A Strange Loop in Observing Itself

I shift through carefully stored memories
Heavy with dust,
But yearning still for life.
I touch each with nostalgic need.

Have I already been forgotten?
Am I already stored away in a box,
Aching with desire for remembrance,
Molding with milked talent.

Life into death, death into...
Ah, well, it's nothing anyhow;
Its joy into trauma, luck into misfortune,
Love into hate and all the stuff in between.

But where am I?

Ignore it all,
For I am nothing but a Strange Loop;
A self-deluded self-matrixing machine
Descending into Nothing.

Windows

Backtracking

"I have got to leave to find my way.
Watch the road and memorize
This life that pass before my eyes.
Nothing is going my way...
...We're closer now than light years to go. "
- R.E.M., "Find the River"

I've come a long way on my spiritual journey. My recent excursion on the trail that I've heard called "modern mysticism" has been enlightening, and has brought me full semi-circle back to re-exploring the Christian mythology and Eastern philosophy I was brought up with (I have my In Discord and Rhyme cohorts Paul and Brendan to thank for that!).

And it's good to backtrack! It's a powerful experience to go back to the beginning of a trail and not only see how far I've come, but to start anew with a fresh mind--an erased blackboard. I may see signs that I have missed, and familiar signs may reveal more.

I've been reevaluating many of the basic assumptions that lead to spiritual knowledge: concepts of Self, Reality, Life, Death, et al.

Especially have I been meditating on the Self, that pesky concept of individuality that gnaws at the edges of reality. Philosophy and mysticism have both destroyed and resurrected this critter a million times over. Yes, the Self is a distinction born of defining reality according to the boundaries of my senses. And yes, reality is essentially One Thing, Nothingness and Everythingness at the same time. But the landscape of my reality is shaped by the arbitrary "Self" definition, and though I may dissociate from time to time, even this dissociation is limited by my experience. It is unlimited in my imagination, but my imagination is limited by my mind.

--Or is it my Will?--

And so duality rears its controversial head once again, even while the horns of monism shred the boundaries of Self.

But here, at the beginning of the trail, the old questions are no longer old (and perhaps no longer questions), and I can experience the knowledge that I am yet young and have plenty of time to unravel the fabric of my reality. There's plenty of time to peer above the blanket of myself, as well as delight in the warmth of its embrace.


I'm closer now, with light years to go.

Worth the Time

Often
I would look out calmly--
Quietly--

Across the morning wood.

The sun would rise rosy
And I would barely feel
The dew-colored air that would still be cold.
Sometimes I would shake from the bite.
But always,
It was worth the Time.

I yearn for those days
Now that I’m gone from those woods.
I think my soul goes back there when it’s lost.
And distantly,
It wanders the cool forest nights
Where the stars illuminate the emerald needles of those trees.
A treasure beyond any price.

Calmly. Quietly.
A fog creeps down from the hill and settles.
It lies like a cool, moist blanket
That I will cover myself in.

The Sin of Nudity (In Honor of Nude Blogging Day!)

When Eve and Adam ate from the Tree of Life (the Fruit of Distinction), the first thing they did was attempt to hide their nudity.

The significance of this myth is profound. There was suddenly a distinction between "Eve" and "Adam," and the consciousness of Self snowballed into clothing. But why the shame?

Modern humans go through a period of Self-awakening echoing the Biblical myth. Egocentrism is replaced by the ability to abstract, and suddenly the people around us have seperate points-of-view. There is a larger world beyond our mind, and much of it is composed of other thinking, discriminating, judging individuals. This realization that there are others judging us brings to bear our instinct of self-preservation, and we hide our soft, vulnerable bodies--easily subjected to judgement!--from discerning eyes.

But again, why the shame?

Nudity is equated with sexuality in our modern culture. The focus of our clothing is, after all, on covering our primary sexual characteristics. The shame of sex appears to have a convoluted origin; according to Wikipedia, the use of guilt by parents to keep their daughters from becoming pregnant too early plays a part (especially in the modern culture, I think). Religious dogma is certainly there, as well as an emphasis on virginity as a virtue.

