Believe

I believe.

I have silently despised that word for decades. Believe? What does that mean?

To know without proof? To trust in the uncertain? To place one's weight upon a hypothesis, while relieving oneself of the onus of proof?

Is believe not the same as guess? Both put forward a statement and presume them to be true. But "guess" is a shaky opinion, while "believe" carries with it the weight of ideals, religions and nations. Is it merely a difference in the intensity of one's guess?

"I believe in you". A strong endorsement of trust, often meant to provide encouragement to a wavering friend. It's very different from "I guess you could do it". That does not sound encouraging at all. Is it only a difference of intensity? Is it in the amount of mental weight I am willing to exert on the metaphorical bridge whose foundation has not been exhaustively determined?

It is all a matter of an approximation to knowledge. To believe, to trust, to guess, to surmise, to suspect, to suppose, to hypothesize. Are these not but varying intensities of the same concept?

Knowledge comes necessarily from experience. That is our only source of information in this existence. There is no other channel through which knowledge may arrive. We perceive, we process, our mind creates frameworks and models of knowledge, and we come to understand our knowledge within our mental web, whatever that may end up being. The tacit presumed goal is to weave a framework of knowledge within the mind which reflects most accurately, and knows with certainty, that within us we can find the same structure as we could find outside. And we find proof of our knowledge through accuracy of prediction, by recognizing patterns of being outside that we can hum to ourselves in our mind's sanctum like a catchy tune. This is how the knower gains value. He perceives, he analyzes, he understands, and he weaves new knowledge into his web of mind so that he can "see and hear the world dance and sing along to the tune he already has within him". That he may follow the rhythms of the world within him, and thus more gracefully be able to weave and to insert his own rhythm in the world – the lone dancer amidst the apparent chaos, or an ever-better observer and collector of knowledge within the endless museum of worldly events.

But if knowledge is the strong foundation of our web, the proven and unbreakable foundational elements that support the structure of our web, what are then the rest? Guesses, hypotheses, beliefs? Are they all merely different ways to describe a tentative, unproven new thread in the web? A bridge under construction, but which has not found a solid foundation of experience yet. Perception and understanding cannot fully corroborate this new thread, and thus it remains unproven, uncertain, with a sign. "Warning: Unproven knowledge. Test at your own risk".

And we do. Of course we test unproven knowledge. That is the process by which guesses become known truth. 

What I despise about "believe" in particular is its fanatical connotation. It carries with it the baggage of history. Nations have believed in some ideal and made indelible marks upon history, both for harm and for growth. Religions have flocked millions of sheep into mindless rituals and moral straitjackets for centuries, and believers continue to impose them generation after generation, with no true understanding of what is being done. The problem with "belief" is that it is used as a social badge to mark those who are "in the club", or "out of the club". "Do you believe in God?" "Do you believe in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?" "Do you believe the government is conspiring against its citizens to exert ever-increasing control over us until we are nothing but slaves to them?" "Do you believe the billionaires are taking over the world?" "Do you believe in fairies?" "Do you believe in aliens?"

I dislike that the word is used as a social marker. As a method of pushy contagion from person to person, from group to group, as a method of coercion. I despise the fact that "belief" has been used as a marker of discrimination between the "believers" and the "non-believers", that it is used to separate and polarise sections of the population, rather than to find new avenues of cooperation and union, which I "believe" is the way by which us humans, as a budding collective, can continue to healthily grow and mature.

I dislike that it has been used as a tribal marker of separation rather than as a method or path towards knowledge. So many get stuck in the tribality and separation of "belief" that further refinement towards knowledge becomes impossible. Fallen into the zeal of tribal demarcations based on belief, the "believer" cares more about protecting one's own team and turf, upon feeling superior to the other bands, of soothing their own self-worth with superiority, than with finding and ascertaining actual truth. And that wastage of resources, that misguiding of attention, that chaining down into tribal obligations, loyalty to one's arbitrary personal teams, becomes more important than the pursuit of truth. This attitude holds back the growth of the learning human, for he gets swooshed and smooshed into the metaphorical whirlpool of emotional battles and reactions, charged with generations of blame and resentment, and keeps him unable to move forward, lest he realizes the futility of the conflict, and chooses to move forward into the seldom-trodden path of those who choose truth over tribe.

I find it is this fanatical pull of belief, etched deep into our collective subconscious, that brings me to write today. That has kept me silent until now. I have refused from associating myself with such beliefs, instinctively perceiving it as an icky, sticky substance that would not allow me to be free. I see now that it was not the fact that belief relies upon an hypothesis that made me despise it, for upon this method relies our whole human method of gathering knowledge and visioning truth. No, it was never the uncertainty. It was the tribal stickiness. The competitions. The emotional cesspools of opposing groups judging, despising, and criticising other groups, which kept me removed from the word.

And in the process, as I removed myself from the tribal battles, from the petty feuds, from the decades and centuries of blame and criticism and perceived superiority and competition between so many groups, I gathered all of that criticism, blame, and judgement, and threw it all onto them. Into all those "believers". Into those unenlightened, blind, pitiful masses and crowds of unthinking followers, who rely on others for their dosage of truth, and who give away their freedom in return for group acceptance. I despised all those sheep. I felt superior to all of them. I criticised their pitiful way of life, their stunted path towards truth. "Mindless masses", I thought, and unwittingly gathered all of that criticism, all of that judgement, all of that hatred, all of that superiority into myself. I built a high chair in the middle of my solitary mind, and from there wordlessly cursed and despised their ignorance, silently spitting on their cherished devotions and beliefs. Foolish masses.

The prison of the rebel is his own rebelliousness. In my own zealous rejection of the majority, I created yet another group who fights for superiority against all others: myself. My island of one, my precious high chair... all I did was to take all the emotional baggage of "belief" and projected it from me onto them, isolating me from the world. My mind has been tip-toeing between the slimy puddles of tribal beliefs for a long time now, and it is time to let it go.

To let go of my hatred. Of my separation. Of my perceived self-superiority. I have been depending upon the mistakes and ignorance of others in order to assuage my own insecurities, and as a crutch for my own self-worth. I, he who despised so intensely the ignorant slavery of the mind, have done exactly the same thing unto myself.

