The Black Swan - A Lyrical Vision of Madness

In this stark and surreal creation Mark Heyman and Andres Heinz through their screenplay weave an intricate analysis of a obsessive compulsive disorder evolving into a fully fledged psychosis, as Darren Aronofsky masterfully gives the viewer the uneasy privilege of experiencing this evolution through the very eyes of the protagonist who is undergoing it.

In her late twenties, frigid, gentle, soft spoken, shy yet determined and ambitious Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman), knows only too well that getting the main role of playing both sisters - The White Swan, and her evil twin The Black Swan - in the new adaptation of the Swan Lake choreographed by the renowned Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel) may be her last chance at stardom. Thomas eventually, but reluctantly picks Nina. Despite immediately judging her rendition of the White Swan as perfect - which reflects Nina's virgin like nature and personality – his reluctance lingers due to her inability to convincingly portray the evil seductress - The Black Swan. Finally a hint of visceral and wild determination dormant within Nina, convinces Thomas to give her the role with the hope that the "evil" spark will develop into a flame of desire allowing Nina to convincingly portray the evil twin. He doesn't take a passive role in this transformation, and aids Nina with all the possible ways a professional French maestro could offer. He fails to predict however that this flame will grow out of control and eventually engulf entirely the pure spirit of the young dancer.

Witnessing her transformation the viewer may experience frustration and confusion since the boundary between what is a psychotic and delusional vision and what is real slowly dissolves, as Nina progressively develops the required alter ego. Those feelings of cognitive discomfort should be seen as hallmarks of Aronofsky's skill in giving the viewer a glimpse into Nina's world, since undoubtedly confusion and frustration are in the least what she experiences. It eventually becomes apparent that the only way this subtle and gentle young woman can successfully and absolutely embody the Black Swan is through equally absolute madness - effectively splitting her own personality by allowing the alien, dominating and destructive Black Swan alter ego emerge and eventually engulf her.

The technique of offering a subjective vision of a delusional protagonist is not entirely original. However here, strongly intertwined with Tchaikovsky’s powerful musical theme (adopted by Clint Mansell) and suggestive dance sequences the film can be interpreted as an original postmodern rendition of the ballet.

Immoral Trip

Gregory considered himself first and foremost as a traveler. "Life" - he claimed - "is a journey", and so to live was to travel. This life philosophy consequently and quite naturally led him to embrace the aid of various consciousness altering substances. After all if used responsibly they could broaden one's horizons by expanding the potential set of places to visit and experience, otherwise obscured by pragmatic and polarized sobriety. Those places, invisible on any map, and unsurprisingly absent in traveler’s guides were destinations which no serious traveler would omit on mere grounds of geographical inaccessibility.

It was the series of dramatically unexpected and mysterious events however, which took place in Delhi during Gregory's journey through India that forced him to revise his attitude toward such substances forever. Since then he exercised more caution then previously when allowing himself the luxury of chemically "expanding the world". Also the "responsibility" concerning their use acquired a whole new meaning. This new and greater responsibility was not to be motivated by concern for his own mental health, but as it will become clear, by a moral obligation to all of humanity.

One evening, meandering through the streets of Delhi, Gregory with two of his Indian friends were in pursuit of adventure and memorable experiences spiced up with Psilocybin mushrooms. As the night progressed the surrounding world became gradually more surreal. First signs of the hallucinogenic mushroom taking effect appeared when Gregory was unexpectedly approached by an “Indian” – no, not an inhabitant of India, but a native American Indian, wearing the traditional Sioux garment and eagle-feather war bonnet. The Sioux chief inquired about the time in fluent English, and after receiving a mumbled “half past eleven”, turned around and walked off majestically into the busy street crowd. ”Wow – this is some potent stuff” - thought Gregory, after having recovered from the shock induced by the circumstantial oddity of the encounter.