An idea I've heard repeatedly from nudists, however, is that the nudist lifestyle removes the stigma of shameful sexual associations with the human body--even to the point where negative body images are erased due to the exposure to other bodies. Is our obsessive use of clothing actually creating some of our most insidious psychological diseases, such as Anorexia Nervosa? Is it viciously circling itself around an arbitrary cultural shame?

Clothing can be seen as a restriction. It chains us to civilized mores than hold us from Eden. It walls us from the world that is perceived to be "outside" of us, but of which we are apart.

The spirit of Nude Blogging Day appears then to be freedom from the distinctions made when Eve and Adam first donned the leaf.

Spellcasting

In the forest in back of my childhood home there is a stream surrounded by an old rock wall. It used to provide water for my grandfather's cows when it was an apple orchard and dairy farm. But now the hemlocks, pines, and birches dominate, and the little stream is unknown except by me, my immediate family, and the occasional hunter or hiker.

There is a spot in it where a flat slab of rock was set to create a waterfall. There, I would sit for hours as a child and watch the wildly running water in the Spring and Autumn, and explore underneath the rock slab when summer dried the stream bed to a cracking crust; the cold winter created a crystalline paradise underneath where water leaked through the frozen earth.

It was there that I learned to cast spells.

A spell is essentially manipulating symbols in order to create change within or without. So, philosophically, I usually define any action as a spell since our brains are symbol creators and manipulators. But what I taught myself was how to ritualistically cast a spell.

A heartbroken adolescent is apt to not think rationally, and facing the tumultuous emotions of this stage, I ignored the anti-spell teachings of my Christian upbringing and experimented. Having no books on witchcraft or paganism, and not daring to bring any into my house, I created my own spells from one premise: if it made me feel better, than it worked. My first spell (though arguably, I had prayed before, this seemed different then) was writing the name of a girl I had been infatuated with but rejected me on a piece of paper, and burned it on the rock slab of the stream. It made me feel better. Burning the paper was symbolic of removing her hold on my heart.

Many years later I began studying psychology, philosophy, and art in college, and with spirituality on my mind, the mechanisms behind how spells and rituals affect change became clear. Symbol manipulation is the foundation of art (later still, I applied this idea to science and existence in general as well), and art is the foundation of rituals and spellcasting. When I create a sigil to engrave onto a piece of fruit as an offering, I am imbuing symbols with meaning and using them to create intrapersonal change, and then perhaps interpersonally.

Poetry and music are my most potent spells. When I create a song or poem, I am manipulating symbols to create something that holds powerful meaning to both me and the observer. With these spells, I open my very soul to the universe, and allow my existence to be perceived and interpreted. That is the true power of spellcasting!

And, it's just plain fun!

When I go back to that spot at the stream, I ritualistically splash water on my face and say something symbolic and meaningful to me like, "In the embrace of my Mother Earth and Father Sun, I am reborn." It is symbolic of the washing away of accumulated stress, pain, and "sin" at a place that is spiritually bubbling over with the power of my personality.

"The Christian God," by Gentoo

(This was written by someone close to me. RFers know her as Gentoo!)

The other night I had a dream. In this dream, were many Christian images (that I now can't remember), but I don't think the images were important. I remember trying to take a picture of one with my camera phone, but in the process, screwed up the actual image. I remember going off alone while all of these images are being discovered. I saw ticker tape, with braille on it. But after the braille, was the word: Congratulations, and something became very clear to me. I felt a presence, and it hit me, the Christian God had a message.

He said in my dream that the Bible is wrong, that that's not how he really is/was (I came to the conclusion later that this could be true, that it all started out fine, but then dogma got a hold of it, as it does. And it was twisted continuously until what it is now). I asked why he was congratulating me, and he said and I quote: "I don't know" and went on to say something to the effect of: but something will happen to me that is worthy of congratulations.