"But still, no one else told me to do it", my petty mind still comments. "At least I wasn't scammed by others". Bullshit. My own insecurities are clinging onto the last of their self-determined superiority, and they know it. They know it is not special. That I am not special. That I am also another human. Blind. Ignorant. Bumbling. Scammable. Prone to mistruth. Much less of the unrecognized genius than or maverick than I had perceived myself to be. Even writing this my fear grasps at it, points at it, tries to use it as proof of its specialness, but he knows the truth. My discovery is not new. It is not revolutionary. It is not a medal to wear under my shirt, pretending not to notice it. It is my flag of surrender. I am human, and my path towards truth is fallible and flawed. I am not special nor superior, and I have been thirsting along my path for accolades that have kept me a prisoner of my own isolation.

But I am also like them. I, too, choose to believe.

But I cannot use that word with the baggage it now carries. What is to believe? The word implies unproven knowledge, but it carries with it a sense of aspiration, of a nebulous draw towards it that one does not understand. Aspirational uncertainty, I would call it. That certainly carries within it an emotional bias, and thus it is easy to see how such a word may have produced the rifts and conflicts we see in the world today, when our aspirations just happen to differ (or to seem to, anyway). But as I see it, that is what it means to believe. To suspect something is true, and to be drawn towards it aspirationally. To *desire* for something to be true, but not merely by petty desire. By the higher desire – that one we have yet no words for.

The trust to be placed in belief, however, is strong. It is strong enough that one is willing to place one's weight upon it. It is strong enough that we may jump on it, swing on it, and struggle to find a foundation of truth for it. That one is willing to place one's bulk of life upon that bridge, knowing that if the belief turns to be false, one's dear life, accomplishments, and strivings may fall down to the chasm of failure underneath. Belief is a trust one is willing to support one's life upon, encouraged by his aspiration, and willing to risk his efforts upon this unproven truth.

So I propose this new mnemonic-definition for the word "believe". To believe a belief is to "live by that belief". To "live by that uncertainty that we aspire to be true, yet are honestly uncertain about". Without proof, without guarantee, belief nevertheless convinces a man to support one's life upon the weight of that uncertain truth, and be willing to *test* that belief with the gamble of one's own life.

"To live by". That is to believe. This is a high standard, I'd say, and I'm certain that a great many so-called beliefs would not pass this test, particularly when it comes to religious teachings (the most nebulous of all social beliefs). For so many still use belief merely as tribal badges and marks of separation... but that I have written enough about. No need for further criticism, mind. You've made your point.

So what do I believe in? I have sought truth in my way, as have many, and I have gathered opinions, experiences, teachings, analyses, conclusions, and intuitions. I've filtered them in my web of interwoven knowledge, and now I hold a bunch of floating hypothesis strands in it, all of which I've been unwilling to believe, lest I "fall into the same fallacies and stupid sheepish followings as have the many before me". But this is past. I am not thus special, we've settled that much. And by refusing to incorporate any of these hypotheses into my working web of knowledge as tentative beliefs, I've deprived myself of the impelling tool of aspiration. I've kept all of those unproven bridges cordoned off, "out of order", unsuitable for walking upon lest they break and I deem myself a fool, or worse, lest others see me fall, and I may find myself on the receiving end of that intense derision and judgement I felt towards them.

But I now release that hatred. I step into belief. I refuse to define myself by the standards of the world, whether by association or by rejection, and I willingly step into the risk of wrongness, both social and epistemological, of inserting my aspirations into unproven bridges. Of upgrading my unusable strands of guesses between my web of knowledge into usable beliefs that I am willing to test, admit, exercise, and actually risk my reputation, correctness, and life upon. Because the reputation we feel is but an overbloated emotional illusion of the social realities around us, whose criticism is prickly at worst. For correctness is merely the attribute of "rectitude" with respect to another truth or standard, and thus it is futile to remain technically correct about hypotheses that have never been proven. It is the empty boast that "all my beliefs are correct", while my number of beliefs is zero.

As for my life... well... what good is a life untested? What use is an explorer who walks only the marked streets and safe sidewalks? What service can I provide if I remain publicly forever huddled under the umbrella of the acceptance of the majority? "Only the service of maintenance", responds my mind. A noble service, and one to which all of us are called to throughout our lives in one way or another, most obviously with the maintenance of our own bodies. But this I know: that is not enough. That is but the necessary foundation upon which beauty can be created, truth can be discovered, and the cosmos can be explored. It is but the vehicle upon which adventures and discovery can be had.

Thus I allow aspiration unto my hypotheses, and I step into belief. What do I believe?

I believe in magic. I believe in the soul. I believe in fairies, and in forgotten civilisations of old. I believe in auric energies. I believe in divine light. I believe emotions and thoughts are subtle fluids we spill and litter wantonly onto space and time. I believe in angels. I believe there is no death. I believe our bodies are nourished through the sun and our breath.

I believe we're all children. I believe we all hold pain. I believe humanity has gotten stuck in the fears of failure, loss, and gain. I believe in spirit. I believe in love. I believe that these rhymes are no longer worth striving for.

I believe life is present in every microscopic volume between our eye and each star that reflects upon it, crammed into all space and writhing with vitality. I believe the physical world is a membrane continuously floating upon an ocean of consciousness which flows "underneath", and the shapes and forces we perceive are but the outreach of these conscious waves and currents. I believe that matter is but play-dough, sand to build with, infinite infinitesimal lego pieces sticking, breaking, floating, and available for us to play with. I believe matter, situations, and life hold no inherent meaning, and that meaning is our misunderstood and vastly underutilized prerogative to infuse with life and color our experiences with, much as a child intuitively gives life to the dolls and toys he plays with with his natural gift of imagination. I believe many adults have either forgotten or rejected the value of imagination, and they become thirsting ghouls, begging their peers and society to give them the meaning they long for through recognition and appreciation. Those gifts we've forgotten to give to ourselves.

I believe the wholeness of truth is incomprehensible by our human mind, yet our mind has the duty of building the scaffolding of knowledge and wisdom through which purpose and life can pour forth into form. I believe the mind often thinks of itself as the undeniable master of our life, but I believe it will forever thirst for purpose unless it admits that something exists which transcends it, of which the heart is the mysterious gate.