At this stage the world acquired an intoxicating intensity of colors, and all light, streetlights, car headlights and shrine candlelight shone with the intensity of burning Magnesium or that of the Sun, and radiated with richness of color surpassing even the proud glamour of the rainbow. The multifaceted brilliance of candlelight which covered the stairways and floors of nearby temples uncannily resembled a starry sky, but a living and breathing one that descended to the mortal realm, only to dance and whirl among the shadows of the old city like a giant firefly dervish. Those visions, although fantastic were certainly more familiar to Gregory than the random appearance of the Sioux Chief.

Gregory’s Indian companions Abinaash and Sangat, students of Delhi University, also shared a feverish zest for life and welcomed the multitude of additional experiences it could offer when augmented with Psilocybin mushrooms. Swimming in the kaleidoscopic sea of colors and light the three vagabonds held on to reality by means of a desire to drink some of the best Masala Chai in the area. For that reason Abinaash entered a restaurant to check the menu and assess the interior esthetics. During the two minutes of his absence, Gregory experienced yet another unexpected and entirely inexplicable series of incidents. A speeding, small Toyota van appeared from around the corner closely resembling a noisy giant bumble bee, screeched to a violent stop in front of the restaurant, and Gregory only could watch in utter bewilderment as the side door of the van opened, and the three shadowy figures which emerged from within grabbed Sangat without any explanation, threw him inside the pitch black hollows of the vehicle which sped off noisily and disappeared in a side alley.

“Where’s Sangat?” – inquired Abinaash who appeared moments later. “Well, this will sound very strange, but I think he has just been kidnapped” – replied Gregory unconvincingly, seriously unsettled by what he had just seen. “This aren’t shrooms talking?” – pried Abinash rising his brow. “I don’t know” – was Gregory’s sincere reply, who at that moment felt reality slipping away from him. And it wasn’t the fact that by this stage the night crowd chaotically flowing through this part of the Chandni Chowk had transmogrified into a parade of beings almost identical to humans except for the detail that instead of heads they possessed party balloons of various colors, shapes and sizes, tied firmly to their necks with decorative strings. It certainly was not due to the behavior of the ground which took on the properties of a calm ocean, causing the entire street, buildings and balloon-headed humanoids float as if carried and swayed by giant waves. No, the turned- inside- out vision of reality evoking awe and amusement stood apart from the anxiety brought about by Gregory’s own doubt in his ability to identify the boundary between the hedonistic illusion and the inexplicable and equally fantastic yet nevertheless merciless reality.

Abinaash stared silently into the street, but somehow his gaze seemed more distant then that. The subtle frown, as a stigma of concern suggested a state of deep thought. He then turned to Gregory, and terminated his thoughtful reprieve with a curt “Let’s go, I think I know what happened”.

To be continued…

What follows was written by ChatGTP 4.

The narrow streets of Delhi's Chandni Chowk district were winding labyrinths, and they felt even more so to Gregory as he followed Abinaash. The air was thick with the aroma of spices, and the distant sound of sitars created an eerie background music to their mission.

"We need to go to the Old Quarter," Abinaash declared, pulling Gregory out of his hallucinogenic reverie.

"Why? What's in the Old Quarter?" Gregory inquired, struggling to keep pace.

"The Oracle," Abinaash responded.

Gregory raised a brow, even more puzzled. “The Oracle? Like from ancient myths?”

"Somewhat," Abinaash admitted. "There's a woman there who knows everything that happens in the city, especially the hidden layers that tourists like you don't see. If Sangat was indeed kidnapped, she will know."

As they approached the Old Quarter, the cityscape began to change. The modern hustle of Delhi faded into an older, more mystical aura. Stone statues with many arms and faces loomed large, and ancient temples with shimmering golden domes dotted the horizon. Inside one of these temples, they met the Oracle. She was an old woman, her face marked with the lines of time, wearing a rich sari of deep purple and gold. Her eyes, however, were the most arresting—a bright, unnatural shade of emerald.

"Seeking lost friends, are we?" she intoned without preamble. 

Abinaash nodded, a hint of respect evident in his posture. "The one named Sangat."

A tense silence filled the air, punctuated by the gentle tinkling of wind chimes. Finally, the Oracle spoke. "He's not lost, merely taken. He's been chosen for a ceremony, a ritual. It's been foreseen."

