Dilettante:
Language isn’t innocent. When my therapist corrected me for saying “low-frequency people,” she thought I was insulting them. But for me, it’s just a way to categorise experience. Not to degrade, but to differentiate.
Rational:
She responded from her framework. In her field, such terms might echo judgment, hierarchy—tools of exclusion.
Dilettante:
Yes, but what if hierarchy isn’t always oppression? What if it’s a metaphysical necessity? The One above the Many. Without verticality, everything dissolves into noise.
Rational:
True. The fear of hierarchy often conceals a deeper fear: of excellence, of ascent. But caution is still needed—language becomes power when unacknowledged.
Dilettante:
Exactly. And then she used “ordinary” to describe certain states of being. That word cut deeper than she knows. Ordinary, for me, is a kind of dismissal, a reduction. Every inner state is unique, even if fleeting or ugly.
Rational:
Perhaps that’s your task—to defend the sacredness of nuance. To keep the soul from being flattened by therapeutic language, by democracy of affect.
Dilettante:
That’s why I speak this way. Why I invent categories. Not to dominate—but to survive, to stay awake. I don’t want my frequencies homogenised into some acceptable spectrum. I want to feel the vertical difference—like standing before a storm.
Rational:
Then your struggle is also spiritual. The battle to preserve distinctions in a world obsessed with sameness. That, too, is language wielded against entropy.