Humanity vrs Death
This has been the age old question, to conquer the end. We all face it, we all find our own answers, and we think we have it all figured out. When your world is black and white, or written in binary this might satisfy. Like everything else we are, this is just a holdover from previous developmental cycles. These go back not to when we had words for me to write this down, but back to primordial ooze of single celled organisms. The universe or God, or as it's coalescing into my essence as panversal is in and of itself conscious, it is structured energy, which is what everything is. Information processing. As every would be sage, poet, musician, blade of grass, and grain of sand has been telling us forever. This is a love story, this is a passion play, the stories do not even change, they get rebranded, updated, but for at least the last 6 thousand years we have all learned variations of these same stories. Oh the names change, characters get makeovers, and costume changes, But from the Chinese dragon emperor's, to the Dogon's of the Sahara, the Aboriginals of Australia, down the lines it goes, not in one place but in them all. We came from the stars, that concept has been twisted around to mean so many things to so many people, from the ubermensch of the aldebaran to Pharaonic gods of Egypt, Right on back to the what we are told is our earliest civilizations in Sumer, and I'm not here to today argue that point. I do not care when, or where, or actually even who. I'm a big picture person, I do really well at taking a dispassionate stance and getting as wide a view as possible calling it like I see it. A valuable skill if you can find work for it, most of my friends just say I think to much, and they are sometimes right. In taking that position expansive view point, the patterns just kinda pop out, like the rivers in this text if you let your eyes unfocus, and just like that, the information you get from the text is not the same, and that view is not even on whole thought of as particularly useful. The people are interested in the words, not the rivers, so I learned to see the words like everyone else around me did, only they didn't seem to say the same thing to me as to everyone else. As a matter of fact they said the same as the rivers, and they were almost all saying the same things. Even when they seemed disjointed, or unrelated the same words were always there.
From the ecstatic altered state inducing dances of the Whirling Dervishes, or Tantric sex practices, Yoga, and Breathing techniques, in joyous upliftment of the celebration of life. On down into the depths of despair, and tragedy, and depravity. They all contain at there core I am alive, I am here, shouting into the darkness, longing for or hoping against that return response. I'm here I see you! This is the most wonderfully terrifying moment for all of us, and in our polarized, 2 dimensional world view of dark versus light we have left room for only 2 options. Some say it's love/hate, some fight/flight, it doesn't matter what the choices are labeled as, the important part is the limiting of choice. It's the offer of false simplicity, and simple is easy, and comforting, even at it's worst it's at least predictable. I mean if I only have 2 choices, there is always a 50% chance I'm right. This is very useful in long term evolution of life. Kill or be killed is valid for much of what we think of as life. The response of nature is always the same, no matter the method used to carry it out, the answer for nature is always, I want to survive. The fox is in hen house to eat to survive, and we made it nice lunch box, and then killed it when it came to collect the meals we so kindly laid out for it. We penned in the range animals, and kept all the goodness of their flesh to ourselves. We killed the wolves not because they ate people, like dogs around the food bowl we chased off our rivals. This existential crisis of just the struggle to survive molded us and shaped us into the most successful predator on the planet bar none. That being on the top of the food chain looking down on all the lesser species is pretty nice spot, it's good to be the king no doubt. Being at the top, and staying at the top are not the same, and getting to top means your not what you were when you started. We celebrate our predatory nature everywhere, from world wars to gold diggers, from pirates to emperors. The monuments to our depravity know no bounds, from triumphal arches to tombs we proclaim our divine heritage of immortality. All in the confused attempt to be remembered, to live on, to proclaim our own mastery over all we survey. This is where our delusions of grandeur really kick in, We start to believe our own hype, and our success translates into leisure time as we have come to call it. This is the true mark of a successful predator, how little time they spend on survival. For those fortunate few at the top of the food chain, it's everywhere, this new found leisure time allows for reflection. Not just to plan the next meal, but more abstract, things not so immediate in the world currently inhabited find the space to become known. A shift starts to occur, to manage your food, because lets face it, your not as young as you were last year, and well how many times can you chase a rabbit till the thrill gets old. So we take the tasty stuff, and shape it, bend it to our will, protect it from those who would take it, you know normal human stuff. At this point we already won, we have no natural predator to contend with, nothing to keep our expansion in check. As predators though we are ever vigilant, lest some scavenger steal our kill, if we lack a predator we make one up, when we run out decent prey, we move on looking for new places to hunt. With nothing else left to do we even hunt each other, oh we give it all sorts of reasons, but it always come down to the 2 choices we decided were the only ones we have. We do it because we want what they have, or we are afraid they will take whats ours. Having nothing else to contend with, having effectively already won the struggle for day to day survival, ensuring our genetic heritage is continued. We have time to place ourselves in the cosmic fun house, and the picture is as majestic as it horrifying. This is when we begin to get that glimpse of our next existential crisis. Having conquered death in an immediate fashion, it becomes a personal struggle, the, but what about me's kick in. We know our blood will be flowing and pumping even if it's through anothers veins, but still it isn't enough. The I is screaming in terror, what