Underground Week 5

To enter the basement room now is to be deluged with cultural iconography, imagery and media. almost all of it is benign in nature, at least to my sensibilities, and evocative of nothing but comfort, repose and peacefulness. The room is apolitical in nature; the only indication that politics even exist is a poster of 'Rambo' with Ronald Reagan's head photoshopped (though the poster almost certainly predates photoshop) onto his body and the text "RONBO" displayed at the bottom. My younger brother found it in some funky junk/coffee shop in Manhattan's rapidly disappearing Little Italy some five years ago and thought I would like it. I do (I self-identify, like he, as a liberal Democrat).
The 'energy' test for stuff in the room (when I was still putting time and energy into it) was twofold: Objects had to 1) have some soul or meaning to them and 2) not bring anything into the place that would disrupt in any way the chill atmosphere. There was the one place in the world I knew I could go into and find nothing that would well up stress, sadness, or even introspection of any serious nature in me by so much as glancing at. This effect developed, like so much else, almost inadvertently over time. The collective effect is almost always sufficient to swamp any hints of anxiety or bad vibes. Looking at Ronald Reagan's smiling mug in that context doesn't, as it normally might, bring up in me thoughts of spiraling federal budget deficits, threat of nuclear annihilation or ketchup as a vegetable; it instead invokes a simpler time in my life, before I was politically conscious in any meaningful way.
At the same time, the room isn't a place for pensive thought or reminiscing - it's about existing in the moment, independent and irrespective of yesterday or tomorrow. This, of course, is a double-edged sword. In such an environment it's easy to get carried away and descend into something that too resembles hedonism to be comfortable with. I had managed to create something that I never thought was even possible - a place in which life simply exists without. What goes on there truly just seems to be something apart. I know in reality the venue has nothing to do with it - it's really a state of mind that allows you to totally detach yourself from your all too real worries and stresses. I've never been able to do that before and truly didn't think it was possible. For some people, perhaps, but never me. It's like a quaint Rockwellian image of an old man going fishing to forget his life's shortcomings and lost loves; or maybe a financial commercial depicting a businessman absurdly kayaking on some river, complacent and with total peace of mind because his assets are in the capable hands of responsible stewards.

I've learned over time that it's never a well-conceived idea to draw such distinctions between what you consider your 'normal life' and anything else. For someone like me, the pitfalls of such a localized philosophy are intemperance, self-gratification and escapism.
I've lately curbed my use of the Room in the interest of my well-being. On the odd weekend I stay at my parent's house, I no longer sleep there unless there truly are no other beds available. I've also gotten real about the fact that being serious about exercise and certain of life's little vices are simply mutually exclusive. I still enjoy being in the place, and spend time there after hours either alone or with my brothers or friends, but I envision a time in my life when I won't need a sanctuary so removed from reality, then finally won't want one.

While I work toward that, in the meantime I do, sadly, need a place like that and derive comfort at times just knowing that my proverbial and psychological 'happy place' is quite real and there. But I believe it's a start.