Gregory's impatience flared. "Chosen? By whom? And for what?"

The Oracle turned her piercing gaze to him. "By the Spirits of the Past. Delhi is ancient, and so are its secrets. Every few decades, they require a tribute, a soul to join them, to maintain the balance between realms. Sangat is that soul." 

Gregory's heart raced. His trip and the kidnapping seemed interconnected, inexplicably woven together. "How do we save him?" he implored. 

The Oracle looked deep into Gregory's eyes, as if assessing the depths of his soul. "You can try, but the journey will not be easy. At the stroke of midnight, when the realms blur, go to the old ruins near the Yamuna River. There, you will find a portal. But be warned, once you cross over, the way back may not be clear."

They left with more questions than answers. Time was running out. Abinaash led Gregory to the river ruins. The hallucinogenic effects intensified, making the ruins pulse with an otherworldly glow. As midnight approached, a portal manifested—a swirling vortex of colours and sounds, an invitation to another realm. Without hesitation, both stepped through.

Upon their entry into the timeless Delhi, the city seemed like a living memory. Ancient structures stood tall, exuding a spectral glow. The streets, though familiar in layout, emanated a sense of reverence and mystery. Chants, emanating from all corners, carried stories from centuries past.

Centrally, Sangat lay on an ornate altar. The spirits, looking like regal figures from various dynasties that once ruled Delhi, circled him. Their movements were fluid, like a choreographed dance, their garments flowing with a life of their own. Each of them held a luminescent thread which, when touched to Sangat, extracted memories in the form of vibrant images - his childhood, his days at the university, the joyous festivals he had celebrated. These threads connected to an intricately woven tapestry that floated above the altar, a living testament to Delhi's rich heritage.

Beside the altar, ancient musicians played ethereal tunes on their sitars and flutes, adding an auditory dimension to the ceremony. Gregory noticed that every time Sangat’s memories integrated into the tapestry, the music shifted, resonating with the emotions of the memories.

Abinaash, visibly shaken, whispered, "It's the Ritual of Remembrance. They’re integrating Sangat's essence with the soul of the city. We must intervene before it’s too late.”

Drawing from his travels and experiences with various cultures, Gregory started to chant. His voice, resonating with the power of his emotions and memories, created ripples in the realm. The spirits paused, their attention now on him. Using the distraction, Abinaash joined in, adding the depth of traditional Indian incantations to the chorus. The tapestry began to flutter, as if torn between the pull of the spirits and the passionate pleas of the two friends.

As the duel of chants intensified, a maelstrom of wind enveloped the area. Within its vortex, the spirits, the altar, and the tapestry began to merge and morph. When the tempest subsided, modern Delhi stood in its place.

Sangat, bewildered but unharmed, was helped up by his friends. "Did I become a story?" he asked, recalling fragments of the ceremony. 

Abinaash smiled, “You almost did. But our story isn’t meant for the past; it’s meant for the now." 

The trio decided to take a moment to reflect on their incredible journey. Sitting on the steps of an ancient monument, they watched as Delhi woke up to a new day. The aroma of street food, the chatter of morning vendors, the distant sound of temple bells, all seemed amplified, as if the city was sharing its soul with them.

Gregory, deeply introspective, realized that the tapestry wasn't just a historical record; it was a living, breathing entity, constantly evolving with each story added. "Every person, every experience, every emotion weaves its thread into the fabric of this city," he mused. Sangat, looking at the vast expanse of Delhi, added, "And yet, in its vastness, it has space for every single story. It's humbling." Abinaash, with a twinkle in his eye, concluded, "Delhi is not just a place. It's an experience, a memory, a story waiting to be told. And today, we added ours."

The sun, now bathing the city in its golden warmth, seemed to nod in agreement. As they ventured forth, it was evident that while their journey was unplanned and unexpected, it was one they’d cherish for a lifetime. They had not just witnessed Delhi's past; they had become a part of its eternal narrative.