I believe most of us, both individually and collectively, live blinded in our own emotional fog and miasma, trapped in fears, cycles, and Karpman triangles, and that we require honest introspection and courage to clean ourselves before being able to truly grow. I believe that shamanic breathwork, magic mushrooms and ayahuasca, psilocybin and DMT, can be of great help to realize the fact of what is beyond and within, to realize the depths and the responsibility of our own shit and light, and that they can be used to the point of abuse. I believe the highest form of our passion, joy, or excitement is the marker to our "correct" path in life, and like the fabled white rabbit, it unerringly leads us to the unexpected situations where we can best live, experience, learn, and continue to grow.

I believe the fears associated with money and reputation keep vast swathes of humanity stuck in corrals of their own making, who use their own free will to restrict themselves into spaces where they will never find the adventures their heart longs for. I believe the fear of failure, the fear of ridicule, the fear of poverty, the fear of shame, and the fear of death are the ceaseless advisors to him who does not dare question his own life.

I believe in these very years humanity itself is at a rising inflection point of consciousness and vibration, and that each of us has the choice to either let ourselves be swayed upward, inward, and newward through life, or to continue to cling to the old and familiar even while it increasingly shows itself to be obsolete. I believe choosing the former requires us to face and question our darkest fears, and that it leads us to discovering, to unfolding the true, joyful, blissful light within, which can then pour unimpeded into physical form. I believe that extra-terrestrials are somehow involved in this process.

I believe life is a process of self-discovery, even while most of it seems to hinge upon circumstances outside. I believe our waking life is but a fraction of what the entirety of our true being actually perceives, experiences, and absorbs. I believe therefore in the importance of tuning our sensitivity and expanding our consciousness, so that we may better see and know ourselves, and thus more truthfully, capably, and joyfully play. I believe all is play, if we merely choose to.

I believe we are sensationally, invisibly, and spiritually guided to fulfil our life's purpose, and that many of us fail to see the white rabbits past the stress and rush we impose upon ourselves. And that when we do see them, many refuse to face the fear where the rabbit waits. I believe fear itself is an indicator of concentrated energy within our system, and when felt and allowed to dissolve, this energy reveals itself to be a wrapped gift of joy and power, or at least it releases that energy for more useful service somewhere else in our system.

I believe some people often serve as spiritual channels, tools of communication between invisible or distant entities and humans, and that this is merely a borrowing of this same human tool or vessel that is most always used by our individual soul.

I believe in telepathy. I believe in ghosts. I believe in the power of silence, and in the power of words.

I believe astrological influences, divination, tarot readings, energy healing, and similar systems are based on fact, and I believe they are prone to misinterpretation, and even wilful deceit. Nonetheless, I believe they can hold value to whomever investigates or makes use of them with ungullible, uncynical self-criterion.

I believe there is healing in song. I believe there is healing in dance. I believe there is healing in laughter. I believe love is felt when it is infused into our food, music, or service. I believe there is healing in love, in pleasure, in kindness, in work, in failure, and in pain. I believe healing occurs when we see, feel, and accept what we have not.

I believe in the value of prayer. I believe in the value of meditation. I believe in the value of yoga, of exercise, of art, of sports, of music, of theater, of crystals, of books, of science, of technology. I believe all of these can be used for true growth, and that all can be used to the point of abuse. I believe that abuse carries with it its own gift of growth.

I believe the development of artificial intelligence reflects a corresponding shift or transcendence in the spiritual realms that underlie us. I believe that the next leap of growth for us humans involves crossing that bridge for which the external world provides no concrete evidence or support, which poses a challenge to us who have so long relied on external evidence. The supporting evidence, therefore, must become individual and invisible, and requires us to develop self-worth, self-reliance, and self-criterion. I believe many humans will not do so soon. I believe many others will.

I visualize that in the bridge metaphor, concrete evidence corresponds to columns that support the bridge from underneath, from the solid bedrock of matter, whereas the new beliefs for which no such proof exists will be found to be supported not from below but from above. Cables and tethers from which the bridges hang, which correspond to evidence found only within inner experience.

I believe we are mysteriously yet factually literal reflections of one another across an existential prism that I do not fathom. I believe our consciousness is likewise unfolded and built upon literal geometric reflections through planes of spirit-matter beyond the realm of the seen. I believe that some humans have pierced through the veil into ceaseless and unanchored continuous consciousness, and that some of them come back to help lift us up too. I believe many great teachers, artists, discoverers, and leaders of the ages channel such transcended beings, as well as other spiritual entities of diverse and unknown kinds.

I believe religions are plagued with misinterpretation and burdened with deadened ritualistic cruft, yet that many enlightened helpers serve humanity from within. I believe politics are rife with corruption, selfish ambition and childish squabbles, which reflect onto populations as tribalistic hooliganism and social fractures, yet that enlightened leaders and officers do exist and do their best to serve.

I believe meaning, attitude, and positivity are all a continuous choice as we swim in our universal sandbox and sculpt our castles of sand. I believe this sand and all derived circumstances have no inherent meaning or implication, and that even in the face of death, upon losing that which is cherished, upon being proven wrong, or through social humiliation one can choose to feel acceptance and a true smile.

I believe life is simple. And that all complexity and complications fit within it.

I believe life is love. And that all conflict, struggle, and pain fit within it.

I believe.

P.S.: That text in the last image was ALL ChatGPT's. I like it, though.

"I BELIEVE IN THE ENDLESS BECOMING."

Primal Trinity

The embers of my animal trinity

of anger, hunger, and lust

still smoulder strong

in my solar plexus, sacral, and pelvis

despite my long efforts to forget them

and to shut them down.

They burn still, ready

to rekindle me ablaze

when I accept them once again.

My raw primal urges

are inseparable from

my vitality and my joy.

Anger is unfocused purpose

Hunger is latent power

Lust is unrefined passion

Smothering the one dampens the other

no matter how charming and expert its concealment

under courtesies, pretense, and lies.

softness

When transitions of consciousness are edgy, the flow is disrupted, and turbulence is induced. It takes an act of will to guide the awareness back to a smooth, continuous flow.

Thus a practice of softness can help the edgy individual. Softness with our choices, with our actions, with our emotions, and with our thoughts. Softness on the inside, and softness on the outside- softness to allow the motions a smooth transition. The one's curve of consciousness can become a smooth (infinitely-derivable?) manifold, and then one can be said to live with grace.

Alwaysness

The always-ness of the Now makes it unnovel, uninteresting to the unstable mind. It knows and assumes It will always be there, and decides instead to focus on the opportunities of escape purported by the tantalizing future, by the known masticated past, or by the immediate fancies of fantasy. Yet even in success, comfort, and achievement, these do not - can not- satisfy wholly. For whole satisfaction is found only in wholeness, and all of these temporary means foe scape (if we could only remember!) are but incomplete fragments of the Now.

