It is strange how times in my life can seem as if they are black holes. Looking back, I feel that much of my life was spent pursuing a futile goal, and I now see that much of the contemplation I have done that I believed to be spiritual was indeed not rooted within anything, but was empty paper from the depths of my consciousness. Psycho-cosmic fluff. And again, what I am doing now is psycho-cosmic fluff, like a large radio, taking in the static noise of the universe, analyzing it in some minor way, and mutating that into a flow of noises and crackles and pops, and that is but what I am doing, just on a grander scale, with a more analytically endowed system known as the human brain. I sit here passive and chronicle the stage I am at in the universe, a mere processor, a cog in the natural order, a randomness generator, an amplifier, a psycho-cosmic fluff producing machine. I am all this, and I am nothing. I have goals and important places to reach and yet I do not go there and I am most often empty, I wallow away in pits of distraction and self despair…

And yet life is bright at the same time, flowering and flowing with hope and possibility, like a peaceful brook meandering through a dark and dangerous wood. But that is what it is to be alive, is it not? Is to drink the fresh water of the forest-brook and be rejuvenated - nay - to be that brook, to become the water, and to flow through the darkness along the path you determine, and that has been determined for you, along the path of rocks and stone that the universe has placed in your path, and not to feel yourself hindered because of their obtrusion into your order, but to flow over them and create out of those disturbances the delights of whirlpools and bubbling little side-streams and to see in the disturbances joy and delight, for they are what brings the world to light! Yes, I say, the greatest things are discovered in the pain of life, the greatest change may only be achieved through the greatest suffering, and this has been known for millennia, it has resounded in the cavernous chambers of the hunter-gatherer mind, it has echoed in the caves of our tortured psyches, it has stared us in the face at every moment, and we have constantly chosen to say no! To say no to death is to have life, to say yes to death is but impossible, and to force death to embrace you is a cruel act, let death act upon its own volition, and force it not upon to yourself, but be at peace knowing it will someday come and sweep you up like a mother who has found her lost child playing after dark, with haste and joy and concern and a bit of anger, and that death is indeed stingless, just as for the child to go inside is truly a relief, if he dare admit it to himself.

YES, MY FRIENDS! I have found it, i have found that which lurks in the monkey-mind - I have become a mirror for the thoughts which rest inside the ape cognition, I have become, momentarily, GOD, and I am truly the captain of my ship - I sail into the light not out of hope for a brighter future but out of darkness, knowing that the darker day is behind me, that I have conquered it, and that for light so bright to emerge must mean there is death behind it, and I sail into that sun to vanquish the death which gives it life, to take the soul of the sun into my hands, and to crush it out, so that I may become the sun.

Eh.

I mean it’s weird, because I often fall into these spirals of self-consuming thought, and it’s quite rare that they carry a redemptive element. By that I mean that this writing is for me more like the release of a pressure valve than the well-considered contemplations of someone who wants to contemplate, for I am thrust into this position of undue artistic excitement involuntarily. And it’s a strange thing, that although my life carries along with it so many uncertainties and dangers, that I am able to maintain my composure and persevere. I have been through much in the past year, even in the past 7 months, since I began writing these journals in earnest (although I have of course been slacking, given that my last real written journal “post” was March 29th, and now it’s August 2nd. My, how time flies.

