The life we negotiate from the first moments of each new day is but a carcass. It is a life conceived of leftovers, of remains beyond a series of cynical rejections, the fallout from no doubt well-intended yet ultimately corrupt manoeuvrings demanded in the name of righteous certitude. The world we presently assume is but the latest of a long lineage of serial denigrations. Historically, each new era undermines the substance of the previous era’s fixation. And as the traditions of the day increasingly yield to the rigours of spreading distrust, faith recedes from the prevailing doctrines. And with each rejection, something essential is banished to the community unconscious, as if never had it been known.
As post-modern re-brands accuse the previously claimed factual as nothing other than the manipulations of power, it succeeds in disturbing the very ground that nurtures it. And for those that stand accused, for those who lay claim to fact, those who had questioned the rotation of the Sun around the Earth contrary to the command of the inquisitorial Church, they had brought us modernity and its objects, objects scattered about within an almost entirely dead universe. For its part, the Church had already rid the realm of spirit many years prior, vanquishing it to the heavens, presenting nature as a soulless pantry, as a market provision of living things provided for the benefit of the special us. And prior still, of that period the imagination appears to first make shape, an animated realm, emergent from the mists of time, to each its own being-ness, all as of spirit, of types of intelligence, all alive.
The world our eyes encounter upon opening is but a carcass. Picked at for the purpose of scavenging morsels from the little remaining of perceived value, by this time, barely a marrowed bone. Over tens of thousands of years and some, the numinous disrespected of spirit, the living disregarded of soul, the wholesome reduced to fragments owned by other, communities dispersed to the four winds, only to be enlisted factional member against member as competing slaves, and when with use no more, expectorated upon empty shells, far from home, in a universe filled to the brim with nothing, the vast universe, god-less, care-less.
This worldly experience, this carcass, it’s quite the sleight of hand. Maintaining this set of ever more impoverished scenarios is quite the feat. Though not obvious to the untrained, crucial to the experience is the confusion of perception for outside world, perceptions perpetuated through the entrained coercion of cultural mores, dis-honoured at the risk of excommunication, of cancellation; this, complete with its internal counter-part, self-perception, that guise of persona, the cartoon character mistaken for a discrete entity of integrity. The cover story is grandiose to a fault, upheld by the might of institutions, with claims of consciousness as of human provenance, intelligence as of unique personal achievement, the species as of top tier, highest upon high upon the food chain, god’s privileged children, the chosen ones, lording over the lands, once abundant lands by now exhausting of resource extraction amid a stark climate of scarcity, amid a ravenous onslaught at the desperately ungrateful hands of the ideologically possessed.
Yet nothing is ever truly lost; all of mere imagined design. Even after a lifetime of doubling down upon unquestioned assumptions, beyond all the intransigence, with all the clenching of ears against fear of some shattering incident, throughout all the endless pre-occupied meanderings of folly, through quest upon quest in search of crumbs, amid all the talk of hopeful redemption reinforcing the very delusions from which the yearning seeks relief, after all this, nothing is truly lost.
It’s actually simple. Worlds have always been of a constitution nought but projection by nature, projected assemblages of themed meta-categories of grouped perceptions, accumulations of monochrome manufactures sourced from the limitless potential of eternally awakened intelligence. And the holders of the worldviews conveyed, the consensus crowd, their harbourings only remain possible through the auspices of a conspiracy of distraction, within post-modernity, hyper-distraction, information assault masquerading as entertainment without reprieve. It’s very simple, as always, as there can only be distraction where there is the potential for focus, alienation only for those of which there is potential for community, fragmentation only as for parts of a whole, emptiness only when there is the potential for fulfillment.
While all truly remains available: the numinous, the divine, nature’s revelry, and some; all have not gone anywhere, all still here; all rediscoverable through grounding, true relationship and its inherent meaning, its inspiration; replete with love, joy, and the wisdom which flows through it all. The essential key remains perception and the will to its creative authoring; formerly maintained through the herd, yet eternally available to the heart’s desire in any present moment. There is just to remain at the helm. Letting all conditioned designs fall away, the clear mind rediscovers, and more, beyond the spirit, a true home-coming. In this place it is silly to ponder rights, to be tempted of hubris, to fragment, to see any as other, to identify with arisings not of preference. In the clear mind the wholesome flow naturally re-members, and dwells accordingly.