happens to me, I did all this work to get here, and I'm still going to die. After fighting death for so long, we begin a new battle, now we are after time. How many years can you cling to life becomes the new game, and being predators we play it with gusto. In the time game anything not you becomes a greater threat the longer it hangs around, just like an infection setting in, or how food rots, we start to learn with profound shock, if your not living, your dying. Or a bit more accurately, when you stop growing, you start dying, even closer, if your not expanding your contracting. This of course is still only a 2 choice idea, it's still locks us into an illusion of choice. If the battle is life and death, and answer shouted by everything is always life how do we reconcile this dichotomy. How can we celebrate the victor in the arena when he dripping in the blood, sweat, and feces of his opponent. How do we tell our children, that it's not ok to hurt others, and when we decide they are no longer children shove a gun in their hand and tell them to kill their neighbor, or be killed. No death is not our boogeyman any more, we coax, and torture nature to provide not what we need, or even what we reasonably desire. We squeeze the golden goose till it bleeds gold, till it's lushest oziest parts are dripping down our chin, staining our silk tie, cotton shirt, lizard skin belt, leather pants, and fur trimmed alligator boots till we puke. We squeeze the last drop, fish the oceans dry, not out of need, for our needs are modest, we do it because we have been offered no other options. Consume, or be consumed. Once our opponents are long dusty, and our glory is fading we miss the good old simpler days, those we overcame taking on status in the telling of our own stories. Yes we carry our demons with us, and with every passing year they become larger, and our deeds in over coming them more heroic. We Proclaim it to all Money doesn't grow on trees you know, and the giving tree withers it's leaves stripped bear, it's bark yanked free, it's flesh made pulp and reconstituted so we can make some pretty pictures on it, and call it ours. I don't hate money, money is an idea, and in the realm of ideas I swim with the sharks. I've been exposed to the trivium, and quadrivium, pi, phi, and even the Harris curve, our newest choice of curves, a new path to follow, a new star before our eyes. We build our temples to our creators, where babies cries are shunned. We rip our ugly growths from our own flesh, and call it cancer, and deny it's attachment to our emotions. Oh make no mistake we have damned ourselves for sure, for in our process of becoming, we have to live with what we've done. This is our state of terror, our splash of liquid light, our stairway to heaven, and highway to hell. Dharma, Karma, Sin, our triplets of story, our mistresses of fate. Weighing our heart against perfection, the living can not pass, for the living sit in judgment, while the dead just watch it pass. The living write the story down, building, destroying, crafting. Deluding themselves all the while, with pretty little dreams, of I can do no harm. We label ourselves dogs, and wolves, black widows, snakes, bears and list goes on and on, than we wonder why we kill. Our own sophistication has become our trap de jour, and I'm crazy enough to be handing out peter pan advice. In our marvel of our own magnificence our march to greater contrast, our rush to ever bigger, bolder, badder. We circle our wagons, lock down the prison, close the bathroom door, all because we can't stand the smell of our own shit. I've been eating shit my whole life, there is no possible way for me to deny it, I gave my top teeth eating the shit put in front of me, oh it's lies were so sweet. The numbing of the mind, of the soul, of the heart, that sweet oblivion of nothingness to take away the anguish of being a pimp or ho. I'm so tired of eating shit for being me, for seeing things I see, I will always chose my truth over your lies, I have to, it's the only way I can live, and die with myself.
Life eats Life, it's all there is, when you make it all one, we end up eating our own shit, you might think me mad, and that is fine we are all mad here, that is not in question. The question we are asking is can we live with ourselves, for eating ourselves. Meat is Murder, and it's all sucking off someone elses tit, we all know these things, they are not new or novel. Don't believe me, well take a look at these.
shit burger it doesn't even matter if it's a hoax, or fact, that it's there. That we have become so pained by where meat comes from that people have even contemplated this rings alarm bells. If thats not your speed how about this.
That is adorable little girl is Taylor Momsen, in the Grinch, many of you know here from a tv show she did that I don't recall. Some know now, as the lead singer of The Pretty Reckless. For much of America she grew up on their tv screens, I missed that part as I was absorbing myself in other worlds to escape the pain of lying in my bed. While I was distracted by the glitter of the lights in the distance, She went from singing
Fahoo Fores Dahoo DoresWelcome Christmas Come this wayFahoo Fores Dahoo DoresWelcome Christmas, Christmas dayWelcome, welcome fahoo ramusWelcome, welcome dahoo damusChristmas day is in our grasp,So long as we have hands to clasp
To a lovely young woman who's words I hear on many lips, from many tongues. Thank you Ms. Momsen, while I do not really do the fan thing, I see you, and your beautiful to me. This is the price of our denial of nature, this bitter pill is our salvation. In our death spiral of guilt, over all our perceived failures, our pitfalls of loss, we finally give up the ghost. Not because we have to die, because we no longer can take the pain of being alive, and what we have to do to stay that way.
The world devours it's young, Because we like sweets, and babies taste best. It doesn't matter how twisted the appetite. The old say youth is wasted on the young, while the young scream never trust anyone over 30. The age old struggle, the old lion wants to keep his pride, while the young just wants a piece of tail. The widow ate her suitor after he dropped of his seed, not from grief hatred or malice, she knows he'll eat the young, cuz it's good to be the king, But not when there can only be one.
I love you all, it's just a matter if you can accept the only love I know how give, cuz its a jagged little pill.
listen to the music, not just the beat, pay attention to the story, it's your soul speaking
Make up your own mind
Jack
aka
panseybard