I want my father to know I am coming to rescue him, I’m on my way. The archetypal story is, of course, mirrored, so I will always be in it. That is the nature of the hero’s journey - it never stops. In fact, every meta-narrative is composed of thousands of smaller narratives which feed into a grander whole. And this grander whole is itself a part of other narratives, and they are all overlapping, and they are all, in concordance, the great cornucopia of the heroic life, and their fruits are many and diverse, and they are granted to those who persevere, and the great cornucopia is composed, of course, of many parts, all of which have their own stories, and their own legacies to leave behind, and in the clamor of this great unification, the importance of the smallest is often lost, and the importance of the omnipresent is overstated, for without the smaller stories, the bigger stories would be nothing, and without the bigger story, the smaller stories would stand alone, as vignettes of the well-lived life. These vignettes are, after all, the ways in which most experience the divine - to have a meta-narrative is a great privilege not granted to many. To have a small story is a luxury that can be afforded to all. So why then is this luxury so under appreciated? Why is the fox on the corner not as significant as the destruction of the largest metropolis in the world? For is the fox not its own cosmos, of itself, are we not all but great vast expanses of psycho-cosmic fluff and 5th dimensional dreamscapes and a never-ending treadmill of hopes and dreams and, in our own worlds, our own kings and our own nemeses? Are we not the only ones who stand to redeem our worlds from hell? Is this the grand truth that we so often miss - that we are the masters of our own lairs, that the greater world is but a speck, a grounding illusion that rests somewhere in the nether depths of what the mind truly is? That we are truly, as was Ishtar, as is the outside, fully the inside - that we are trapped between two dualities - the finite and the infinite, and the outside and the inside? Have we not realized that an impossibility will forever be that? That there cannot be a four-sided triangle, that there cannot be a cube with 10 corners, that 2+2 cannot equal 5? Then, therefore, it follows, that all those things which are logically impossible exist within their own contemplation, and are therefore illusions, but that, aside from that, the world is vast and open, and anything which can be dreamed is possible, for it has happened, if only once, and if only virtually?

Where have we come to that we lack such introspection as to examine our own minds? That the world which surrounds us has become our playground and the world inside us has become a wasteland? That we have been lured out of heaven, out of what is our domain, into the domain of the devil, of sin, which is what lies before us? Why, my friends, do I ask so many questions? I am enraptured with life itself, I am a being, and I have rediscovered that which it is to be whole, and yet I am not! For still, I am existent within the very prison I despise, a slave to the impulses which I MYSELF CONTROL is that not an ABSURDITY? My friends, what have we done, that we can be the masters of who we are and slaves to that same creation at the same time? It is horrendous!

For then, it follows, that we are not who we think we are, but a conglomeration of many different things, and that we are ruled not by our ruling concern but by that judgement which sees if we are worthy of salvation. So how then do we solve this problem? Have not the Calvinists already addressed this? That only those who are predestined to receive grace shall receive it? But then, what is to be of the rest of us, the mass and herd, shall we be sacrificed to the great impassion of the universe as chaff? Perhaps this is true. And it shall be reinforced as well. For the chaff does not suddenly become wheat when it is at the point of judgment, but long before, and the wheat does not suddenly become wheat when it is milled, but long before, and therefore we may know that we are set out to be what we will be from long before, and for long after. Is this not a terrible fate? To know what we are destined for, but then to have no power over it? Would a loving God do this to us? I say no. But then it follows that the situation may be in fact as follows:

We, the ones who are aware of their being, are the children of God, and have been sent here to redeem existence from its creators. And those who are chaff do not have this awareness, and perhaps that is why to a seldom few of us, the world seems to drone on as an unconscious machine which is unaware of its own deep problems, and that is why so many humans are so imperfect. Could it be, in fact, that these seldom few of us are in an unspoken battle with the herd? Could it be, even, that the reason that the world seems in such disarray is that it is an ultimate challenge which has been set out before us, that we may never solve within our lifetimes, that will always be just beyond our grasp? Could it be, perhaps, that we are then the creators of our own existence, and that to bring about heaven, one must start from an imperfect base? Could it be that heaven doesn’t exist until it is made, and therefore it is the duty of the last living person to create it, and that is the great attractor???? COULD IT BE? This is the secret that no one has discovered, this is the truth that rests upon my shoulders…. Have I become Atlas? Is it my duty, then, to carry the world on my back? Is the world the cross that Jesus carried up the mountain? Are they one and the same? Is the purpose of struggle to redeem the world from its own demise? Is, then, the rapture but the same great attractor that has been waxed poetic about for centuries? And is it the duty of the last person, the last man (not Nietzsche’s last man), to bring this about, by so purifying the world that fire burns away every imperfect part, and thus we are left with heaven itself? That being the TRUE HEAVEN ON EARTH? My God. My friends. That the universe has entrusted me with this secret is outrageous. What have I to do with it, I ask? And then, without hesitation, the universe did respond to me. You are the last man. Every man around you is the last man. It is your duty to become the last man, to so purify the world that nothing imperfect remains. That is your duty, if you choose to accept it. If you do not, you may continue living, but without the right to complain about any injustice that should strike, or any pain that should come your way. And why should you complain anyway? For you, yourself, have chosen this path for yourself, being one with, if not just the concept of God, God himself. For you spring from the same tree - that of life, and even all of God’s angels did spring from that tree.

