Current events are pushing me towards a particular theory, or way of seeing. Permit me to share.

The more we zoom out and look for clues and patterns in the larger world, the more depressing things get. (A History of Government’s DISDAIN For Free Speech)

Conversely …

… zooming in on the immediate here and now moves us toward flow, sometimes maybe even toward exhilaration, catharsis.

I spent the last part of my evening and the first part of my morning engaged in fulfilling a coffee order. So long as I stayed focused on that work, I was happy, or at minimum, pleasantly distracted by that complex and interesting process.

Much of that working time, though, was spent with headphones on, gathering information about the state of the wider world, where humanity (and especially the empire I live in) is rushing headlong toward complete disaster, contemplating the aphorism that World War III will be fought with nukes, and World War IV will thus be fought with sticks and stones.

At the micro level I could as a result share in the happiness that my fellow traveler, almost a brother, came through the disaster of Helene not only unscathed, but as a kind of heroic figure, engaged in helping others affected by the aftermath of the storm. (All that joyful weeping.)

But zoomed out, the mere presence of a military helicopter in one of the shared photos sent me spiraling back down into the abyss of knowing what is happening–what ‘my’ government is using that same kind of advanced killing technology for in parts of the world not so blessed of god, and has used it for, over the whole course of my lifetime and even before.

Choppering in clean water to the middle of flood-stricken carolina: well that’s good.

And yet the very existence of that chopper in the first place, the fact that we chose to build it and maintain it all through these years in preference to more human and humane priorities, brought flashbacks of Vietnam, and Somalia, and Kosovo, and Tripoli, and Mosul, and hundreds of places like these that we never even hear about, unless we actively zoom out and try to see the broader patterns.

Now you might be inclined to say that the moral of this theory is that the Intelligent thing to do is to take off the headphones, shut off the connection to the wider world, and just roast coffee.

Part of me agrees.

A more substantial part of me though says: fuck that, because that’s exactly what They want you to do.

Living the purely inner, spiritual, apolitical ostrich way, grasping after each hopeful beacon might make us feel better in the short term. But in the end it does no good, and cooperates with the evil, letting Them get an ever-better stranglehold on our souls.

Being a leader in the enterprise of hate? Worse than useless.

Following along, doing a job, going along to get along within it? Unthinkable, for those with any trace of spirit left. Both of the main alternatives above leave us Collaborationist at best.

Getting the hell out of the way, then … ?

Hmmm.

It is, no contest, the least of evils, in a three-way race.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fresh theory.

They–fathers, lords, well-adjusted philosophers-of-the-Real to a man-jack–posited that arriving on this Earth, into this life and this culture, meant that you were faced with a choice of three forks in this corporeal and existential road.

But what if the triple choice was, after all that, just another god damned lie?

I can think of alternatives, within the metaphor.

We might go backward along the road we arrived on, back by choice to the non-existence we came from.

We might study the choice at length, and realize that there’s a fourth way, even if it appears to be nothing but a cowpath.

We might decide to … go off-road. Even if that might well mean abandoning all chance of Recovery.

Even if it meant choosing–embracing–something as awful as Psychological Suffering.

From near the bottom/beginning of the DeepStateConsciousness YT page:

Psychological Suffering as an Invitation to Wholeness

Richard and Nicole, Part Two.

This particular 63rd autumn, this specific 9th anniversary, blossoms in a harvest of turningPoints.

Faced with such emergent points, with these roads or false choices or real choices or these depressions or exhilarations or heroic overcoming or flying machine guns of imperial death, I say unto you truly today:

I’m not crazy (Institution).

You’re the one who’s crazy (Institution).

You’re driving me … no.

No.

You may well insist that the half-breed cow-path I’ve chosen is nothing but ugly badness, Mental Illness, and you shy from it, do your best to avoid it, cluck your tongue, look away quickly.

But I prefer to think Nicole, like R.D. Laing before her, has the better of it.

Getting well off the road is the only sane response to the insanity of what They have offered us.

It’s akin to getting the hell out of the way, only without the opprobrium and moral outrage they tried to load the question down with by using that phrase with such a sneer.

Abandoning roads altogether and wandering into the wilderness of the unknown alone is very surely a radical act, and almost certain to lead to a good deal of psychological suffering.

In the days to come, you’re going to be hearing questions that make you even more uncomfortable than you may be right now.

Was the Queen Mother the matriarch of a brood of conspiritual Lizard People?

Did I mean to type ‘conspiratorial’ just then?

What did Oz give to the Tin Man, and does ‘Oz’ in this context have more than one meaning?

Was that Twin Towers thing an inside job? Did ‘we’ really go to the moon? Who killed the Kennedys, and was Jagger right when he screamed about it being, after all, you and me?

Who are these voices who insist on chanting things I’d rather not hear and living rent-free in my head? Why in the name of all that is holy would I let them do that?

Does the Devil exist, and if so, is he by any chance the least bit, in any way … sympathetic?

Is what I’m saying … ugly? Am I, deep down where it counts?

What, if anything at all, is actually wrong with the sewerline, and is that too some kind of metaphor?

Are we good, in the center of our beings?

Is that all of us, or just some of us?

Was Samantha Stevens, or Elizabeth Montgomery for that matter, a Witch?

And …

Is paying the harsh price for looking deeper a bargain?

Or, as the commonly adopted and accepted wisdom would have it … a sight to be avoided at any cost as we seek to turn our eyes instead toward some heaven and live our best lives?