Now the dream itself isn't so important, but it is certainly making me question the nature of of the Christian God. Specifically, he said: I don't know. Assuming that this was not my subconscious and that it was God (a stretch, yes but I am going somewhere with this), I've come up with three possibilities as to the nature of this God, though there are probably many more.

1.) There is One God who is all-knowing, all-powerful, all-etc.
2.) There are many Gods that have limitations
3.) There is one God or just a few that are limited.

Christians generally believe in number one, but when asked hard questions like: why is there evil in the world, they answer with human free will. Now this doens't make much sense to me, if their God was all-powerful, why would our free will exist in the first place? Why wouldn't the Biblical Christian God (with his history in the OT) allow for as many separations as there are in his "chosen people" to have separated in the first place? Why would God want/need us to find him by ourselves, if he can just as easily force us to if he has a change of whim again (notice his behavior did a complete 180 from the OT to the NT)?

To me with these questions, option one falls flat. But what of option two? Or three?

If there are many limited Gods, that would explain why we have free will. Since these Gods are not all-knowing, all-powerful, or all-seeing, one can reason that these Gods are fallible. And since they are fallible it would seem to me that there would be a sort of competition between them, who can have the most followers or something (you know, just to pass the time). And what better way to do this than through the use of fear? Of Hell? But a lot of people make the assumption that it is the Christian God himself being the fear monger. But I think that it was the people themselves. Enter Dogma (and no, not the awesome movie).

"Straight and narrow is the path" can basically be used as a definition for dogma. The idea that there is only one path or one truth and a slight deviance is heretical. Dogma basically comes about because of insecurity, someone is very unsure of themselves, and does every and anything to make sure that his insecurities are never brought up. Going so far as to put words in God's mouth: "God hates _____" is common amongst these people. This is usually where splits happen, example: Martin Luther.

After 2000 some-odd years of this, it's really no wonder that a message would get twisted, or even lost along the way. People are so committed to living their life so they're not looked at weirdly they completely miss the message their God gave them in the first place. Hence my earlier thought that the Christian God is not the same as the Biblical Christian God. Not only was the Bible translated and mistranslated over time, but before that it was passed down as oral tradition, and we all know how that works out.

Here are a few links to some sermons I've been listening to that are very interesting, he has a different interpretation than I'm used to, hopefully someone else will benefit from them as well:

Dogma Equals Division
It's Okay to Question
The Beast

For a Moment

(This was written as a personal narrative for a college composition class my first year of college. I reread it, and ponder how much I've grown and how much growth there is to experience.)

Footfalls on dry leaves broke the dark afternoon reverie I was in. I listened carefully in the direction they had come from, but heard only the silent trickle of the Autumn stream close by. I became lost in the sound of the water.

Again footfalls.

Am I being stalked, I wondered? I crouched low and listened hard, scanning the woods for movement. I loosened the knife on my belt, comforted by its smooth leather-wrapped handle. The only movement came from the Chick-a-Dees flitting in the hemlock trees. I felt foolish.

Footfalls.

This time, I was prepared and saw movement in the trees. I was ready to see a deer or maybe one of my brothers. But a gray and rusty figure emerged from the trees and my breath halted.

It was a large canine. My first thought was that it was a German Shepard. But while the seconds ticked by in that slow dimension of bewilderment, I realized that it had never been domesticated. There was no collar or even the impression one had ever been there, and its gaze was like nothing a domesticated animal could replicate. So calculating and unafraid were those amber eyes. It found more in me than I could ever find in it. Not twenty seconds did it study me before it bound away into the trees. It flowed over the hills, through the raspberry bushes and beyond my sight.

My mind buzzed with the encounter. One thought overcame all others: had I just seen a wolf? It certainly looked like one. Its fur was primarily gray except for a reddish undercoating. It was larger than any coyote I’d ever seen, with shaggier fur. Coyotes always seem skittish; unwilling to stop and obey curiosity in spite of danger. But the canine I saw that day showed no fear. In fact, as it leaped away, I got the distinct impression of superiority, as if it were saying, “You are just a visitor and must return to your womb of artificiality. I live forever in Reality.”

