What Have You Really Loved Till Now?

“Your real educators, those who formed you, reveal to you what is the true primary meaning and fundamental substance of your being … Your true self does not lie deeply concealed within you but immeasurably high above you, or at least above what you usually take for your ego.” Nietzsche

What I love is the

Neat, obedient, well made.

Miniature, fine

Tuned, durable, marked

By craftsmanship. Intricate,

Smelling of old wood

And discipline. Love

I also the raw, untamed,

Unshorn, tacky, and

Tawdry, unabashed

And simple, open and free.

Wild, naked, real.

I am Apollo

And I am Dionysus,

Sharing a lifetime.

Matrix

My goal is to detect the matrix and test it’s reality.

There are multiple assumptions built into the matrix idea. One is that what we hear in our heads is detectable and influential to a consciousness external to us. The voice that we hear, the emotions in the actions that we take, must be discernible at a distance and matter to the entity that is monitoring them.

Bayesian I did that I can make a statement regarding my confidence that this reality is the base reality. So I can say that I’m 80% confident that the universe functions in a way that is easily apprehensible.

Another is that I and everyone around me can be manipulated in a way which is completely undetectable except under extraordinary circumstances. Additionally, for this to work, I would have to be able to detect that undetectable force.

The manipulation would have to benefit the entities which were monitoring from a distance.

The reason why matrix was persuasive and relatable when it first came out was because it was so apparent how my current reality was the product of my parents sending me the score and desiring me to do academics. It was readily visible how artificial the construction was. It required an extraordinary amount of energy in order to run an entire school.

Then, it’s 2021, and you stop the world for COVID-19. And the other people still exist, but so much of how you interacted with them is now gone. And you interact primarily through a computer now. It feels fake.

I have an intuition of the reality of circumstances. I have an intuition that there are other entities out there, with whom I want to be in contact.

There have been several times when the veil of reality has become thin.

A few times when loved ones acted in such a way that it was like if they were possessed by demons. My brother had a demon in him. It wanted to kill my younger brother. I had to throw myself in front of him, and he hates me forever because of it. That was more than 20 years ago, and I still think about it a couple times a week.

My younger brother had a demon. Maybe he still does. He nearly died several times. He wanted to kill my mom. He wanted to kill himself. He went inpatient multiple times. If you can’t remember anything, how do you know what was in your consciousness?

The demons have always bowed to me. I know their game. I win, but die a little more each time. They take the faces of the ones I love and twist them. They were the ones I trusted. I gave them good things.

The noosphere described by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin would have to exist, and be manipulated by superior beings who treat humans as subjects. Demons could fit into this framework, malicious programs designed to tweak malfunctioning operators. Or stop people who were getting too close to detecting them.

I feel like things are simulated when I realize how things worked together in a way that I didn’t consciously realize.

As described by Nietzsche, the Apollonian vision of reality we behold in dreams, art, theater, music, represents a hyper reality. It is so desirable that I suffer upon waking from it. It encapsulates truths beyond words, and I can only grasp at vapor trying to hold it.

Alternatively, the Dionysian experience has me dance and laugh a riot, singing and celebrating and weeping with a crew of fellow satyrs and nymphs. I get myself into a frenzy, and all boundaries are dissolved. I am loved, I am home, I am one.

Crushed beneath a heap of people, I crawl to the top, sight golden Apollo, and truly experience the god.

The Time Portal

I had spent many years journeying to find a gateway to another time and place. I found it in the Hudson Valley, in 2016.

When I climbed aboard their craft, I found the veil of time was torn. I could see backward through when many cultures met at these rivers shores. Natives, servants, slaves, squires, all met and danced as one. We danced to show our spirits free, that no one could ever stop us or hold us back.

I was the rainmaker, the one who brought the boon back to his grateful people. In terms of fertility, I thought I’d run my course. My wife was pregnant with our second child. But when I danced in this mysterious land, I jumped so high, I got myself a third kid the following year. No birth control could hold that Calvin back.

Fire raced above my head, curling the hairs on my forearms. Music I had never heard before stirred my heart, and I sang and rejoiced. I hope one day I can return, but I know it lives in me.

Living Water

“I don’t want to jump.” Bruno wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and squeezed himself.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, man, it’s time to do it.” The Sigmas crowded around him, inches away from the cliff.

“I’ve never done this before. You’re sure it’s safe?” Bruno looked over the edge. At the edge of dusk, the water was black beneath him. He guessed the cliff was a hundred feet up, if not more.

“Time to start, pussy, let’s go!” Dan whooped. “We all jump off this cliff every year. It’s part of pledging.”

