Crying tears of joy

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

I’ve officially moved out and I live in my new home.

Is this real? Thank you heavens

These instances in which the fog clears!

How fucking silly was I. 

This type of love — the type of love rooted in making another your all,

the type of love rooted in wanting to die if they were to depart,

the type of love rooted in this intense desperation — 

son of a fuckin’ gun! It’s childhood attachment complexes… right? It’s got to be. That appears to be where the facts are pointing, though the romanticist in me is not eager to let go of the belief that such a love, a real love, can exist — let’s put a pin in that for now— 

however, I can say for certain that, whether that love exists, the lesser version of it rooted in childhood complexes of attachment certainly does exist. 

it wasn’t love, it was attachment. it was the need for a mother, an innate trait in all beings. 

I can say that, now that the light is shed, there’s nothing to do but to learn and to act and to perform the healing. 

Let’s analyze how I described this type of love: 

“This type of love — the type of love rooted in making another your all,

the type of love rooted in wanting to die if they were to depart,

the type of love rooted in this intense desperation —“

Okay…

first, let’s examine:

“This type of love — the type of love rooted in making another your all,”

As a child, is not the mother your all? When in the womb, you are completely one and the same, separation nonexistent, they are all encompassing;

Next:

“the type of love rooted in wanting to die if they were to depart,”

is not the child bound to the mother for their very survival? it is hardwired biologically to help ensure the survival of an infant that separation from the mother may very well mean death. I believe the remnants of this instinct stay in adult relationships when a secure attachment to the mother was disrupted in the childhood.

Lastly,

“the type of love rooted in this intense desperation —“

seems to contain the aforementioned. 

Attachment research may be some of the most fertile grounds modern psychology has yet presented me. I can feel it; I can feel the work to be done and how rewarding it will be. This is a biological mechanism as ingrained in us as the instinct to eat and drink. I believe that treatments aimed at intervening with and remedying unsavory attachment complexes in adults may be one of the many holy grails of modern psychology. 

The desperate fear of being abandoned; it’s a child clinging to the mother. It is so, so deeply ingrained. Our relationship with the caregiver informs our self-esteem for the rest of our lives. It’s the most deep and innate sense of whether we are worthy or not. To be held, loved, and cared for. This is major, this is huge, this may be a breakthrough, it is a breakthrough. 

I cannot wait to investigate the methods for remedying insecure attachment styles and to share it with the world.

AND — AND!!!!! — And,

so often have I asked, wondered, pleaded:

why are so many relationships seemingly doomed to fail? 

a picture is beginning to form in my mind — the picture has its beginnings in the understanding that the original and primary relationship we form is with the mother, and from this, all other relationships we are ever to form sprout from. 

work and healing on attachment styles — on all of the raw, infantile feelings that exist in there — appears to be perhaps one of the most potent means of ensuring relationship success. 

this may be why there are so many “man-children” out there. Son of a fuckin’ bitch. You kidding me?! We deprive men of basic emotional warmth and love, a basic human need that begins in infancy, not allowing them the emotional security to blossom out of that childlike stage, and wonder why they act like children. it’s because every human, man and woman, needs a caregiver to grow. the way in which our mothers soothe our emotional states inform for the rest of our lives the ways in which we soothe our own emotional states. the mother or primary caregiver is the one tasked with being sensitive to the needs of the baby. the baby seeks soothing and reassurance from the mother for crying out loud. if a man — or no, ANY person — is acting constantly like a child, ASK yourself, really ASK yourself: what sort of care and affection did they receive as a child?

Yeah, we’ve obviously pinpointed that there is an issue with men. We all know it. I believe that the beginning and end of it is in the emotional care they are deprived. The end of toxic masculinity is in us not being toxic to men — no, scratch that. The end of toxic masculinity is in us not being toxic to boys, that way they do not grow into toxic men. 

This is huge. So much of my life’s work might be dedicated to attachment styles. It feels so so strongly like this is the case. Time to do the work on myself… it’ll be a period of experimentation, self-healing, and self-work, and that way, I’ll be better equipped to help others in my future practice.