The encounter was staggering, and I crouched there in the middle of the forest trail for a good half an hour interpreting it. When my brain finally switched back to reason, I began to doubt my impression of seeing a wolf. It must have been a coyote, or a wild dog, I told myself. The wolf has long been extinct from Maine, and even if the few reports of wild wolves are true, they would be too elusive for me to see them.

But what if I had seen a wolf, just not in physical form?

To admit this, even to myself, is strange, but why not? I grew up being taught Christianity, and have added my own beliefs and philosophies to that spiritual foundation. So why the unwillingness to believe that I’d seen a wolf spirit? It probably has to do with the common human question of “Why me?” There is a certain amount of timidity when dealing with the divine, and when face to face with the potentially supernatural most will wonder why such a vision would come to them. I wonder what purpose a spirit would have in showing itself to me. At the time, I was in my early teens. As all young adolescents must, I was defining myself, struggling to find my place in the world. It was a lonely struggle, filled with social angst and educational demands. This forest was my sanctuary, these walks were my meditation. Alone I worshipped the wilderness that for a while could hide me from the mechanized world of human civilization.

It was then that the wolf came. A majestic creature of my imagination incarnated in flesh-or spirit. It filled me with a sense of the mystical. It reminded me that beyond the concrete barriers of human existence, beyond the complex steel web of social expectation, and imbedded deep in all of us is the reality of Eden. It is the illusion of civilization that constantly occupies my mind, but that vision, born of a walk in the forest, did much to clear my mind, offering me a glimpse into the world of the Wild.

Now, as a young adult sitting in a college dorm room, with conventions of the modern world surrounding me, I reflect on the encounter and wonder. A coyote it probably was. A wild dog it probably was. A wolf? Probably not. A spirit? I’d love to believe so, but reason shoots doubt into the idea. Nevertheless, I still feel the soul of the wolf was present in that encounter; some underlying nature in my mentality. And if it was just a mental longing to see something that physically wasn’t there, wouldn’t that be spiritual in itself? I gained something from it; a new way of seeing the world, perhaps a hidden part of my core that I‘d never before realized. A glimpse into the mind of the wolf, and that image drives me.

In the forest I imagine myself as the wolf. I flow over the hills, and through the raspberry bushes. I stalk human hunters in the fall, unheeding the danger of being mistaken for a deer, overcoming fear for the sake of the experience. I howl at the moon. I lose myself in the Wild, for I know that I must return to the womb of artificiality. I taste Reality, but know that as a human, it’s mine for but a short while.

For the moment.

Chaos

From a seed, a tree grows. Fruit encapsulates a seed. But at the center of an apple there is no seed, no fruit, only air. From our perspective, there is nothing.

From Brian Browne Walker’s translation of Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching:

“Thirty spokes meet at a hollowed-out hub;
the wheel won’t work without its hole.
A vessel is moulded from solid clay;
its inner emptiness makes it useful.” (Lao Tzu, 11).

At the center of all ordered things, there is chaos. Not modern disorganized chaos, but the Greek chasm of chaos; the Middle English primordial formlessness of chaos.

Thus is the canon of Chaos Magick. Before there is something, there is nothing, and out of that nothing arises everything. Before there is God, there is the Unknown God.

For a Chaos Magician (Chaote), belief is formed from nothing. Our view of reality is a belief; based on a faith in sensory information and the ability of the brain to interpret it. Belief is faith in a distinct set of the symbols that form our reality. The paradigms--mental models based on interconnected symbols--through which we view our existence can be crossed and changed. Chaotes call this “paradigm shifting.” It is through this that Chaotes will cross religious symbols, invoking Japanese gods during a Wiccan Esbat ceremony, let’s say, or offering special prayers to the Abrahamic God in the different spokes of a Native American medicine wheel.

Paradigm shifting is especially useful for a mystic--one who seeks an understanding, awareness, or oneness with a greater reality. It allows the spiritual explorer new lenses through which can be seen the different shadows of reality, to journey down different paths--and minds!--and peer off of them into the darkness beyond.