Doubt not what you do. Heed only that your consciousness is open, whole, and awake as you do, live, and are.

Continuous, unholding, bright Awareness. Of all you perceive.

Soft, joyful, regretless Choice. At each fluid step.

Live. Whole and True.

outbreath

Sometimes I write with the intent of inducing a reaction.

Of having others observe my experience

And agree with it.

Of finding support in the readers

in the hypothetical future of my fancy.

But then there are other times

when reception is not the aim

when the written does not need a reader

to accomplish its intent.

These are times when the written

has no goal but itself.

The expression of a truth within

allowed to bloom as a mere outbreath

of the complexity I've become.

Reproduction.

Those times the written holds truth

and need not be read nor remembered

yet exists

as an outgrowth of my being.

Seeker

if you wish to know the truth of this world,

you must come to know yourself.

For there is no seeing without the seer,

no knowing without the knower,

and even the purest lens cannot remedy

the vision of a distorted observer.

Take your unhappiness and ponder, whereby does it come?

"Is it really mine if I never accepted it to be?"

Why feel so much struggle, distress, and frustration

for something that is not of your own creation?

Take your happiness and ponder, whereby does it come?

"Is it really mine if it cannot stay with me?"

Why feel so much pride, attachment, and greed

to achieve an emotion that always recedes?

See the animal you inhabit, consider its shape

its organized tissues in form incarnate.

Are you its desires, its hungers, its needs?

Do you wish to be ruled by this living machine?

Look in deeper and ponder, what steers its actions?

"Am I just a wondrous Rube Goldberg contraption?"

Is the choice I experience a constant illusion,

and if so, what's the goal of such needless collusion?

Sink deeper and wonder, what is this existence?

"Does the flow of pure Being need my active assistance?"

What matter if my hopes and my path diverge,

if all possible roads eventually merge?

Be still then, dear seeker, and merely allow.

What you feel and see is the Truth of the Now.

A gift of experience for you to observe

what occurs when the world tests your strength and your nerve.

A chance to take on the hero's stride

and save yourself from a dreary ride.

Act yet allow, therein lies the key

that opens the door to a life full and free.

Pristine

In her tiny newborn body,

in the mechanics of her unwilled breath

in her tender reactive spasms

in her immediate responses to minute details

in her frequent frustrations and discomforts

in her unfiltered coos and cries

in her unpolluted nature

I see the gift and plight of humanity.

Absolute sensitivity.

Continuous stream of senses and consciousness,

All of it queueing to be seen, to be felt

To be digested and assimilated,

Incessant, relentless,

very often overwhelming,

and thus much of it ignored.

And initially uncolored.

Merely swaths of data looking for some organization.

Then the new vehicle, this body of old design,

identifies what it knows, and evokes pleasure and pain.

Pleasure towards what helps it grow,

and pain towards what hurts it.

The conscious self then, instigated by these inner forces,

shapes its own mold from the body's opinion.

Thence comes the polarization of experience,

the separation onto the good and the bad.

And if this duality the mind is allowed to believe,

it yields its authority to the happy and the sad.

And in this fall onto desire

due to a lack of mental fire,

lies the crux to the wealth of lamentations

that have lived alongside humans for many generations.

For then one assumes that one's consciousness becomes aware

to serve and fear and slave away to our body's core alarms,

when in fact it is but our vehicle, and though it needs good fuel and care,

Its outer details are minor, like its pleasures, pains, and harms.

And in this newborn's nature, and what I feel her rile in me,

A fractal-like reflection of the human self I see.

When she feels any kind of pain, annoyance, or commotion,

the unfiltered feeling expresses through her coos and cries and motions.

And somehow I, the father, feel pulled to appease her dislike,

much like her hunger was my hunger and her discomfort my own plight.

And if I neglect to first think of why she might be feeling this way,

Inner chains pull at my instincts and coerce me to help her right away.

But if I pause and consciously choose to first think,

I train my mind and will to override that primal link.

To firmly hold the reins while handling her with care,

just like one can feel one's urges, yet walk through life aware.

My newborn manifests in flesh my own inner child,

her body an innocent automaton, unfiltered, raw, and wild.

Her pains and desires I feel just like mine,

and they pull me to attend to her every little sign.

Yet her wellbeing does not always lie in the utter negation

of her every itch, ache, pain, and little frustration.

Her mission in life now is to simply explore,

and my role is to help her without overriding her will,

or to take away from her changes for exposure

to the effects of her actions, to deprive her of closure

for her own choices, for her highest concern

in this life she came into is to gradually learn.

So her body, emotions, and desires, just like mine,

are in perpetual flux, unpredictable in time.

And though it is prudent to heed their signs,

what should best hold the reins are our will, soul, and mind.

Birth

We all come from blood, pain, gore, marrow, and void, 

All of which most humans prefer to avoid.

Perhaps because their first entrance was not soft or clean, 

But felt rushed, unwelcome, tossed, or demeaned.

The essence of newborn is soft and simple,

New body absorbing every tiny speck and wrinkle.

Each whisper, each light wave, each friction on skin

Vibrates the pure white slate of consciousness within.

And just like our own selves when we listen and stop, 

The gentle is pleasing, the rough sudden is not.

Laying down in dark silence with her, I learn to observe

How many mean sensations I've grown to tolerate.

Quick zippers, rushed footsteps, sudden clacks and bangs,

Common plastic rustling, loud voices and fans.

Even soft rustles of sheets and sheers

Can be jagged prickles to a newborn's tender ears.

Each flicker of candle, each unaccounted lumen

presses unto the eyes of this new sensitive human.

And just as our smell carries subtle detection,

She too feels fear, anger, joy, and other affections.

The vast of the world she's thrust into is overwhelming

And her first need, once she breathes, is observing

The myriads of new inputs flooding her brain

And training to deal with her sensorial pain.

For the suddenness of birth can be a trauma

From a dark, red, warm cave to a sudden flood of drama.

One's body is helpless, strange giants are all around,

And the world that was home is nowhere to be found.

So when a new human first comes out to the light,

We ought to imagine that we share her plight.