New Lotus, Buddhistdoor articles

Below are the links to the articles I have written so far for Buddhistdoor.com, which is a www outlet of a Buddhist temple located in Hong Kong under the chief administrationship of Thervada monk Venerable Dr. Dhammapala. The articles are published as weekly features in the New Lotus magazine wich is a subsidiary component of the website, under the editorship of Raymond Lam.

Here is the link to most of my articles written for Buddhistdoor.com, currently to be found on Buddistdoor.net.

Reign of "Freedom"
I expose the instrumental and manipulative side of the ideology of freedom and question some of the methods used to implement it. One case that I look closely at is gender related social engineering implemented in a Sewdish preeschool.

Doomsday Myths: Reminders of Impermanence
There's an abaundance of doomsday myths and scenarios, even among secular groups. What's  the reason for this tendency of mass hysteria? Is it related to the realization of our own mortality?

Is Rebirth a Coherent Notion?
Here I question the consistency of the doctrine of "emptiness" with the idea (tenet) of rebirths. It appears that the two are logically incompatible.

The Elusive and Persistent Illusion
Why is the illusion of self so strong? Is it due to culture or maybe due to the Gestalt phenomenon of grouping? Is it evolution's way to maintain a coherent entity?

Lessons from Mindfulness
How our idealized conceptualizations of human interactions give rise to certain attitudes motivated by particular interests and expectations, and why they're often dissonant with the attitudes of others. How does friendship fare in thus constructed reality?

Mathematics of Altruism
This article sheds some light on mathematical and game-theoretical evidence supporting the evolutionary benefits of traits such as kindness and forgiveness. The discussion uses the model of Prisonner's Dilemma to illustrate its main conclusions.

Wake Up, Kitty!
An attempt at Buddhist fiction: Puss In Boots meets Alice in Wonderland meets Saṃsāra ;) Needless to say, a condition to fully appreciate the metaphors used therein require some familiarity with Buddhist philosophy.

A Model Aiding the Mindfulness of Karmic Law
In this article I propose a useful analogy between the waking day, and consecutive lives in the cycle of Saṃsāra. This analogy provides a mini model for the "witnessing" of the transmigration of karmic "baggage" accross lives. The main intension is of pragmatic character, since adopting this model sharpens our mindfulness of karmic phenomena and its tendencies (by making this cause-effect process epistemically tangible) and hence facilitates the ability to forsee its inevitable law manifesting in future lives. Finally, such modelled (made tangible) insight offers the incentive to be constantly mindfulof karmic law.

Reflections on the Nature of the Conscious Moment
Here I outline the conditions for consciousness to arise - mainly the necessary condition of an object of consciousness - a criterion present in both Western and Eastern philosophies, most notably Buddhism and phenomenology. Then the analysis focuses on the question whether realitiy's temporal "resolution" puts any restrictions on the notion of an irreducible conscious moment.

Mindfulness and Empathy in action - Defusing Tension in Interactions With Others
In this article I make a survey of the possible and most common classess of reasons of tension which can arise in interactions with others. Then I propose a systematic strategy intended to defusing this tension skillfully.

Goal Oriented Action - A Useful Illusion?
The motivation-goal-reward system underlies the functioning of every healthy person. How does existentialism transcend this system, and what difficulties does such a treatement run in to? Does Buddhism provide a satisfactory solution to those difficulties?

A Liberating Realization
There are systematic methods employed by Buddhist teachings in attaing the realization of emptiness of inherent self. They employ both carefully constructed arguments often as reductioo proofs, and direct and immediate insight augmented by meditation. The title here refers to a thought experiment which helped me get closer to the realization of the illusory nature of an inherent self.

Toward a Synthesis of Insight
Here I agrue for a re-evaluation of what counts as empirical knowledge, and how a possible expansion of that category could benefit science, or even give birth to a more general form of inquiry.

Reflections on the Evolution and Digitization of Communities
The concept of a community is a fluid one, and its form changes in tandem with the emergence of more complex forms of social and political organization. The www era offers new opportunities and stimulates the emergence of unique virtual communities. Aside from its obvious and numerous benefits, I highlight and analyze a few possible negative outcomes of the virtual interaction.