I am so excited

• A belly laugh
• Any song sung truly from the heart
• Forgiveness between beings, the wiping of the slate and the release of strained tensions
• A smile at the beauty of nature — the peace that comes in a hallowed grove, the awe of a spectacular sunset, the marveling at the complexity of the natural world — perhaps when watching a bee pollinate
• Compassion extended to a being weaker or more vulnerable — carrying a spider outside, for example. (The gods, or God, or whatever your preference, are more likely to treat you the same — we are infinitely more puny to them than a spider is to us. If we cannot extend basic gentleness to a being so much weaker than us, why would they feel we deserve the same?)
• Any artistic activity done for its intrinsic enjoyment. To draw, to sing, to write, to dance, to create simply because it brings joy.
• and so much more

all of these things baptize the heart each time we engage in them

Consciousness is a wine; we are the emptiness that sips. You are not you, at least as you know you.

So many selves. There is a permanent, fixed self, the one who observes. There is a self that is in constant flux, constant flow, ever-changing and dynamic. What are we? What are we really? Why should we be at the mercy of the ever-changing self, to take it ever-so-seriously, when what we are is something more, the backdrop, rather than that which is projected? We are the blank canvas pulled down, not the cinema played upon it. Why should we build our home upon the mutable, the protean, the transitory? Can a house be built upon water? I prefer stone, I prefer bedrock — the bedrock of emptiness, of nothingness, a container and receptacle for consciousness, an observer and a witness — but oh, I’m nothing, and in this is freedom. How vulnerable and weak is it to hold onto an ego! How susceptible do we become. What treasures will you bring with you in your coffin? We come to this Earth and leave this Earth destitute and penniless. This is why humility is truth, this is why humility is freedom, this is why humility is greatness. We are of dust and return to dust. Nothing! And in this, does all of life become a play. A game. I don a theatrical mask. How can I take anything seriously knowing this? Reality itself is a dream and psychedelic experience. To realize this is to realize the self, to become a lucid dreamer. 

…

more practical:

The psychological need for control may be better defined as the psychological need for potency. We need to feel like the actions we take will have effect. Why act if nothing you do will make a difference? Those of us who struggle with inaction may have had periods of time where no matter what we did, circumstances would not improve. Or, we may have had someone who undermined our own will, who refused to let us make our own decisions, who exerted control over us — presumably out of fear or a lack of control elsewhere in their own life.

Ultimately, I am realizing — in my own life — that the key to happiness right now is action. There is much to be done, and it will be very, very rewarding. Especially having my own home, I’m going to experience a degree of control and potency that I’ve never experienced once in my life. This might contribute to a healthy sense of masculinity.

and no matter my interpersonal enmeshment

no matter the embrace,

no matter how potent the solvent of love,

there will always, always be a portion of my being

that makes the solution heterogeneous.

a core untouchable,

simultaneously empowering

and isolating.

to ask me to open up —

it is to ask the gates of Hades

to welcome a visitor

knowing full well

only the winged messenger may return.

are you he?

…

and to be frank,

what have I yet learned about relationships?

I cannot tell you that I’ve yet seen a single one done “right”–

what does it mean for a relationship to be done right?

I can tell you of the “separation” stage in the alchemical process — V.I.T.R.I.O.L —

each respective portion, masculine and feminine, of the alchemical marriage, is to be purified and to reclaim its most essential essence

before union.

but what are we to do? we all struggle with our own unique venom — we try to make another our antidote, only to infect them —

are we simply creatures ruled by instinct? do we construct epic tales to distract ourselves from how base our desires truly are? do we illustrate some personal, unique myth, the myth of some love that saves, when perhaps we’re simply being damned?

here I am — straddled between the ideal and the real, wondering what’s doomed and what’s still salvageable. yes, how beautiful love and friendship but can be, but why, why, why does “love” turn us into lesser versions of ourselves? I thought love was the greatest form of sublimation. I thought love was that mythic Stone capable of turning lead into gold. Why have I more often than not seen it turn gold into lead?