To pay the utmost attention, and like her become pristine,

So her entry is seen, soft, careful, and maximally clean.

merged

she and I have grown. Deep and softly. Inward and outwardly. I tell us at times: we are one. We have merged into a literal being we call our relationship, our partnership, and now we are learning the art of loving ourself with the help of loving one another.

Subjective or metaphorical or fantastic as it may seem, I feel this is what is really happening. Loving myself has been reflected to me over and over again as I engage with her, and then loving her has been reflected to me as the Love that I can give myself, and that I sometimes deny.

In the One being that we have merged into, I see complementing attributes arise out of each of us. In her I perceive our sensitivity, and in me our... Activity? I don't quite know what I bring to the our being, but I do feel that we balance each other. In more than one way. And sometimes when she falls out of balance, I help support her. And when I fall out of balance, she helps support me. And step by step, day by day, we grow and learn with ourselves and with each other. Day by day, event by event, fear by fear. At the pace of nature - one step at a time.

Libido

I wonder at times why

my libido has diminished bit by bit

since finding the prize of my desires.

Day by day and night by night,

my enthusiasm for sex is not quite as bright

as I had known it to be

as I had suffered it to be

as I had assumed it to be

as I had needed it to be.

Twas always my experience

that the chance of female liaison

would drive me to great lengths

would lure me to real risks

would move me to long journeys

would have me dream great plans

just for the chance to share

that

look.

to touch

that

hand.

to smell

that

breath.

to feel

that

warmth.

to live through that alluring

dancefloor strobe of enticements, one by one.

her eyes

her hands

her hair

her smile

she laughs

she plays

she is glad

I am there.

her feline walk, her playful lure.

to play that game with a willing partner

is all my child desired to procure.

that ride of seduction, the waves of desire,

that prize was the explosive

fuel for my inner fire.

It made me cross countries

It made me traverse

new journeys I otherwise

wouldn't know were there.

My life line drew richer

as it explored new paths

and the fuel that prize gave me

took me long, far, and wide.

Then one day, unwitting, a partner arrived

and our partnership lasted unintentionally.

And as night by night, we'd seduce us and fuck,

my girl-hunting psyche realized its luck.

That sweet prize, adored and sacred

was now with me each night.

And if my past goal was now a given,

what use was the fire without the fight?

So little by little, and naturally,

my libido decreased for the sake of efficiency.

Her allure still attracted, and though it felt very nice,

more and more would I think about doing it twice.

My mind began drifting and wandering off

and I seriously wondered, "what's going on?

My energy is dormant, my playfulness is subdued,

Do I, wretched ungrateful, now dislike my own food?"

"Her sweetness is real, my prize is finally here.

why doesn't it shine as bright, now that it's so near?"

I'd heard people say when man settles, his belly expands,

concordant with less energy from satisfied glands.

It wasn't inevitable, there had to be something more,

and I dove in to ponder into my core.

And in there, I realized the problem was straight.

No fire need burn to reach my current state.

What I missed was that power, that passion, that fire

that propelled me to places farther and higher.

As on this I pondered, I realized the truth:

I could not the same thing possess and desire.

I suspect that others, when reaching this state

are perplexed when their drive gradually dissipates

and may then, if hungry once more for desire,

seek other prizes around them to kindle their fire.

A woman, a mission, a shiny new car,

an office that's bigger, a journey afar.

More money, more power, anything that sparkles,

and lets the hunger for hunger continue its cycles.

I think, though, that that path is but a distraction

that repeats old paths through unconscious reaction.

I suspect the way out of such doomed iteration

is to transmute base desires into aspiration.

That is, to observe that the desired was obtained,

and that through it nothing of essence was gained.

The hunger was sated, the rush is now quiet.

Can we hear the silence, and sit calmly by it?

Deep down in the silence, one can only accept

one is neither good, bad, better, worse, or correct.

For any such judgment tips the scale at the center

and deviates pure Being onto the Presenter.

And if one attends to that silence inside,

one can also feel base desires fly by.

Attractions, repulsions of body and mind,

tug at one like magnets many-a size, shape, and kind.

And as they fly by, the astute observer

can see that those urges are not truly theirs.

They only concern the body and mind,

while our essence is of a subtler kind.

So when one is no longer glamoured by desire,

what then is there that can light our fire?

This question I ponder, and so far I surmise

one can still dance with attractions

and not fall for their disguise.

We can harness their forces to our ideal

rather than fall slave to their appeal.

Having then seen the nature of desire,

one can turn to the Self, to fully aspire

to Truth and to Love, which reside higher

than the goals and prizes many yearn and admire.

Breadcrumbs

February 25, 2025

Flowed have I here. Not run, nor marched, nor coerced. Flowed. On waves both strong and calm, in skies both stormy and clear. No plan my mind designed wove my path, and no built-up expectation found here its satisfaction. In a place of flowing surprise live I, and bit by bit, day by day, my mind and nervous system learn to trust that the flow of the seemingly random waves leads us true. Gentle, sudden, resonant - the waves bring me the full extent of their spectrum, and I learn to listen. Day by day by day.

I find myself the steward of a large villa in the mountains on an island in Greece, together with my wife Tilda. We learn to live in flow together, and we share the fears and the delights that we experience thereby. I find this experience is truly that of love. That of which gradually bonds two human beings into a larger being. We share our fears and we no longer hide them, we share our joys and its brilliant flow courses through us in resonant delight. We share our habits and we learn from each other. We share how we feel and think and act, the tiny details in our consciousness, and we realize how similar, even identical, our life essences are, and we see in each other the mirror of ourselves, showing us in full display what we are like when we feel worthy, when we feel insecure, when we feel joyful, when we feel vulnerable. I see my own needs and desires and insecurities reflected in her, and I know them to be the same as mine because I feel resonance when we connect at that depth, and she allows herself to be seen as she is - raw, true, unhidden and fearless to be seen by me, and the clear lesson I listen from Life itself is "Love". "Love". "Love those needs and desires and insecurities in yourself as much as you urge to love them in her, as you desire to let her have an open space to shed her tears and speak her words and yell and laugh her emotions out, as you desire to allow her to BE who she is, as you feel compassion for her, guided by this game of human mirrors... Love. Love yourself just like that too. For she is you, fashioned into your partner so you may help each other and play".