I exist in Chaos. My body is the sensory razor that splits and categorizes it into symbols that my mind can experience. I am the Tao. I am the Everything!

“Out of silent subtle mystery emerge images.
These images coalesce into forms.
Within each form is contained the seed
And essence of life.
Thus do all things emerge and expand out
of darkness and emptiness.” (Lao Tzu, 21)

Pools

I thought I was finished, but still the waves
Distant me from the shore.
Drifting, drowning, I reach for stars,
But find more water.

Sometimes I don’t care,
And that is the worst.
I sift through emotions that flit like insects
Between the bloody leaves.

We all delve into pools,
And hope to never find the bottom.
The murky, mucky depths
Are the threads of fantasy.

I think I’m done, but I know again
The waves will call me back.
And though I struggle, something older,
More powerful will win.

Returning Home

I found a feather returning home today.
It was snowy, tinged with black on one side.
I held it against the leaden sky
And kept it because I couldn’t bear leaving it for the rain
To clump the follicles together and ruin the silken beauty.

So I carried it across the grassy hillside and down my sandy driveway,
But it fell before I opened the door.
Perhaps it didn’t like the way I twirled it between my thumb and forefinger,
Or maybe it simply didn’t want to go inside
Where the sun and sky are boxed in.

Either way, I left it to be rained upon, or blown by the wind.
Maybe it will be crushed by the tires of a guest.
I would have lost it at some point, or stepped on it accidentally.
Such small things tend to be forgotten.
So I left it there by my door in the sand to return home.

Science and Art

We are sentient creatures in a vast and complex universe. Our curiosity is a useful tool of survival, forcing us to learn about our surroundings thereby increasing our ability to adapt. Thus, we are born scientists and philosophers. Our rationality is curiosity's tool.

We are also emotional creatures in a tumultuous universe. Emotion is also a tool of survival; it provides reactions intended to increase either our longevity (fear, love) or our reproductive success (desire). But the role of emotion in our lives is so much bigger than a survival adaptation. Our experience of them makes us artistic (the attempt to define our experience in a physical way) and religious (the attempt to create meaning and purpose based on our emotional responses).

Being the scientist, artist, philosopher, and religious creature makes us human. Logic and imagination are bedfellows that we imagine as opposites.

The meaning of the Life Experience is found in both science and art.

Bullets for a Saturday Night

Folded in triplet
And emblazoned with the bust of War,
You await an evening’s conquest
Loaded with guilt and nonoxynol-9;
The armor of trust.
A mask--
For within are seeds of something more powerful.

Deeper than the breast of the sea is your spirit.
Purity prepackaged and more potent
Than the horns of Aries,
You await an evening’s conquest
Loaded with lube and razor blades.

The Greatest Being

"Now we believe that [the Lord] is something than which nothing greater can be imagined." - Anselm. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anselm%27s_argument#Anselm.27s_argument

I ponder Anselm's Ontological Argument, as I do sometimes. Can I imagine the Greatest Being?

I can. I can imagine an omnipotent being defying all rational contradictions and paradoxes; one that can create a burrito so spicy that even It cannot consume it.

But wait! There is an even Greater Being than the Greatest Being of my imagination! For there is the one that created it.

Me.

I am greater than the Greatest Being I can imagine. I created it, after all. But I am an illusion, aren't I? Born of the distinction of "I" and "not I"?

So "I" am the Greatest Being I can imagine. (Other than, of course, the I that created "I.")

Wooden Ears

"The reason why we have two ears and only one mouth is that we may listen the more and talk the less." - Zeno

I expected to find open ears.
Eager, or at least willing, to listen to some individuality,
Instead I find sarcasm tinged with judgment,
And skillfully laced with insult.

I recant.
But my words fall on wooden ears
That are too busy with their own language
To ever hear mine.

Shapeshifting

"In all of us there is a lawless side like a wild beast that peers out during sleep." - Jim Steinman.