Ram pushed past Bruno and started stripping to his underwear. “If you’re not going, I am. You assholes better have my clothes at the bottom.” He broke into a quick sprint and leaped, raising his arms in the air like an orchestra conductor, hanging in the air for a moment before he disappeared from view.

“If you don’t do it, you’re walking home, and don’t bother coming back to the house,” Fahroud growled. He left his sandals, dropped his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head. Bruno looked away. Fahroud was his age, but had chest hair, abs, and could grow a full beard. Bruno still looked like he was fourteen, even at the end of his Freshman year at New Gilead. He watched the swarthy young man walk purposefully to the edge and disappear.

Dan turned to him. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but I think you can do it.” They were the final two at the edge of the cliff. Dan was the pledgemaster for Sigma. Bruno was there because he wanted to feel like part of something, for once in his life.

The wind blew a chill up his neck. They looked at the beach below them, and Ram was already running around in circles and miming obscene gestures up at them. The other brothers were dragging together logs to build a fire. As Fahroud emerged from the surf, Ram started pelting him with pebbles, “fuck you!” Bruno shut his mind off, and started undoing his belt. Daniel was acting like the house caretaker, gathering up all their clothes and phones and stuffing them into a big gym bag. “I think the other guys are going to go easier on you after this,” Daniel reassured as Bruno handed him his clothes in a stack.

“When’s it ever going to be enough, Dan? I pledged so I could be friends with you guys, I work my ass off all the time and they just give me shit for it. It’s all just a waste. You don’t respect me, and I feel more miserable than I was before it even started.” Bruno hung his head and stared off into the distance.

Daniel walked over and clapped his hand on Bruno’s shoulder. “Listen, what do you want me to tell you here? That it’s all in your head? That you’re just like everybody else, and that you just imagine that you’re persecuted? The truth is, you’re weak. You’re a sissy boy who’s been taken care of by your momma your whole life. Now you’re here and you want to be strong, so you hang around with us, and we feel sorry for you and don’t kick you out. We do all make fun of you. You are worthless. It’s never going to get any better. Jump off that fucking rock or walk home in your underwear, I don’t really give a shit.”

Bruno stumbled back as if Daniel had spit in his face. “Fuck you, Daniel,” he mumbled, as he lurched toward the edge of the cliff and tumbled into nothing. The air swallowed him; he closed his eyes and tucked his head down.

He hit the water, and his vision darkened. He sank down, down, down, and didn’t fight at all. The hopes and dreams he had, of finding his way in college, of finding a different life, they all rushed away from him. He began to feel peaceful. He prepared for the end to all of it. His mind cleared. He floated in a green void. He gradually reacquired his body, with a feeling of intense tingling in his lips and fingers, like pixelation. He could shift his consciousness from that intense sensation elsewhere, but it didn’t diminish. Then gradually, his body calmed. Everything was silent, and he opened his eyes. Everything was dark around him, but he could see.

He felt calm, strong and warm, like he had always been here. This was natural. Around him, the water was absolutely clear. He turned and saw large wooden beams at the channel base, among the rocks. He let the air out of his lungs, and sank to the bottom to stand on one of the beams. The sand was dark, and he could see the bar at the end of the surf area, leading to the sea. He stood up and stretched him arms.

He walked to the bar, and a chatter of clicks, whistles, and moans came to him. A pod of dolphins was coming to him. The sounds grew louder, and he knew what they were asking him: “are you a man? You look like a man, but you don’t move like a man.”

He opened his mouth, and clicks and whistles came from his mouth and nose, intelligible to him.   “I’m a man.”

The dolphin at the front turned to him, “I am Ketti. What is your name, man?” She had scars on both sides of her back, and her fin leaned to the right.

“I’m Bruno.’” He looked at the dolphins swimming around them. Ketti remained still in the water, as if she were standing. Only her tail twitched.

“Bruno, we know you. From long ago. Come with us.” Ketti said, straightening up and tilting her head to the side.

“You… know me? How? I’ve never swam here before.”

“You are from the water. Your mother and father carried you when you were a babe. Neither have we seen them for many years.”

“My parents are both dead.”

“Not possible, man. We would know if such as they died. Come with us and we will show you all.” Ketti turned toward her pod. Bruno swam next to her.

“Wait, my friends will worry about me. They’ll think I drowned. I can’t just follow you.”

“Man, I promise you, none up above are friends to you. How could they be? They are clay, and you are water and spirit.”