Day by day our habits dance with one another, as strands and shards of us are slowly revealed - even to ourselves. Through knowledge of the other we grow bolder, through recognition of ourselves in the other we grow kinder. Step by step we align our purposes, as they meld to become one. The purpose of the both, the purpose of the family. Our family. Together we grow a family, together we welcome a child. And I understand now (more) the importance that the family holds in our human race. Honored by society and revered by religions: the family manifests the creation of the new life from the union of opposites. It expresses the critical recursive step of that literal fractal of which humanity is but one branch: the Tree of Life. Creation. Generation. The offering of oneself and of one's body, skills, presence, and purpose to the building of the new, which like the partner, also reflects to us more of what we are. Or so I surmise (still).

Our unborn child is truly our guiding star. It guides us to find a country to travel to, a house to live in, the people to connect with. It guides our actions and it guides our priorities. And along the way we see, once and again and again, breadcrumbs we feel are left for us to follow the fortunate path. That gently reminds us that there IS a fortunate path, and that we need but listen and trust the wisdom of the self, the quiet certainty of the heart, to guide us true across our meandering, surprise-sprinkled path.

We see the crumbs in the little girl's sweater on the street as we came back home to Ellikon. We see the crumbs in Tilda's sister's baby gift. We see the crumbs in our doula's rag doll. In a perfectly-timed shooting star. In my sister's oblivious congratulations note. In a leftover soccer ball in our new house, on the used pink play rug we bought second-hand, on the walls of our new house's bedroom wall, and today on our midwife's sweater. Clear as crystal, our child's mark again and again, inspiring both slight disbelief and laughing smiles in us, for we do not seek them; they merely show up for us again and again and again. And we are re-fueled with joy and with laughter, and are glad to take our next steps with trust in the life that we dance day by day, that we learn, which we meld, and which we create out of ourselves. We are the flowing, growing, seeking, consuming, melding, spawning, recurring Life. Unrestrainable Nature. And the method whereby it aligns, joins, grows, and creates itself is Love.

Re-Mother

If I knew that you were like my mother,

my path would've very likely been another,

For fear would've caught my attention

and told me you'd bring me too much tension.

A voice within would've told me "don't bother,

do you again want to be ruffled and smothered?

Your voice once more trapped and imprisoned

between walls of 'should' and 'don't', unreasoned?"

I would've recoiled with forgotten horror

from the times of mute and pained sorrow

when I wished that her care wouldn't reach me

for I felt her distortions when she tried to "teach me".

But no, when I met her, she accepted

all my quirks, tastes, and unpolished bits

laissez-faire, untroubled, easy-going,

I thought that being with her,

I wouldn't need to change any parts of me.

But today as we arranged furniture

in the upstairs of our new house

I realized, one year forward,

that her patterns do follow my mom's.

They both have numerous sharp preferences

she hurts if we do other than what she asks

and I've gradually, always willingly

tamed my own choices to fit with her tastes.

And a part of me feels shocked and affronted,

even actually, ashamed and betrayed.

How could I have given up my pure freedom

and have my shape dictated by her space?

But my conscious mind knows with clarity,

(for each choice that it took, it did with care)

that each single change I allowed had a reason,

I knew the how and the why, and accepted the hence.

I know the things she cherishes,

I know what brings her fright.

And since I continue to choose to be with her,

I prefer that she feels safety and delight.

And I understand, over ten years later

past my mother's body decease

that her smothering and her overbearing

were but distorted expressions of love.

Discomfort is contained in this path I chose

but also in every possible one.

For the pain need follow the pleasure

as the valley comes after the hill.

And as I've learned this geometrical theorem,

I now seek neither pleasure nor pain.

I follow my truth at each moment

and expect neither success nor gain.

And my truth at this moment is that with her

I feel a resonant connection of soul

our hearts say a silent "yes" to each other

though we know not any definite goal.

I cherish the truth that her eyes speak.

It inspires the truth that lives in me.

So regardless of the old fears she spurs in me,

I choose her daily, uncoerced and free.

So though now I know that she is like my mother,

I realize the gift is that we can now love one another.

Meeting the fears and pains misunderstood in years past,

Life now invites me to heal them, so that love can last.

Motive

We all die. All of us - whether we rise to be sublime poets, powerful financiers, acclaimed celebrities, prosperous family founders, or whether we merely float our whole life as wisps of dust. Kings, merchants, laborers, paupers - all of us death sweeps away eventually like the wave destroys our sandcastles. All our glory and worries and fears and comrades and treasures - naught but recycled sand in the great void.

So what is it we do here? Why do we birth and grow and learn and build and love and care and strive and CARE? What role is it we fulfill in the order of the cosmos? And why should we care at all about fulfilling it?

Materially, the fruits of our collective lives and toils would seem to be the building. The history that we have inherited back across the ages, the knowledge that our forefathers have cultivated, grain by grain, is a mountain of structure and wisdom, some of it more nebulous than other, that each generation inherits, tries for itself, and builds upon. In a word, the fruit of our effort may be SOCIETY - the collective material remnants of all that previous generations managed to keep alive for those born after them. Like a tapestry - it is a collective weaving of stories, languages, customs, science, technology, and insights, including sections for the various races, nations, and groups that have contributed, upon which we continue to weave on and on.

But all these fruits matter not to he who dies, to he the I within who is swept away from this world by death and oblivion. What gains the soul from this creation and decay? What fruits does it reap from the buildings that break, from learning that stales, from partners who die? What is the role of the "I am" being that inhabits this very body that coordinates the typing of these words? Why is this intangible conscious I included in a system where only matter appears to matter?

Nature obviates the unnecessary - no pebble is forgotten and no thread is left unwoven in this vast jigsaw puzzle we inhabit. What are the motive and purpose, then, of this consciousness that we are and live and feel and exist as, day by day?

I posit matter alone does not build these structures of earth and water and flesh. That the deterministic effects and diagrams now long stale in physics textbooks are in actuality choices - a continuous stream of choice emitted from within every vibrant particle in the universe, at times called "Brownian motion" or dismissed as randomness. This stream of choice is emitted from the soul within, seen from above as disordered chaos, as one would expect from an uncountable throng of atoms. And yet from such choice emerges cohesion when groups are formed. Atoms combine to form molecules, molecules to enzymes, enzymes to cells, cells to organs, organs to plants, animals, and humans. Plants onto forests, animals onto packs and ecosystems; humans onto families, tribes, and nations. Nations unto mankind.