The Importance of Reliable Authority and Guidance
And why is this so relevant today in a climate of manufactured values. A few years after this article was published, it served as inspiration to Buddhistdoor's Wong Weng Hon, who gave it a response from a Buddhist perspective.
Here are the links to Wong Weng Hon's two-part article:
The Importance of Reliable Authority and Guidance: A Buddhist Response (1), by Wong Weng Hon
The Importance of Reliable Authority and Guidance: A Buddhist Response (2), by Wong Weng Hon

Logical Tolerance in Buddhism
The Western logical tradition primarily embedded, and conforming to, a bi-valent logic has come accross various limitations. Within the Eastern philosophy, Buddhism in particular, due to its non commital attitude to the law of non contradiction classical paradoxes do not pose such problems. Dialethism, a relatively modern approach mainly endorsed by Graham Priest, by abandoning the law of non contradiction resembles Eastern schools of thought.

A Home Story

An oldie I 've found while going through some of my documents:

"I had never complained about my tree. It was an old oak with heavy branches reaching out far from the massive trunk. Having lived in its shelter all my life, I couldn't imagine anything better. Well, maybe an even bigger oak.

I will never forget the day when I wandered far away from my tree in search of blueberries. I just love blueberries. Being hunched over, I didn't notice the storm approaching till it was too late. The rain started dripping. Having realized that I'll never reach my oak in time, I panicked. It was at that moment when I noticed that house at the edge of the wood. It was already pouring by the time I reached it panting and almost completely soaked. It looked quite gloomy, and upon entering it I realized that if not for the storm I would have never dared to even come close to that stark wooden ruin, barely visible from behind the weeds which had grown around it. Yes, I definitely had an uneasy feeling as I crossed the threshold.

It was quite damp and cool inside the main hall. The walls were almost entirely covered with mould. The storm was terrible, and raged all night. In the morning though, aside from being tired from sleep depravation I was all right. This strange house had sheltered me. I guess it wasn't so horrible after all. Before leaving, I had a look at its backyard, or at least where one had once been. It was a thicket of weeds.

It wasn't till I finally got home, into the familiar shade of my tree, that I allowed myself a loud sigh of relief. It had been the first time I spent a night away from my oak. I spent the rest of the week reminiscing that frightening, yet exciting night.

Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to visit the house. I knew that to be silly since I had all the shelter I needed under my tree. During that second visit I inspected all the rooms and nooks, and was surprised to find many interesting spots. On that day, looking at the setting sun through the wide bay window in the hall the idea that changed my life came to me. I remember the exact moment. I was leaning against the window frame hypnotized by the beauty of the setting sun. I turned round. The wall due to the dampness had flakes of paint coming off it, and there among that messy sight was my shadow. I decided to renovate the house.

Believe me, it wasn't easy. Actually it took years. I'm especially proud of the garden and the wonderful flowers blooming there every spring. I still visit my tree every now and then, but cannot imagine any life other than here, at home."

17th May 2004

The Flame

At first it flickers giddily in the solitary confinement of the candle, unperturbed by the inevitable end awaiting at the end of the wick.

This initial interval the flame enjoys is followed by the realization of its doom, which manifests in hysterical quivers of despair.

Following a smoldering agony some soot remains, blemishing the nearby wall.

Why I don't like attending exhibition openings

I generally avoid such events, but find myself occasionally obliging a friend and accompanying them with the only consolation being the hope that the experience may prove my convictions inaccurate. Alas those hopes prove to be futile at every such chance attendance.

