Blind Orion Searching for the Rising Sun by Nicolas Poussin
Standing on the shoulders of blind giants, consensus reality is stuck in a plastic cup with no breathing holes. There is no authenticity in agreeing or disagreeing with others. The philosopher’s only disagreement is with inauthenticity. His only agreement is with the authenticity of his experience. His words spring from insight alone, using facts and figures which others have gathered only to share the insight he’s already experiencing. The facts and figures and the words and experiences of others are completely useless.
What the scholar reads as divergence is an attempt to put authentic insight into words. In a society built on inauthenticity, the rebellion against inauthenticity appears to be a rebellion against society. In people whom identify with and have attachments to inauthenticity, the philosopher’s rebellion against inauthenticity appears to be an attack on people. The voice of insight struggles to poke breathing holes through the lid of the plastic noise. The voice of inspiration is heard to be the voice of a rascal, another rebel without a cause.
I don’t like journalistic form or scholars’ methodology. I use the gift of the runes, the mead of poetic inspiration, the perfectly imperfect form and formlessness of Truth in entropic Union.
When one directs awareness towards the heart of the universe and asks, “How may I best align my talents and skills with the greater good of all?” Does anyone return with the answer, “More facts and figures”? Or “More properly pedantic prose to poke holes in”?
The philosopher cannot share his authentic insight through “proper” channels or “proper” conduct in a society built on inauthenticity. When the entire structure of all that is “proper” sits atop a foundation of assumptions, ironic leaps of faith into to pseudo-scientific psychobabble, Truth appears too bold, too irreverent, too adolescent, too rebellious to be “properly” true.
Granted, Truth can never fit into words, so the true philosopher is usually forced to be authentic, but they’ll hang you for that too. “If You Want To Tell People the Truth, You’d Better Make Them Laugh or They’ll Kill You,” said every comedian that ever lived. Humor was the last bastion of hope for truth-speaking, but now they’re persecuting comedy too.
These be words of intention. Ye read thee summersaulting unto linguistic tapestry? In music, there are happy accidents. In writing, there are no accidents. I use my human attitude, my frustration, irreverence and hatred of inauthenticity the way the universe instructs me from within - to snag the wild ire which burns in the hearts of being across the world. I bleed authenticity and then I let go of it. Whoever finds it finds it. Whoever doesn’t doesn’t. But in the moment of creativity, I Am bleeding the question, What do they need to hear and read to see what I see and feel what I feel? Do they need more “properly-written” scholarly essays, or do they need to be inspired?
Every time I hear the critique, “I wouldn’t have worded it so brashly” or “you’re letting your emotions get in the way” or simply, “divergent,” I am forced to revisit my motives, my intentions, and every time I come to the same conclusion. The world is full of rebels. They’re rebelling by destroying themselves with food, alcohol, drugs and compulsions, and their irreverence is in league with a nihilistic, existential dread. Their anger is pointed at their neighboring tribe. They don’t need more facts about the physical world, their physical brain, the empirical, corporeal, partial-truths of Being, or to be categorically placed within the taxonomic totem poll.
They need to be inspired to point their rebellion towards the artificiality of modern society with its tribalism and nationalism and to point their irreverence towards the flat-out lies in the pseudo-science of modern psychology and the modern philosophies, ideologies, ontologies and biologies of Being. They need to be convinced that every cell in their bodies carries within it the entire universe, that the entirety of space and time are here and now. And they need to be convinced that when they begin to let go of their ideas of controlling the world around them, they un-ironically begin to gain control over their minds, their bodies, their emotions and energies. And most importantly, they need to be convinced that this Truth is NOT religious, certainly isn’t anti-scientific, and there are no victims in the process, except the destruction of delusion and disillusionment.
There is no right way to do anything, but there are infinite wrongs. Inauthenticity is only wrong until its made aware of itself. Then, of course, there’s the most beautiful paradox which is the fact that now is inevitable and therefore mustn’t be wrong. In that conundrum, one must be made aware of inauthenticity’s infinite potentiality of leading one directly towards All that is authentic and True, and therefore never really was or ever will be, truly wrong.
Whoever holds within them some partial insight into the nature of reality, to whom do you inspire? Is your intention to convince academic circles that you’re smart? Are you afraid of being ousted from the cool kid circle for speaking outside the box? Are the “scientists” (dogmatic rationalism isn’t science) and scholars going to blacklist Truth? Academia, institutions, paradigms, modern science, psychology, philosophy, it’s all rotten.
I haven’t “properly” repressed my emotion, and I intend never to do so, because the spirit of rebellion isn’t a lame duck. The human spirit is trapped in a delusion which may only be shattered with utmost intensity of mind, body, emotion and energy. Because however catatonic peace may appear, awakening peace requires a battle to the death with all that isn’t peaceful. Because Truth is bold and irreverent towards that which is its opposite. And because the mock of satire is inspiration itself taking to its most irreverential formless form, wherein the skeptic and the cynic who discovers eternity is forced to repurpose his sardonic humor in that same special place between here and now where the grimace meets the grin of infinity. Because Truth ain’t no scholarly essay. Truth ain’t no conflict or contrast or comparison to previous theories of truth. Truth is here, now.