As a billion trillion water droplets combine to form cohesive clouds, flowing rivers, and level mists, so do our atoms combine, find each other, and weave into the cells and organs and bodies that we inhabit and use, day in and day out. The consciousnesses of the myriads of servants at our disposal care for the continuous maintenance and the minutiae of their own tiny domains, so that we, the cohesive consciousness behind our individual conglomerate body, may materialize intelligent and directed choice, our words and our actions, onto this buildable, malleable, and ever-receptive world of matter.

What for? Whence comes the choice, and towards which purpose? It comes from our essence, and it seeks satisfaction. Satisfaction of equalizing the inside with the outside, or finding balance between the intrinsic and the expressed. For with each choice we follow our urge to express who we are in one way or another, in one or another of our many dimensions, to flow out our essence, to imprint our relevance, the WHO of our ARE, onto the world. In other words, to eventually see out expressed in the world the essence of WHAT and WHO we are, in our complete and refined glory. And the answer to that universal mystery of ours is yet to come (if it ever can be fulfilled) only eons after all the bodies and knowledge and structures we have built have been discarded as mere scaffolding along the way to our final epiphany.

Thus Life flows, as us within it.

Who are you? Exercise

Who are you?

I am me who feels, who plays, who enjoys the pleasures of thi world, who dances life. The world is around me and it penetrates me, and I feel as its waves course unto me, splash me, and flow through me. The sky and the sea andthe life are mine to dance with, to feel, to sense, to dive in deeply through with my whole being.

I am one who lives in the eternal void, forever shifting and waving and cresting and troughing through peaks, voids, spectres and rainbows, symphonies and swamps. And all of it is mine, and in all of it I delight. I am one who lives. Who Lives. Regretlessly, undoubtedly, unerringly, whichever my steps and attempts and results may be.

I am one who Lives. Who Loves. All that I feel, for it is all the same essence as Me.

I am Me. The One Who Lives.

I  am. Am.

I am the One Who Delights in that I Am. I am one who enjoys the creation of the sea and the destruction of the fire. Who flies the freedom of the Wind, and walks the Foundation of Earth. I build upon myself to feel myself in all my dimensions, to know myself all that I CAN.

Who are you?

I am one who learns. Who observes, who experiences, and shares. Through sharing I grow, through feeling I know I am one link in the chain of the Life that we are. Linking and weaving our knowledge, our histories and our lessons, decade to decade, century to century, with kindness, attention, and leave? I knit carefully, conscious to pierce the needle with kindness and with consent, with their knowing that this web connects them to the rest of Life. To their origin and to their Future, if they so wish.

Pinprick

Always through the pinprick specific

do we penetrate into the general abstract,

into purer, ideal substance.

As the needle breaks into the skin to find the bloodstream,

and the specific problem situation calls upon

the help to learn the general knowledge that helps thereward,

(Necessity is the mother of intention (invention?)).

and it summons helps from others around oneself,

thus penetrating into deeper knowledge,

a deeper meeting point,

and deeper interconnection.

Thus do we live. To penetrate from the surface matter

into the knowledge of the essence.

Hierarchy

Lasting order requires hierarchy.

It is impractical for the common majority to retain a substantial connection to their individual purpose in the role of the whole if this whole is detached, standardized, global in scope, and overall faceless and unrelatable. The collective does not feel like the individual. That which we understand only through statistics is not relatable to our day-to-day lives.

Alternately, the global whole can be organized into a dendritical hierarchy, to which each of us belongs at some level. The unit to the family and community, the worker to the team, to the department, to the company. Such hierarchy retains the feeling connection between unit and group, and allows us to retain our purpose, our driving force, as we cycle with the daily toil and grind. For if we keep in contact with peers and leaders close to us, in culture, in knowledge, in origins, and in scope, we hold a substantial relationship to the whole, through our physical, emotional, and mental channels, and thus feel like, being who we are in the role that we fill, we rightfully belong to our larger whole.

The Rich and the Poor

The rich, afraid that they'll be seen as the others, the foreign, the disconnected from the real difficulties of life. And thus that they will treat any of his actions with cynicism, with disdain. That they'll think of his offers to help as pathetic pity, or as a desire to manipulate them later on. Or even if an offer is truly sincere and selfless, that it be seen as "spare change", for "he has so much, this is nothing for him". That they will blame him for what he chooses not to give. 

And if he thus thinks, or is thus attacked by others, he easily closes his hands and his heart in self defense. 

The poor, afraid that they'll be discarded as the worthless, the unimportant, or the incapable of caring for themselves in the basic fashion. Afraid of being measured by wealth, they react defensively by closing their ears to advice, by insisting their situation is part of their identity, and gather in groups to reinforce each other's certainty of their correctness, reassuring each other that their situation is acceptable and inevitable, even if it is despised and complained about. Team scapegoating.

Familiarity

"Familiarity breeds contempt"

is a common adage.

This occurs

not due to repetition

nor predictability

nor lack of novelty

but because one oft forgets

the motive that begot it

the purpose that drove it

the connection to the heart

that ignited the spark

that first turned the wheel

whose cycles one then

comes to loathe.

For one equivocates the cycle

with the subtle counterparts it comes from.

For one sees then only the creation

and forgets how and why it came to be,

the creator.

It matters not whether or not

the cycles are well-kempt.

What matters is their true connection to oneself

is clearly seen and felt.

When that occurs, correctness flows.

Comenzar y Terminar

Lo que comienza suele terminar, incluso cuando hay expectativas diferentes.

Más importante que el resultado, me parece, es reconocer lo que se ha aprendido de las experiencias vividas, y discernir si aún hay potencial de aprendizaje y crecimiento en tal relación. Y si uno siente expectativas específicas sobre el resultado (relación continúa, relación termina, pareja cambia, etc...), me parece crucial entender los orígenes de estas expectativas hasta la raíz, y así obtener claridad consciente sobre las dinámicas inconscientes en las que es común perderse.

Las expectativas, decisiones, y entendimiento de otra persona son ajenas. Intentar alterarlas infringe en su dominio, y causa repulsión territorial. Uno puede comunicar lo que ve y lo que siente, mas la receptividad y la interpretación de tal comunicación depende directamente del receptor.

Más importante que lo que comunicamos, sin embargo, es tener claridad sobre nuestras propias dinámicas - deseos, emociones, fricciones, motivos - para que nuestras acciones sean concordes, y para que nuestra comunicación sea verdadera y libre de violencia - el fluido verdadero que al cuerpo le hace bien expeler.