There's the experiential aspect, which even with the aid of empathy, understanding and careful reflection fails to provide more than painful frustration; during the fake and polite interactions equally ungenuine inquiries arise: "So what do you do?” The frustration emerges primarily from the realization of my cowardice which prevents me from actively defying customary conformity - knowing with certainty the pure formal nature of the inquiry, devoid of no more genuine interest then required to satisfy a curiosity which attempts to avoid boredom and dullness by engaging in mild and superficial intellectual entertainment (the conversation), I find myself pretending that this empty shell of an inquiry is of substance and respond accordingly - with symmetrical pretension. The only way I can withstand the half hour or so of my physical presence at such events is by erecting a hermetic and pseudo philosophical wall around me which relates insincerely to the exhibited pieces, or physically avoiding any interactions by inspecting the exhibited works repeatedly with ostentatious interest that would excuse my lack of socializing. Whilst exercising those evasive tactics I'm always astonished by my paranoia that time has slowed almost to a stop. This behavioral device tends to temporarily fend off those excruciatingly vacuous inquiries into the content of my person.

It would be tempting to at least engage in the consolatory activity of amusing myself by observing the career hungry crowd, seeking mutual attention of only those who in its mind can contribute to the elevation of either the ego or what's more important the factual career status. Sadly I no longer find it amusing. I'm saddened by this and inescapably forced into reflections on the human condition in general - how we will readily crawl, hop or sing in a bad chorus - ready to take those desperate measures if only their performance, no matter how pathetic and degrading, would deliver but a glimmer of a promise of bringing closer the illusory goal that we have chosen to endow with value.

A Bus Encounter

On that day, the bus of the 171 line was full as usual, but Joseph didn't mind standing for the twenty minutes or so since the reminder of his day would be spent sitting in on lectures at the local university. During the journey he would occasionally take his eyes away from the busy city-scape rushing past beyond the nearest window and observe the faces of other passengers, every now and then allowing his gaze to linger on a more interesting one.

While engaging in one of those lazy inspections of his fellow passengers Joseph was unsettled by a pair of blue and mysterious eyes meeting his. Those blue eyes were framed by a pleasant face of a young woman partially visible through a narrow gap between other passenger's heads. Not used to such confrontations from the depersonalized and anonymous crowd, Joseph attempted to conceal his voyeuristic intentions by nonchalantly continuing to turn his head, as if intending to look through a window on the opposite side of the bus. He was sure that during this momentary encounter when their gazes met, a latent smile appeared on her pale and calm face. After composing himself, he glanced back at this mysterious stranger and surely enough she had maintained the same subtle smile and what seemed particularly unusual was how her unmoved gaze welcomed his, as if expecting him to indeed glance back. Prompted by a sudden adrenaline rush Joseph looked away once more.

Not usually forward by nature, he generally avoided making spontaneous acquaintances with strangers, and women especially. Furthermore, he reserved those morning commuting intervals primarily for planning and reflection. Joseph, it seems, desired to suppress and control spontaneity despite seeing its value. It was welcome, but not on a bus. This brief encounter however unsettled his rigid convictions, and the appearance of this mysterious girl tempted him to break his strict habit, only if to learn her name. He made a decision. As the bus would approach the city center where most people would disembark, he would then have the necessary space to approach this newly potential non-stranger and make an acquaintance. This certainly wouldn't require too much effort on his part, since he felt that a subtle yet definite invitation had already been granted.

The bus arrived at the stop where most people usually leave. The commotion created by people heading for the doors was the cue Joseph had been waiting for which gave him the sufficient amount of courage to turn toward the young woman once more.  He was mildly amused upon noticing how his heart begun to beat faster during the composition of the introductory phrase. He approached tentatively, and just as the last of the people standing between them headed for the door leaving behind an empty and unobstructed space, Joseph experienced what could be best described as a cognitive jolt of disillusion, as his eyes fixed on the blind man's cane, which the young woman was holding closely by her side. Her gaze now suddenly stripped of its mystery, had dissolved into a blank and eerie stare into oblivion, and her Mona Lisa smile now equally demystified reduced to the calm and relaxed expression of a morning commuter.

Joseph stood there staring in disbelief for a few seconds, his lips parted with the preselected introductory phrase screaming inside his head. What finally brought him back from the paralysis of this epistemic anomaly was the realization of his asymmetric freedom of being able to look at the young woman, which he thought to be unfair and invasive. With that thought, amused by his imaginative powers of confabulation, he hopped off the bus just as the doors were beginning to close.