kind to yourself. That's so important. If perfume gives you pleasure, it's a good thing. Same with all other pleasure inducing activities. But when they're taken to the point of a near (or full) obsession or addiction, that's where the trouble begins.
As for paper receipts, they're just ridiculous and unnecessary. I chafe every time I am offered one. The supposedly eco-friendly food co-op here is always giving me those things while I'm standing under a sign that reads "Please bring your own bags." Just absurd.
Hope I didn't sound too preachy! You take care! Get out in the woods more!
As always, well thought out. As an obsessed individual who doesn't throw out anything if she can help it, I can relate more than I am comfortable with. Books, tapes, films, magazines, clipping, bottles, sample vials, little snippets, clothes, vintage trinkets, everything gets collected, often in haphazard manner and I often sigh with my own incompetence to make order into the chaos. Then again we'll always have Hendrix :-)
And alas, like Ida, in the deep, deep heat of summer, my mind keeps me awake thinking of my...perfumes risking spoilage. :/
Hi, Carol. I'll keep you in mind if I ever decide to divest, which isn't likely. I feel obliged to tell you that, in spite of mentioning The Evil One, I really do patronize independent coffee shops. Here's a fave: http://www.myspace.com/redtreecoffee
Do you think there's hope for a different economic model emerging before this one collapses completely, Bozo? I'm afraid I don't.
I like your advice, Julie, especially the part about the woods--though if I spend any more time out there Dave may think I've run away from home. I think the flashes of insight are terrifying because they are true, but also because once you recognize the mirage for what it is, you realize it's the only thing you have to guide you. We're so thoroughly conditioned to things as they are that it's hard to imagine a different world.
E, I imagine you must have a marvelous collection of things, and yet I can understand why you might feel a bit burdened by it. Even the things I treasure most can at times seem like a burden. Strange how we're all kind of at war with ourselves about that.
I think we should start lobbying the perfume industry for smart packaging to protect our perfumes from the heat. We can get to that right after we persuade the retail world to get rid of paper receipts.
I´m also obsessive by nature, and a gatherer when it comes to some things (don´t dare to think of how many books I have, although not so many perfumes).
Well, I´m too tired in the verbal part of my brain to respond adequately to your post, - too much work these weeks! (I tend to feel guilty about my, even already low, consumption of meat, but never because of all my books, or all the newpapers in paper form, that I buy. After all; we have to use and transform matter in order to live, and to upheld a culture. And transformed nature is also nature)
This evening I have been rehearsing on violin again (as every Wednesday evening), and I´m still kind of high because of that!
What did you do at the violin shop? (curious)
Hello, stella p. My violin teacher is also a luthier, and we do lessons at the shop.
I think we all struggle with this piecemeal. For you it's meat, for me it's paper, among other things. (You should see the clear cutting of forest that the pulp mills do here.) In a weird way, though, all our efforts to resist the system only contribute to the through-the-looking-glass quality of modern life, as Julie observed in the contradictory store policies.
My altar is freshly decked out with flowers and new candles and I'm so glad Beltane is here! Praise to the Goddess for all that grows and multiplies!
You are such an acolyte of beauty, Mary. Happy Beltane!
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