NIETZSCHE IS PIETZSCHE BUT SARTRE IS SMARTRE: THE MEANING OF BUSKING IN A MEANINGLESS LIFE

 

PRACTICING MY NEW BUSKING SONG

SOREN KIERKEGAARD (1813-1855), FRIEDRICH NIETZCHE (1844-1900), MARTIN HEIDEGGER (1889-1976), JEAN-PAUL SARTE (1905-1980), SIMONE DE BEAUVOIR (1908-1986), ALBERT CAMUS (1913-1960).  All are famous -- All are existentialists.

Kierkegaard, the founder of Christian existentialism, was famous for his analysis of such key concepts as absurdity, anguish, authenticity, and the weight of responsibility we bear for our choices. Nietzsche, who announced the death of God, sought to create value rather than to seek value for the meaning of life. Heidegger, a big fan of Phenomenology, must be my favorite existentialist. Sartre, also a famous playwright, presented there is no fixed design for how a human should be, and there is no God to give any human a particular purpose.  De Beauvoir was an existential feminist who asserted, of course, that women were as capable of choice as men.  And Camus, noted for being a handsome woman magnet, presented that death was the greatest injustice, and he, ironically, died at 47 years young.

In a line, EXISTENTIALISM is the heterodox belief that we inhabit an absurd and illogical world, upon which we have the complete freedom to define ourselves, each of us being solely responsible for creating any meaning in our lives.

Existentialism has three core principles:  PHENOMENOLOGY, FREEDOM, AUTHENTICITY.

Phenomenology is the philosophical movement that examines the consciousness and experience, with an emphasis on the first-person perspective in understanding ourselves and the world around us.  (I once wrote a graduate paper stating that Phenomenology, Existentialism, and Zen were synonymous, all one and the same.  If I were to write that paper today I could include Mindfulness in the mix.)

Freedom is the founding value of Existentialism.  Decisions with the regard to who we are and who we want to be are singularly ours make. Our world and the entire universe are devoid of direction.  (Could it then be that this “condemned” freedom is the source of all our anxieties? The source of our inner chaos?)

Authenticity is necessary for us to overcome all our anxieties, which in turn is caused when we have recognized that we have total freedom.  Factoid:  We are mortals who will one day die.  (Knowing this, in keeping genuine, do we need never to be bowing down to anything that compromises our personal freedom? Or that compromises our authenticity?)

Now to busking.

With direct regard to phenomenology, freedom, and authenticity, a busker is the quintessential existentialist.  I repeat:  A busker is the quintessential existentialist. I am referring not to the beggar-with-a-guitar ones, and not the strictly mercenary strum-never-smile ones.  I am referring to buskers like me.  YIKES.  In my typical autobiographical writing fashion, I AM REFERRING TO ME!

Nobody is a better student of phenomenology than a busker. Clients in my hypnotherapy practice always experience time-condensation, their sessions feeling much faster than their actual time spent.  This time-condensation concept is the same for busking.  Whenever I busk, time flies.  It flies because I focus, focus, focus on my performing and focus, too, on my passers-by should they stop and chat. My foci PEOPLE FIRST – PERFORMANCE SECOND also happens my busking motto. 

Nobody represents freedom better than a busker.  When I am thrumming away and when people come up to me and chat, they always ask me where I am from and how long have I been doing this.  I sense that I do represent for them, that stranger-comes-to-town motif.  I am the personification of travel and adventure.  I represent their yen, their romantic notion for the person they long to be.

Nobody doing business displays more authenticity than a real busker.  Think about it.  A busker standing alone in a public space and throwing it all out there, for anyone to see, for anyone to demean.  It takes a lot of jam to be a busker.  Anytime I hit the street I am setting myself up for absolute bliss peppered with times of torment.  While out guitar busking, I have had people applaud -- I have had people take a punch at me.  Such is the yin-yang life of a genuine busker.

Here is my umpteenth draft of my newest song, “A STRANGER COMES TO TOWN.”

"A Stranger Comes to Town"

The stranger in the song, of course, is me.  (Oftentimes I am the protagonist in my works, this blog and this stranger song included.)  The stranger in this song arrives with the rising sun, with his weathered guitar and Dylan harmonica.  When his work is finished, the stranger leaves in the in the setting sun.  As in all my songs, in the last verse is there is a twist. The listener will realize that I, the singer, am the stranger, and that every morning when I wake, I strive to be that perfect stranger in my alterity.  

Without repine, in this meaningless and acephalous life, I have created meaning for myself by being a hiker, a writer, a hypnotherapist, a planetary busker.  

AND WHENEVER I AM BUSKING, I TRY TO BE THAT PERFECT STRANGER!