Bruno kept pace with her as she gained speed, joining her pod. He remembered Daniel’s words, their harshness, and how alone he’d always been. Ketti promised that there were others like him, a family. He knew it must exist, for how could he have a longing if there was no way for it to be satisfied? He swam on into the dark sea.

The Messiah is a Beverage

I had been reading John’s Gospel for weeks, stuck on the symbolism of Jesus and water. Jesus says “I’ll give you living water, that you’ll never thirst again.” He says, “my belly is full of pure water.” On the cross, he’s poked with a spear, and blood and water gush from his side.”

In my study of Joseph in Genesis, I found that he seemed to represent the mandrake plant (duda’im, דדאם, atropa mandragora), and wrote about it in “The Mandrake Man.”

I think a similar dynamic is at work in John’s gospel. Jesus is the Messiah. The Messiah is, among other things, a drink, or an oil. Like an elixir of life, immortality. You hear it in our modern day usage of “Christen” for baptism as dedication to Christ, and see it when you “Christen” a ship before it leaves the harbor by cracking a champagne bottle on its bow.

A major information source I’ve just discovered is the Peshitta, the Aramaic text of the New Testament. While the scholarly consensus is that the NT was originally written in Koine Greek by Aramaic speakers, the Aramaic text reads in a much more organic, natural fashion, and many cryptic passages are quite clear in the Aramaic. For example, I’ve always puzzled over “the eye is the window to the soul,” which in Aramaic is “the eye is the lamp of the body;” to me, this is a far more intuitive metaphor.

One of the most significant discrepancies I’ve come across is miltha, מלתה, which is rendered as “logos” in Greek, and the Word in English. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Miltha can mean “Word,” but it has several meanings. The gematria number is 475, which is also “Drink,” as seen in Genesis 24:

“Behold, I stand by the well of water; and it shall come to pass, that when the virgin cometh forth to draw water, and I say to her, Give me, I pray thee, a little water of thy pitcher to drink.”

Which is precisely what Jesus says to the woman at the well in John Chapter 4. You also see this in 1 Corinthians 10:4, which in Aramaic says something like, “In the wilderness, the Israelites ate the food of the spirit and drank the Messiah.” Our English translation from the Greek renders it as “they drank from the rock, which was Jesus,” which doesn’t really capture the liquidity inherent within Messiah.

The Messiah likely corresponded to an elixir they used in their rituals. That’s not to say that Jesus’ death and rebirth was all about the drink, but to say that it’s a unifying metaphor that had ritual significance, and may have been represented by an earthly plant cultivated at Qumran.

A parallel to this narrative is found in the Hindu Veda 9, of Soma, the drink of the gods, particularly Varuna and Mitra. Soma is not only an elixir, but also is personified in some stories, coming down to earth and performing miracles.

Researchers have spent years trying to attribute this Soma to a psychoactive plant, which is fine, but not really my interest. Likewise, an argument could be made that psychoactive mushrooms or other plants were cultivated at Qumran, and that’s what was represented by Miltha and Messiah. John Allegro wrote The Cross and the Mushroom about this very theme.

While I find these inquiries intriguing, finding real world historical contexts for ancient mystical scriptures is not really my interest. I’m interested in archetypes, and the symbols inherent in the texts that make them into coherent narratives. That’s been my major qualm with the Bible, as much as I love it: it’s made incomprehensible by the translation, because the translators want to shy away from anything that doesn’t fit the narrative: anything that smacks of sexual imagery or polytheism is buried syntactically.

I say, let the texts speak for themselves, even if they’re weird and suggestive and difficult. What I appreciate about Miltha is that it captures the generative aspect of the incarnation, the phallic male energy, the … semen of G-d, without being too literal. Just as the divine feminine is buried by the church, the divine masculine is as well. The text comes across as alien and sexless, which does not capture the narratives of the Holy Marriage John’s Gospel describes.

Garden of Unforgetting

In my journeys have I happened upon

The Garden Unforgetful, thrice did I

Eat her fruit. When first I sampled, learned I

To trip the light fanatastick, no longer

Bound by gravity, the chains were loosed, danced

For the rain. All the overseers could

Not fix me to this earth, for of the sky

Was I born; return to my home did I.

Second fruit, spoke did I in my one true

Voice, as pure and strong, the leader for whom

World ached. With deep resonance I did

Intone, command, withdrew Excalibur.

The last fruit showed me witnesses, a cloud

Kindred, broken hearts, so lonely, lovely,

Awaiting healing and communion. More

Than a year since I visited garden

Green, yet I have found it grows in me, and

Its harvest will soon become my supper.