THE CLOSET MYSTIC

my hands have a life of their own

what moves them? 

it is certainly not i. 

or perhaps it is i? 

perhaps it is an i that i’ve denied.

ah, yes, that must be it. 

the scope of the inner horizons is as infinite as the macrocosmic wonders

i receive impressions from the great beyond

and despite their movement at light speed,

it is from a long-dead star

a distress call. 

far, far, far too late.

echoes across this void

this great universal hall

how can any of this even be? 

physicality itself is a web

our spirits are flies entrapped. 

let’s make the best of this bondage while we can. 

can i at least have a hand 

to hold 

while i’m suspended here? 

can we laugh together 

as the weaver comes 

to swallow our memories whole? 

will our candle flames in infinite 

be snuffed simultaneously? 

i’d at least ask,

that our grip 

on each other’s hand

is so great

that we go together

when the time comes. 

i’ll swear it to you

if you swear it to me. 

love is the flame of Prometheus. 

for what other source of light and warmth

exists in this great void? 

what else could thaw the ice over our hearts

no, 

i’m not crying — 

those tears are simply the ice melting, that’s all

exist in a realm beyond causality

i’ve no firm grasp on a shared reality

i exist in a sequence 

where each number’s anomalous 

but this evades mere randomness

for it is without emptiness

chaos 

is oft thought meaningless

but there’s linearity

underlying 

the insanity

look deeper — 

NO!

not that deep…

back.

the chickens, do you see them?

they always 

come home to roost.

the unconscious erupts if you neglect it!

will it be mere confetti

or a pyroclastic flow?  

the denial of your innermost self

is you choosing 

this:

instead of destroying 

the chains that contain

i 

will instead bear 

the burden of atrophy.

i said back!

back up, please. 

i can see what you’ve denied!

i can see those plates slide

pitiful!

your tectonic soul —

prideful. 

an insincere veneer 

you smile 

with your face in the Sun

ne’er to look 

at all that festers 

in the shadow 

cast behind.

“remember, remember, the fifth of november — 

the gunpowder, treason and plot — 

i see of no reason why the gunpowder and treason 

should ever be forgot.”

the crescendo 

cannot be escaped,

merely staved.

what 

will you choose? 

your own unconscious

conspires against you.

will you be 

the stormed 

bastille?

or 

are you one of 

the liberators? 

To grief and loss I am no stranger

For all I’ve done my entire life is lose and gain

I walk underneath the Saturnian Moon

And it dawns on me 

That I’ll never be 5 again. I’ll never be 10 again. I’ll never be 15 again, I’ll never be 20 again. Every day, every moment is dust blown in the wind. The passage of time is a never-ending gust that I will never keep up with. 

Here I am, having grown so much. I feel, for the first time in my life, like I am truly entering adulthood, and how I mourn. How I mourn for the folly of my adolescence. What felt like my entire world, colossal then, has collected as snow globes on the cluttered desk of my psyche.

I hold my younger selves. I shake the memories and discover new specks that glitter in the light of my consciousness. I inspect them from different angles and see things I didn’t notice then. 

But all of these selves are forever gone. I permanently bid them farewell as I give a warm welcome to this next chapter of my life. Wow — birth and death really are the same, are they not? Every beginning an end, all ends a beginning.

Tonight I mourn my childhood. It is a bittersweet farewell. Things are so different now. 

I know my future self looks back on me similarly now. I hope he’s proud.

This life has passed me by so quickly. 

You wanna know how I know each moment, each hour, each day is precious?

The value of a resource is determined by supply and demand.

Today will never be lived again.

Yesterday will never be lived again.

The day before will never be lived again.

They all happen and occur exactly once. They are all collector’s items, gems, one-of-a-kind — and thus, priceless.

Why do we squander our wealth? Why are we too often prodigal children who spend our inheritance with the pen of folly signing checks?