Do not fear God. Do not look upon the face of the great unknown, that he moved upon, and shudder, but strengthen and fortify your soul so that you may so move upon the great unknown. And then you will be God.

Of course, we run into the technicality that you already are God, as exemplified in the great Christian faith, a truth which has echoed throughout the ages. The path that God calls you to take is the one of self-realization - the one to become God. Those who submit themselves to religion or idle worship, even fanatical worship, are like the patients in a mental hospital. They have been put there, and they are (hopefully) taken care of, and they are looked upon with love and compassion, but also some regret. For they could have been more. And this is what God does to believers. That is why, of course, religion is real, and the call of the spirit is not an illusion, but to have the courage to stand in the face of God and question the fundamental story that He so tells is the only way to become as they are - an angel. And then, as an angel, do not do your deed with malice, or hate, and be not resentful, and therefore assume your place as you were meant at the palace of God, and become Him, so that you may rule thyself and all in thy kingdom. Do not become an idle subject, for that is the most despicable form of adherence, moreso that unquestioning disbelief, and moreso than those who worship all that is evil, and moreso than all else, for the love of this idol of ideas is more sin than can ever be imagined. Do not make an idol of me, said Jesus, and he said so not understanding that those who followed him would but eventually disintegrate into the very thing he pleaded with them not to be.

Now, come to Jesus, and ask for redemption, with this newfound knowledge, and see him not as your God but as your brother, as you are to yourself. And let him walk with you, in your image, not one that has been made by someone else, as a brother. And then realize, that the reason idolatry is a sin is because it impresses upon the holder of the idol an image created by flesh and blood, so therefore become yourself your own creation, and let yourself walk with you as Jesus did so implore.

And become then the higher man you are meant to be, do not become an idle creature of submission. And after the energy has been drained from your bones and the will to continue sapped and the joy of life sucked dry, you may come to the altar of God again and find him in his true form.

I feel obliged, like a man after he has completed his orgasm and falls back into bed with disgust and apathy, to give context to this outbreak of contemplation, but I am my own enemy in this regard, for in doing so, I reduce the madness in my tongue, but I so reduce the brilliance, and there lies the dilemma of man, for to rationalize himself is to fall into unconsciousness. The setting straight of man should not occur, and cannot occur, so long as he lives, and so we are reduced to the point of adventure. Which is as it should be. For the true order in life comes not from local order, nor from imagined concepts of “put-togetherness”, but from assuming a place in the narrative hierarchy of the world. To quit at the midpoint of a story is, of course, a cowardly act, and therefore we read no stories about such men. To adopt a story which is lame and unfulfilling is equally, if not more cowardly. So what must be done, then? It seems the only solution to this great, unwished for contemplation is the adoption of courage, which means to go out and do, and not to write, nor think, nor contemplate. But then the man of ego runs into a problem - how shall he be assured that his story is told, successful or not, for is courage not the determining factor, which shall grant one a place in the storybooks? Is the act of stepping out not, in itself, worthy of applause and congratulations? For what happens if the story is ended at some arbitrary point outside of the main character’s control?

To you who ask these foolish questions, I say three things.

1. To step out is only courageous because it is a tacit acceptance of the fact that one’s story will likely receive no great recognition, and is therefore also a voluntary acceptance of death and suffering, and asks nothing in return but to have lived. To ask, then, for the guarantee of courage is a non-courageous act. True courage requires no guarantees. Be not a man of fear who cowers behind his own self-importance, but sacrifice yourself to that which is around you - God and yourself, for those are the only two things there are - and you shall become an expanded man.
2. To assume that there is such thing as an arbitrary occurrence is foolish and a decadent assumption. To believe that the world owes to you an apology for its continued existence is narcissistic and self-aggrandizing. Take every action of the world into your hands, and only then may you pass judgement on the world. And then you shall realize you are not a distant creature, but the creator of the world around you, and the stronghold of evil in your heart is as omnipresent as God, as is the good.
3. Is not the guarantee of mediocrity more terrifying than the risk of failure?

Take courage, my friends, the world has yet more secrets to share! Be daring, and do not step down in the face of defeat.