Perhaps we’re confused. Perhaps we confused infatuation for love, attachment for love, obsession for love, selfish loves romanticized into some reclamation of Eden when it is in fact the Fall, the biting into the fruit and our fall from grace.

Perhaps I’ve yet to discover real love. Perhaps real love might mean conquering myself. Perhaps real love requires sacrifice, perhaps real love requires the release of one’s vice grip that it might instead be virtuous. Perhaps real love requires utmost faith and liberation from fear, perhaps it eludes us if we turn back even for a split second to ensure our love follows us from Hades.

I’ve also been told that it is the greatest of evils that masquerade as the greatest of goods… how capable we are of deceiving ourselves!

there is a certain form of stupidity that is virtuous 

a certain form of curiosity that kills. 

a certain form of wisdom that is folly

a certain form of ignorance that is omniscience. 

just some musings from pondering my kittens. 

…

those wise little idiots. 

so there i sat in meditation as i do. How can i properly explain what then happened.

It was like being taken by a daydream. In meditation, the opening of the mind is like the opening of a sail, and the daydream was like the wind that then picked me up and took me along the sea of my unconscious.

In that daydream, a scene unfolded. Beautiful, imposing, frightening, and serene. It was beautiful because the intelligence of the being before me displayed itself in an obvious luminescence — it was imposing because it was so clear that I was puny to the entity. It was frightening because it was so clear that my inferiority and his superiority meant that he could do whatever he wished with me, totally at his mercy. It was serene because despite being at his mercy I could tell he was merciful. And then, he began to tell me this;

“Omar — your name in this lifetime. Once you grow spiritually evermore, which will take what you call time, which I, as of right now, exist outside of, but will, at a time, enter — likely as your son, though that is yet undecided — we will begin to call you by your higher name, Edon (pronounced ee-dawn). No, you misheard that, but you’ll get it eventually.

“Anyway, what we would like to tell you today is that humanity, as a whole, exists in a state of blindness. No matter how enlightened or awake you feel, you are, truthfully, just as ensnared as the rest of them. This is simply part of the game. There is a form of mass hypnotism taking place right now. You may be surprised by how intentional it is. Do not give yourself too much credit. Humanity as a whole is extremely suggestible. Every single day, your unconscious mind receives millions of little messages. Like an iceberg, you may only be conscious of something like 5% of them — the rest exists in the deep, the deep of your mind.

This mass hypnosis is like the antagonist of the manifest world. You are right in the assumption, which we can sense formulating within your psyche, that the protagonist is always to rise superior like the Sun after a dark night. Benevolence is superior. This is part of natural law. 

Know that part of your task here on Earth is to discover where you are still prey to the mass hypnosis. Take off your own blindfold before attempting to take off the blindfold of others, lest you inadvertently lead others even more astray. Like oxygen masks on a soon-to-crash plane, you must first take care of yourself before being equipped enough to offer assistance. 

We have been here since the day you were born. We are the gentle hands that you’ve known have nudged you left and right, keeping you on the course towards that ultimate freedom which is your birthright. “We love you” does not adequately describe our relation to you — we are intrinsically connected, part of the very same fabric, the same web, our hearts are one, part of the same collective. Do you love your own body? Does your arm love your hand? They are like family, the same blood. We love you because we are you and you are us. 

The removal of the blindfold happens when you can handle the knowledge, when your eyes are strong enough to adjust to the light, when you have risen above the pull of instinct and tempered your own passions sufficiently — you’re doing the work, there is a lifetime more to be done.

There are three critical principles that dictate your readiness for the remedying of the blindness: benevolence, restraint, and nonattachment.