Opino que los humanos nos atraemos y nos repelemos según resonamos, y que tales resonancias suelen indicar un potencial de aprendizaje - oportunidades para ver en el otro partes de lo que somos, lo que admiramos u odiamos, y para disolver tales irregularidades. Se puede aprender mientras se comparte - con placer y con dolor. Y lo que no se aprende/disuelve en una oportunidad, permanece para seguir resonando con futuras oportunidades.

Mariposa Asustada

Hoy Tilda y yo nos vimos en la mesa

ojos suaves y penetrantes, en contemplación mutua

(después de escuchar Earthsong

y sentirme fluido-a-través-de por energías altas

a través de mi cuerpo - brazos levantados, atención interior)

y tuve una impresión, una visión, de una interacción entre nosotros

anterior a ambas nuestras vidas

de nuestras almas.

De nuestras almas más jóvenes.

Y luego bailamos, nuestros cuerpos,

a la música de piano suave en la cocina.

Ella dibujando curvas suntuosas

con sus brazos y con su cuerpo

y luego al vernos, cara a cara

le dije lo que vi/sentí:

"Sentí a nuestras almas, hace mucho tiempo

cuando te tomé con fuerza, queriendo tenerte

y tú, mariposa asustada, te escapaste

y me costó mucho tiempo volverte a encontrar".

Lágrimas rodaron en mis mejillas

saturadas de anhelos antiguos recordados

y ella me dijo

"Me tocó mucho lo que dijiste.

Ahora estoy aquí, contigo,

y quiero estar contigo".

Y llorando, comprendí el dolor de hace tiempo,

que al forzar su presencia conmigo la ahuyenté

desde edades olvidadas

y desde entonces, he aprendido

a sentir y escuchar.

Rhythms

We meet again tonight, my child

as we have each night.

We build rhythms into us

by the repetition of ritual.

We build rituals into us

in order to harmonize with the cycles

that transcur all around us

and the cycles that iterate within us.

And as we build each rhythm

we gain the momentum of the harmony

with the world around us and within us.

Dynamic, living flywheels

sources of energy and strength.

And with each rhythm built

we express gradually

the true essence of our self.

Building a rhtyhtm takes time

sincerity and diligence.

Each step taken is one woven thread

into the fabric of our rhythm.

Therefore we meet each night

to build the rhythm of our family

to weave the tapestry of our family

with love.

Love knows the harmony

with other rhythms

with other cycles.

With the sun and stars above

with the heartbeats nearby

with our thought currents within

with our fears and desires.

Each thread woven with love, therefore,

can best produce a fabric

that joins the parts in harmony

in coherent, joyous union.

Each step taken with love

each thread woven with love

adds to the fabric of the family

that we are building

you, your mother, and I.

That is why we meet each night

to build the fabric of our family

since the stage of seed

so we may be joined through love

as our family grows.

Children

Children, truly, all of us are.

regardless of years, experience, or scars.

We play, we fight, we laugh, and we cry

but many after some years, we learn to deny.

To deny the anger that asks us to fight

because for convenience, we're taught that's "not right".

To deny fresh laughter that makes us shine bright

after so many told us that that's impolite.

To deny our wonder that brings us to play

when we're trained to be adults, who "have to work all day".

To deny the pain buried under those fears

who dare not seek help nor to shed repressed tears.

And instead we carve ourselves intricate masks

that avoid confrontations and focus on tasks.

They focus on survival to get the job done,

barriers and defenses to stave off everyone.

So when our anger wakes up to something unfair

our mask filters it to a despondent "I don't care".

And when something in a stranger lights up our spark deep

it filters to "nah, I'm busy, plus she'll think I'm a creep".

Our laughter spontaneous, we hold and restrain

for we fear it may boil in them anger or pain.

And instead we echo its squawks and its hisses

to pretend our approval with fake little kisses.

And inside of us, buried deep, barely a trace

lies the pain we never took the time to embrace.

For from it spring the fears spring the masks spring the walls

that keep us so lonely in this world full of souls.

Our child seeks connection, and looks out to see

"who'll truly understand me", "oh who will save me".

But when we reach out, we find them all flawed,

"no one truly sees me, no one truly knows".

"And even close partners, friends, and family,

there's just *something* that I can't quite make them see.

They relieve my thirst, and calm my desire,

but no matter what I do, they always expire".

Too often the seeker is thus led astray

he most oft does not know he seeks the wrong way.

The walls, the thirst, and the sought-after grail

are all on the inside, behind his own veil.

Deep within the layers grown so thick with time,

each time the pain oozes, a new cover of fear slime

hardens and encloses, not unlike a snail,

except that in our case, we're not quite as frail.

The pains at the core of our walls are old

oft too old for memory, can't even be told.

However, its psychical structure persists

and will do so as long as we try to resist.

To resist the message pain wants us to hear

a simple and primal "I am still here.

I hurt and I cry and though I've called you for years

not once have you dared listen nor share my tears".

"I'm scared and alone and I cry out for help,

and all you do is echo that out of yourself.

You seek help in others, and fail to see

what you've truly been seeking is this lonely you/me".

"No lover nor offspring nor safeguard can give

you what you have been missing to THEN fully live.

You see, the only way that both you and I can heal

is that you dare listen to me, and let yourself feel".

"Feel the old wound whence spring all your walls,

that inside you are broken, at your mortal core.

Accept you're imperfect, inexcusably,

for only then the flaw of perfection you'll see".

Only when the path of inner pain

is walked and you embrace the one at the core,

can the years of grief wash out and drain,

and through awareness, soften the fears galore.

And little by little, when you least expect,

suddenly you'll find you're able to connect.

Sometimes yes, to others, but most peculiarly,

you'll find yourself feeling your true inner "me".

The air may feel fresher, the colors less dull,

gradually you'll have much less need to control.

Your laughter will pop out, your wonder will grow

where no plan for either had been made before.

And when anger rises, you'll now have the choice

of how you will manage your hands and your voice.

No longer a youngling, when you are wounded again,

you'll know to take time to care for your pain.

When people around you react at you with fears

remember that behind them is a dammed lifetime of tears.

Greet the child within them, even if with your eyes,

for yes, he feels it, even if the people retain their guise.

While you, recovered traveler,

can now walk and see.

Equipped with wonder, joy, and laughter,

Child Eternal, live free.