Listening to radio news this morning, pondering the endless cycle of repetition-with-variation that constitutes the sporting events, politics, media fluff and assorted other sequential, temporal tokens of entertainment and news through which so many people measure and assert their collective tribal individuation and participatory self-determination, their subjective Self. It is all really so much emotional security blanket and on a spectrum from little league baseball to periodic (and perhaps mandatory) global geopolitical sabre rattling is only so much rhythmic bleeting of animals alone and lost in the wild darkness of the world.
We celebrate the comfort of repetition just as an infant embraces the soothing rhythm of its mother’s beating heart. We gratefully embed and symbolically clothe ourselves in the reassuring metre of a continuous return and predictability that provides us aspirational certainty and comfort in a world in which there really is none.
More important than meaning or substantive content and logical depth is the mere fact – both in ourselves and our world – of simple and unproblematic cyclical, oscillating continuity. It is the embodied experience of an aesthetics of time and this, in essence, precisely is our life.