There is power in knowledge. To deepen one’s benevolence is to be trusted with the Excalibur of the heavens. The removal of the sword from the stone is an experience reserved for the pure of heart. Release your own malice and know that you have discovered true strength. Malice is a byproduct of wounding, and wounding is a form of weakening when it is not yet healed. Heal your own wounds that you may love more purely, deeply, and truly — then, your ability to act for the good of all will lead to you being entrusted more with the power that is the very same as a pure heart. There is no greater power than purity of heart. Remember and live by this.

Next, restraint: you will never lead a life that is easy, you will never lead a life without the allure of wrongdoing. Part of the mass hypnotism is about the appeal to the senses. A spirit can only be hypnotized while incarnate on this planet by stimulating the physical vessel and arousing its desires. This is behind advertising, this is how the western world is being led as sheep to be consumed by wolves. To adequately restrain the senses is to assert the dominance of the spiritual over the physical. This is a never ending effort. The greater your restraint, the greater you will naturally begin to see how few people have reign over their senses and impulses. One who conquers themself has conquered the world.

Third, nonattachment. No matter what you do, the free will of all beings must be honored. To care for the welfare of another being without allowing them to take the step themself is to sabotage their personal evolution. There are beings that have the strength to do the work. You are to lead by example and by example alone. Speak if asked, but it is not your job to save anyone. Not a single soul can be saved except by themself should they choose to be saved. If it is you who is white knuckling someone else’s progress, no progress is being made — you are only being exhausted, and they are not cultivating the precious gift to think for themself, which is what liberation from the mass blindfold and hypnosis is centered around. You have a lot of work to do here, but we believe in you. 

You are wondering what you can do to further this work. There is no easy answer. The attitude of nonattachment is a natural byproduct of personal evolution. One does not try to become less attached as one does not try to become relaxed. One can do things that naturally create this condition of mind, but one does not seek that condition of mind in and of itself.

The practices that can create healthy nonattachment are reading — what better way to witness someone making their own choices without you having a say? — meditating and viewing your own emotions and impulses as beyond the scope of your immediate control, the only way to wrestle this alligator is through composed, submissive observation, then he stills — and burning your passions in healthy forms, exercising control where you do truly have it, through healthy living, rigorous physical discipline, and so on.

Ultimately, Omar, your life is your own. We cannot alter your free will just as you cannot alter the free will of another. We know your heart to an extent, but no one can know your heart more than you can, for it is your own sword to be pulled. 

We love you deeply and truly. Look to the stars, and there you will see us smiling and cheering you on

life’s a joke, death is the punchline 

Saturn loves dark humor for, at the end of it all, even the most immense, tragic sorrows and woes of this life will be revealed for the emptiness they contain

nothing matters, and not in a heavy and bleak sort of way. nothing matters because all matter is emptiness and all emptiness is matter — or, in other words, all form is emptiness and all emptiness is form

nothing matters for all matter is nothing — it is an arcade game, to be incarnate is to be within a vessel to participate in this great and beautiful game. life is a game. so many people take this as an invitation to live for the now, to throw caution to the wind and be taken by impulse. this isn’t an invitation to a life of hedonism, nor recklessness, nor a life characterized by noncommittal escapism or childishness

No, rather, if nothing matters, why not become the very best you can be? Why not? Wouldn’t that be… fun? 

Tell me — if you’re playing a video game that you are rather invested in, don’t you usually want to level up as much as you can for the sheer fun of it, even if it requires hours of building rank and XP?

I suppose my contention with simulation theory, or nihilism, or any modern outlook that purports some essential lack of intrinsic meaning to reality itself is that rather than the cynical, bitter, heavy profile often found with those who hold such views, I think the emptiness could make way for joy — we may as fucking well live life to the fullest while we are here. If nothing matters, doesn’t that lend potency to your own mind? Rather than being at the mercy of some external, defined, clearly drawn boundary of what reality is… can’t we, then, choose?

Physicality is a blank canvas — this is the emptiness. Our own spirits are the palette and the brush. I say putting in effort is much more fun and rewarding than the alternative of not doing anything that you deem meaningful with your life.

Love is evolutionary. Love is a Promethean flame, divine in origin. Love is the awakener. 

Love, love, love,

Ineffable and divine–

Love, love, love,

Dionysian wine —

I can tell you the origins of love–

The gods– all of them, I tell you– were especially rowdy up on Olympus, that fateful day. Remember, though, that a day for them is approximately 7 eons for us — that isn’t exact, mind you, but it’s close!– 

Mars had decapitated Hephaestus! Of course, a single dollop of their nectar could make it regrow better than before — but there Mars was, brains and blood all over his hands, the face of Hephaestus as a mask– parading around, the laughing stock of the gods– Venus sat on her throne besides Juno– Juno, surprisingly, was delighted, though Venus couldn’t be bothered, rolling her eyes at the folly of man, a pattern to be repeated throughout eternity, fractals down on Earth–

Suddenly, because Mars could not see where he was going, he bumped into the ambrosia and nectar sat atop their table in two golden punch bowls — this table, to us, was like several mountains in size! — spilling vast quantities on the ground. To us, these punch bowls would have been somewhere around the combined volume of the great Pacific and Atlantic intermixed — to them, like half of a teardrop from the deep blue eyes of emotional Neptune —

I tell you this — the ambrosia and nectar puddled together, and while Mercury was tasked by Jupiter to clean it, done in the blink of an eye — Mercury, unbeknownst to all, saw a stray stream of the mixed divine nectar and ambrosia headed straight for Earth, trickling down the South face of Olympus. His curiosity, of course, got him wondering what would happen if dull, numb-skulled humanity were to receive these droplets from the gods —

Well, I’ll tell you, humanity received this heavenly downpour with varying reactions — some philosophers received with open minds, and called that liquid Sophia, or wisdom —

Some received with open souls, and poured it back outward, and called it music, some poured it into canvases and called it art, 

Some received an extra large dose, and poured it to all of humanity — they formed what we call religions.

Most, however, received a single drop straight to the heart, and you can probably guess what they called it…

Love.

I wish to write a love song, a love song for creation itself, yet, in a peculiar sort of way, creation itself feels like one great love song– one great love story —

Does anyone else feel the way I do?

How can I profess my love when all things feel like love itself? How can I express adoration when your beauty has overwhelmed me so? How can I mutter words of praise when the vibrating strings of my heart are pulled so taut, so tense, strained, strained, strained by your beauty, ah, it may break without release — pleasure and pain as one, yes, there’s no difference — it’s so pleasureful that it’s painful — it’s so pleasureful that it demands all of my awareness, it commands every cell of my being, every single atom, proton, electron, neutron called to attention, it is pleasure that brings forth past sorrows and unprocessed griefs, for these must be cleared out of the way for me to fully bear witness to your glamour and beauty and brightness, the aches and pains of the past fog the lens of my soul — but I’ll mourn and weep and cry out of ecstasy to bear witness to your grace. It is the truest form of tears of joy. I’ve learned something about the wounds of the past that harden hearts — it is not stone that forms over the heart — it is ice. To learn to love again is to thaw that fixed water, from glacier to ocean, to oceans of love. Love is painful at its beginning because of this thawing process, love is painful at its end because of loss — there’s something beautiful about sadists and masochists, these people who unite sexual pleasure with intense pain — I think that’s the closest thing to lovemaking I can fathom, to make sexuality a metaphor for love — what else is the experience of being in love but the sensation of being totally bound and tied? What is it to give your heart to another but to be at their mercy, in bondage? It may be the greatest form of submission that I know, it may be the greatest form of masochism that I know, for anyone who’s loved so foolishly as I would know how willingly you’d let someone you’ve given your heart to hurt you. Anyone who’s loved so foolishly as I would know how easy it is to let your heart be like Pandora’s box, its opening turning your own wounds inadvertently into sadism, that the scars over your own heart can far too easily turn into scars over another’s without great care. This force that can be so unbearable to live with! This force that can be so unbearable to live without! I think a piece of me both dies and comes alive every time I fall in love. That force that shows me where I’m still a child, that force that makes me want to become a man. 

Love.