No more. I return home and am celebrated. We are all the richest beings alive by virtue of this holy gift that is a beating heart. Our treasure chests are our chests — the prized gem within is that ambrosia-pumping organ.

I weep and mourn at the death. Oh, how I’ve changed, how I have grown. I stare adulthood in the face. Working full time. School full time. Soon to move out. So much is different. So much is different. I love all of it, do not get me wrong — it is equal part celebration and grief. 

But I truly feel like I’m saying goodbye to a part of myself. My younger self. Or perhaps I’ve already said goodbye, and now I look back at an old friend whose acquaintance I am no doubt romanticizing —

I feel like true masculinity is found in suffering appropriately. suffering like an adult. without petulance, without whining. true masculinity is in embracing one’s suffering with strength, continuing regardless. 

that does not mean one cannot ask for help. true masculinity also lifts up others in their suffering, true masculinity is also about the brother/sisterhood of all of mankind. we are stronger together, only compounding the other’s strength. 

but I do believe masculinity is created with suffering. it is the principle of hormesis. one suffers and discovers their ability to make it through. this is about fundamental opposites: suffering, and the very principle of struggle and challenge, is the opposing principle to our strength, our strength to survive. they are puzzle pieces that fit together, on one another. I do not think masculinity can be discovered without challenge. 

it almost feels Darwinian in nature. this is Mars-Saturn in action; Saturn says no, Saturn is the challenges of nature, Death’s scythe ready to chop the chaff from the wheat, Mars is us deciding if we will be wheat or if we will be chaff. 

toxic masculinity is created with strained and discordant relationships to suffering. toxic masculinity believes it should suffer more than it should, or that it should suffer in the wrong ways. toxic masculinity believes it should suffer alone. or, toxic masculinity might save itself suffering at the expense of others, being without compassion to the suffering of others. toxic masculinity either endures suffering too much, to its own demise, or does not endure enough suffering, giving the weight for others to bear.

true masculinity is found in humility, for in humility we embrace our suffering without seeking escape. this is not about martyrdom nor masochism — rather, it is about the recognition that the some of the greatest accomplishments in life worth our time cannot be completed without work, without pain, without suffering. we recognize that our labor will have fruits, and humble ourselves enough to tend to the Earth that she bring forth reward. we bear the weight of the cross and tend to our work dutifully. 

this is all about the principle of entropy. 

human strength is about our God-given ability to be the equal and opposite force to the natural entropy of the universe. without work, if we are to sit idly by and let life pass us, the universe’s natural tendency towards entropy will take over. entropy in this sense is atrophy. our strength atrophies and the universe’s entropy dominates. 

i do believe this is all behind the saying “hard times create strong men; strong men create good times; good times create weak men; weak men create hard times.” hard times are the equal and opposite force that demand us to cultivate and use our strength; once the challenge is met, and hardship staved off for a time, strength can atrophy when it is not being used (because it is not in immediately-high demand). the short-sighted lack of strength does not tend to the natural process of entropy. suddenly, before it’s realized, entropy has created hard times again, beckoning the strength to come forth and meet the hardship once again. 

anyway — 

I do believe suffering is a necessary ingredient in a balanced psyche. it is merely about how we choose to suffer. we will all have a baseline degree of suffering, it is inevitable. I do believe in picking the right means of suffering. I believe if we are not choosing the right kinds of suffering, then our mind will conceive of imagined scenarios to fulfill that unmet need.  

I think practical means of choosing the right kinds of suffering is in doing things daily that are not immediately comfortable but that are good for you, such as exercising, meditating, reading instead of doom-scrolling your phone, taking a risk and making a social or romantic connection despite nerves, taking steps towards a long-term goal (such as in your career), and so on. 

I genuinely wonder if our modern mental health crisis has anything to do with the comforts of modern living. We have become completely separated from the natural hardships of existence that all humans had to deal with since the beginning of time. Fetching food and water suddenly involves little to no effort. