THE CLOSET MYSTIC

a new chapter begins. 

as the planetary page turns, we step outward. 

from copper to iron — 

Mars, my masculine, it is time for us to take the step. 

How many cultures throughout history have had their ritual of initiation into manhood? 

I.. truly feel like it is now or never. Mine is beginning. How long do I want to remain dependent? To whine like a baby, suckling like a vampire upon mother? 

Ah.. I tried. I tried, before. But no, I was not ready. I hadn’t yet discovered the seed of selfhood for it even to be planted into the Earth, for it to produce anything substantial. 

So deluded and confused was I. I was so terrified of a life of being dependent on Big Brother, under his thumb, that I turned myself into another of the lost generation of men with a failure to launch, instead dependent on Mother, emasculated, stripped of potency. Self-flattery, delusions of grandeur, feeling above the world with my head far in the clouds, ignoring the fact that I planted nothing, was doing nothing, creating nothing, so afraid to play the game — why? Was I afraid of losing? I don’t know. 

This is what I know now, though: things have changed. Things have changed. I have recognized that there was an itch I didn’t know how to scratch but with work. I have recognized that I was unhappy with my circumstances for a reason, and that all I had to fucking do was take the motherfucking action to fix things. 

I discarded masculinity. I villainized it. Why? I was afraid of my own masculine. I was afraid of what it means to take the shears of the masculine — the cutting of the umbilical cord. To become a separate being, a man instead of a boy. 

But no… not anymore. I don’t know if I’m a man yet. I’m getting there, though. I want to become a man. So this is it: I’m being thrust into the unknown, and I’m being given work to demonstrate to myself my own strength, my own ability to stand on my own two feet and accomplish. 

Then, when I enter a relationship again, it will be as a whole and complete being. Not one so interdependent, not one with an infantile-regressive urge. No — it will be as someone self-sustained that I can walk away when it’s clearly not working. It will be through the lens of adulthood, with self-worth not as an abstract concept, but with measurable, tangible reflections of my self-worth:

• My own home. 
• Good grades in school.
• A body I worked hard to craft.
• A great job, with savings built over time. 

I am stepping into manhood and reclaiming the beauty of the masculine. My masculine felt ugly because I discarded it and wasn’t using it. I wasn’t channeling the flame. It became unhappy. 

But I’m sorry, to myself. I’m sorry to my own manhood. I disrespected a force of beauty. He is wild, he is so full of strength, he is capable of accomplishing great things. He’s hungry. 

I am so ready to allow myself to become a man. Healing the masculine isn’t discarding it; it is embodying it, using it, disciplining it, strengthening it, sharpening the sword, learning how to wield the sword, having honor and integrity that it is channeled benevolently… 

Mars. What are we going to do together? 

At first, I thought I was becoming the best I could be to spite you. 

Then, I knew I had really improved when I felt I was at the best possible place I could be, and thought to myself that I didn’t want you to feel badly that I was doing better. I wanted you instead to feel thanked. I put in the work; however, it was you who showed me the path to walk. Without that light shined, I wouldn’t be here. 

I knew I had healed when I wanted you to feel proud, to feel like you had done something good, to feel like you had brought good into another person’s life, for I know how important that is to you. I knew I had healed when I wanted you to feel anything other than badly that I’m doing the best I ever have.

Just finished The Host by Stephanie Meyer. What a book! I felt… so awfully connected to the characters. My heart :(. It was the kind of book that made me feel anxious about the fact that it was inevitably going to end. 

Such a phenomenal read. I felt so invested in the characters, in the story, in the world. I felt emotionally connected to Wanda, to Melanie, to Ian, to Jared, to Jeb, to everyone. Their emotions were so palpable, so real. They all felt so real. 

What a beautiful thing literature is. 

This book… so much contained therein! It’s commentary on the beautiful mess that is the human experience. It is the declaration that one cannot have great light without proportional shadow, that the heights we are capable of are perhaps because of the equal and opposite depths. It is a warning on the pursuit of an ideal utopia. I am reminded of the saying that “every utopia is a dystopia.” I am reminded of the dangers that are presented by one feeling morally righteous enough to disregard the will of another, to view them as lesser because their morals appear lesser, that ends in this case justify means. 

It is a reminder of what a gift it is to be human and to feel. It is a reminder that authenticity can be ugly, but is so much more rewarding in the love it can produce than perfect, refined, dare I say repressed civility. 

Definitely one of my favorite books, the kind that leaves a mark, an emotional experience that feels transformative and sticks with you ❤ 

experience has taught me this:

the deeper you go into someone’s story,

into someone’s psyche, 

the more you understand, the more context is given,

the straighter the facts are,

the greater the stores of forgiveness that are accessible. 

Time and time again, I have come to see this.

Therefore, I’ll save myself the trouble,

save myself the time,

and simply forgive everyone in advance.

…

Nothing is to be taken personally. 

We all wear blindfolds, so wounded by past hurt that we cannot see the trail of further burdens we leave behind us.

I’ve come to see forgiveness is the removing of the blindfold, for only through forgiving does the illusion that anyone truly meant to hurt us dissipate. 

But why oh why is forgiveness so painful? It is a band-aid ripping that takes with it deeply lodged splinters, leeches, and ticks, these parasitic entities that are our past experiences… these toxins we’ve become attached to, holding on so stubbornly, morosely…

Perhaps the pull of the familiar is so great that we’d trade the promise of happiness for the comfort of the dull misery we know. Perhaps the pain of re-examination and excavation is too great.

Not for I. It’s a pain I’d choose, for I know the joys that exist on the opposite end of this treacherous parapet. It is a herxheimer reaction — it gets worse before it gets better. 

I willingly allow myself to feel the lows in beautiful catharsis, for I know they are the labor pains of the birth of love ever-more sublime and sweet. I know the mercy of the universe defies Newton’s third law, for the blisses to come will be far greater than equal and opposite in proportion to the difficulties of the healing process.

a world beyond,

with love so freely given!

I let myself receive,

then all hurts were forgiven —

all wounds from the past —

we’re all but human. 

I washed it away

with love transcendent.

awash am I

in a sea of forgiveness

but my lungs are full

for I am Piscean.

these barbed thoughts 

wrap my skull,

the stem

from our love’s rose. 

but the more I struggled,

to pull off this liar’s crown,

the more blood was drawn.

only until I forgave,

shrinking my head,

home of my pride,

home of my ego,

did humility reduce me–

and allow the crown of thorns

to slip off.

I sing and I dance,

in rhythm and time,

with the universe,

its subtle energies,

the macrocosmic,

and sublime.

a twelve-colored palette,

the zodiacal dresser —

planetary ornaments,

adorned by the celestial — 

if mimicry is the greatest form of flattery,

then I shapeshift by the day,

out of adoration 

for all of creation.

Positive and negative,

yin, and yang,

I danced, I drank,

I cried, I sang —

I’ll look back on this life

with nary a pang,

of regret nor guilt,

unpierced by their fangs–

But oh how I will

sink deeply my teeth

into love and joy 

barbed fruits, so sweet

too great 

is the temptation of sensation

I want to feel it all

caressed by heavenly angels

and beaten by the depths

and its resident abominations

squeeze my heart like a sponge.

when I go,

Let there be nothing left to give.

take every drop 

I’ll bleed onto the canvas of this life

In the medicinal bloodletting 

of the sickness of being alive 

When the dusk of this life 

Is at last here,

Let it be known that nothing was spared,

not a drop of sweat, not a single tear.

May the tick and leech

Of my mortality

suck my essence,

In the greatest display 

of our shared divinity,

Its luminescence.

I compare myself in the now 

to two people only:

Me yesterday, and me tomorrow. 

none other.

Greater than the past, less than the future.

Something to look back on with satisfaction;

Something to look forward to with eagerness.

May my life be characterized 

by an ever-upward ascent —

and if I reach the top of this mountain,

no, I won’t plateau —

I’ll sprout wings and fly ever-higher.

possessed am I by the flame,

such that this life has become an ecstatic dance.

I’ve no choice but to move as the Spirit wills–

I’ve no choice but to flow with the infinite 

that forth spills.

but I’d give myself willingly,

for yes,

even if the flame consumes me,

The Phoenix is reborn with e’ry dawn.

so yea,

I’ll shine on.

who do I need to show up for me,

but me?

why clutch another for warmth,

in a cryogenic chamber of affection,

when it’s my right to step into the Sun,

clearing the fog,

of its deception?

I thought I saw in you my reflection;

but there was more smoke,

than there was mirror.

and now that we’re apart,

never have I seen clearer.

Blue Spotted Tail – Fleet Foxes

At first, the very beginning of the song sounded like a child staring at the stars and asking the most basic, pure, and awe-fueled of questions — why? Why, why are they there? To look at the universe around us with the mind of a child… it’s almost like a more pure form of knowing. Sometimes, we are so convinced that we know exactly what is going on that we forget to look around and really examine all that is. I mean, seriously… like, why? Why are there stars in the sky? Why are we circling around the Sun? Why are we here? I… don’t know if I can put it into words, I just imagine a child staring at all that is with wonder, and looking up to their mom or dad and asking… why? And who could know, who could give an answer? That’s the wonder, that’s the mystery. I find God in that space, I find God in the why’s that cannot be answered. Not God as an answer, but God as an adjective in that space of absolute openness and awe that remains after that question. God lies in that emptiness of pure awareness and wonder, when the question cannot be answered.

And then… the next stanza. Why is life made, only for it to end? Why then do I do all this waiting? Fated to pretend — in fear. Why? Then, I began to imagine us as the stars in the sky, the stanzas relating to each other. We each have the potential to shine like those stars in the sky, before the oblivion of pitch that surrounds swallows us back up. Then, this contrast between the awareness that life is temporary/that there is nothing to hold us back from being who we really are, shining like those stars in the night sky, with us still yet, for some reason, waiting in fear. Why?

It’s like he stares at those stars, the wonder of all creation, and knows he has it in himself to be expressed, yet the fear holds him back… and he wonders, “why?” I think the greatest of strength isn’t in not being afraid, but in being afraid and doing it anyway. Bravery can coexist with fear. Maybe bravery can only exist with fear, testament to the strength of the human will and heart that overrides instinct for something higher.

Idk. This song is just absolutely beautiful please give it a listen

Why in the night sky are the lights hung?
Why is the Earth moving ’round the sun?
Floating in the vacuum with no purpose, not a one
Why in the night sky are the lights hung? Oh

Why is life made only for to end?
Why do I do all this waiting then?
Why this frightened part of me that’s fated to pretend?
Why is life made only for to end? Oh

In the city only for a while
Here to face the fortune and the bile
I heard you on the radio, I couldn’t help but smile
In the city only for a while, oh

Why in the night sky are the lights hung?
Why is the Earth moving ’round the sun?
Floating in the vacuum with no purpose, not a one
Why in the night sky are the lights hung? Oh

one becomes immortal through recognizing the unity of all things. the realization that the boundary and distinction between you and the whole of creation is illusory leads to the awareness that your own “death” is not a death because the life force and energy that lives within you will still yet live on when you perish. “you” will be resorbed into the Earth, into creation, living on.

this is what is behind the saying “he who dies before he dies does not die when he dies.” you die to your own ego identity and see clearly that you are a part of something much larger than yourself. death, in this way, is an illusion. you do not exist — the illusion of selfhood is the illusion of Maya.

maybe “we” can’t die because “we” never existed in the first place. if death is an illusion, then so is birth; if birth is an illusion, then so is death.