As afternoon turns to dusk, and the September air goes from balmy to chill, I shed my clothes and return to the earthy embrace of a pine and hemlock forest.

Unfettered by artificial chains, I stalk the forest like a wolf. I sprint across unkempt trails like a deer. I dance with the stars. I undo myself.

Shapeshifting is associated with werewolves, but has a deeper significance and power. It's not only about connecting to the wild beast within. It is about connecting to "nothing" and "everything." It is a return to Chaos.

In that chill September night, I become the Horned God spiraling back to the Goddess--back to the Garden. I am the Garden; there is no seperation. Only when I am fettered by the constraints of the adult human mind--seemingly secure in its razor logic and knowledge, definitions and divisions--am I cast out of Eden. Only then do I spiral away from the Unknown God, the Goddess, the Horned God.

Trapped within "I," I suffer, for I remove myself from the Garden. As long as I live I am removed, trapped within the Temple of perception from which I interpret the world without. But when shapeshifting, I lose myself to the Wild without. I become the child again, running naked without shame or sin. Maybe not in the Garden, but a part of it, for my Temple resides there. And I can choose which windows to look out!

I return on a damp September morning to the adult human world, where I must mask myself and hold back the Garden within.

Dying Fern

Who am I who walks a tightrope
Between the doors
Of Heaven
Of Hell
And that Other that brushes past the unexpected
in libraries filthy with age
and bedsores leaking Neon.

They filter out God sometimes
As something Golden and so pure
That even in the whitest snow Its name cannot be peed..

So rename!

I laugh at iniquities bought through years of splicing
the synergy of proactive solutions. Investments reek
Of unholy Profit and Greed.
Profit and Greed!
P!
and
G!

Suffering in turmoil at the hands of prophets dressed in Velour
And buying into Old New Age scare tactics.

I walk instead through gallant ferns
Dressed in the fertile fluid of morning;
Glimmering at the expectation of coming into
The world.
To die and rot and be the foundation
Of new Life.

Transcendence, or "Transcend-dance"

In 2002, I became a college student.

It was a journey that I began warily; unsure of who I was and what I wanted, I was reaching for shadows cast by a light I could not see in a room I could barely move around in. My spirituality was a solid alloy of liberal Christianity, Eastern philosophy, and eclectic paganism. It was the only shadow I was sure of--there was a God and a Spirit and Magick and a Self!

Then the philosophy classes began.

I was sure my spiritual shadow was solid, but I was shown that it was as evanescent as an early morning mist. There was no God, no Spirit, no Magick. There wasn't even an "I"! There was only...thought?

Existential malaise set in, and I grew despressed. I could not figure out why these things meant so much to me when they had never existed in the first place. I was a wanderer without stars. A candle without a gleam.

Looking back on it, I don't remember any epiphany. I began to realize that through philosophy, I was given the tools to reconstruct my spirituality in a way that transcended "I." There was no longer a fenced in Self, but an all-embracing observer that could travel further than "I" ever could.

It was a new pair of glasses. Through these, I looked at the scarred remains of my old spirituality and began to rebuild. It was the rebuilding of meaning. The rebuilding of a Temple to observe the Garden lost.

(If a tree falls, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Yes! and No! The Universe exists because we observe it. Without observation, there is no Sound, no Sight, no Me, no You.)

And so I walked in the woods a little more. I played my guitar a little more. I wrote poetry a little more. I tried to make transparent my eyeballs and become them. I fused art and science through the power of epistemology and rewrote my personal Scripture and Book of Shadows.

The shadows grew darker.

Joining Religiousforums.com was a baptism into a bigger world. Through discussion and debate, I was able to forge and hone my newfound Temple into something greater. I was able to mix my metaphors into a crux that intersected all roads so I may journey even further. Specific posters have and continue to suppliment my mysticism by challenging my thoughts and allowing me to challenge theirs.

I am reaching for the Garden, knowing I haven't reached it and may never except in those times of quiet solitude when the forest and I make love and cease to define each other.

I am dancing with transcendence!