Day after day, the new Dimitri, Loki, the New Hannuman descended, Chambao, not into a dolphin, not a whale. We humans are listening. Yuang, Ram in the Thicket, how old are you? How long til you step into your own shoes? There are traps, traffic, and there is the slow vein, She, the dedication.
It is tempting to try and be the moon, the Sun, the Earth. It is not tempting to be alone. It is tempting to fight, to be the gift, to be giving, to be package, part or parcel. It is tempting to be Galileo, to fight, to die. It is not tempting to be asleep, or maybe it is, to miss out, to be recycled, compost. Celebration, grieving, praise, penitence…. The flower that you picked is yourself. The man who stands alone, separate from the ridge eats the mandarin rind and leaves the sections for the taking. Every Pythagorean triangle comes to a similar bend in the road. Take a sip or get a grip. And then what? Sweeping, vacuuming, changing the bed covers, golf. Evolution, revolution, Bhardos.
Who can be the entire cosmos? Who is wounded? At the gates of worship, peach blossoms, apple blossoms and almond blossoms may look the same, but a carnation, cheap, desires karma. Patricia Rubano, a mentor from the Biography Movement said, “picture your life with yourself in it.”
I attended a family reunion last night, my grandfather’s sisters progeny, the Engst-Wolfe clan. They said some rich guy from Star Trek could afford to shoot into space for ten minutes or so, just because. There is no space. There is only separation. And why would there be? There is no such thing as reality. There are values, beings and perception. Beings are alone, and we concoct values to guide us, generating qualities. Qualities are the bedrock of nature’s costume. When you look into the eyes of another human being, everything breaks down immediately. The black hole, first the left, then the right pupils.
When I last met my third cousin, we were children, running through corn field way over our heads, showing naked in the yard, watching scary movies. Five years seemed like a lot then, but there’s no difference now. I’m scared too. Heirs wonder what was intentional. Greed is ignorance. Helping is destructive. Are we any wiser than our great-grandparents? It was four generations before she and I grew up that this whole space trip started, and the solutions to the problem are what keep us up at night.
The “space trip,” was a secret getaway for corporate thugs to escape their families and party with prostitutes and their mistresses. There is no space war. There is education, agriculture, health care and the arts. That is all. The physical body is what is at stake not the Earth. The human species is at risk, not the environment. The World War Two is partly about men trying to make excuses for having hidden affairs when they fall in love during wedlock. It can be called the “Children’s Team.” Women do not need to be kept unwell for men to forgive themselves for having testosterone any more than men need to be verbally abused every time a woman is PMSing.
There is another stream of “space exploration,” which is about match making. Astrologers try to get well-suited couples on the ground to inspire cultural diversity. The “Fiddler on the Roof,” bunch. Either way, evolution is not up to us, because we don’t know shit. Even if the information in Tibetan Stupas had not been burned, and when humans dig up the new Mayan cities yet to be discovered, we will know nothing.
Gretchen’s husband owned a glass company. He sold thick glass, for bank counters and whatnot, but individual humans are like very thin glass goblets, fine wine glasses, see though as water. The sacred is not gender-less. It is sexual. Not something to be ashamed of. History repeats itself, and the past was no better or worse than now.
Can you be happy? Is this good enough? Does this feel like contentment? What will happen to the earth when we draw our last breathe? It will continue on, and we will too, free from addiction, left only with pride and hurt.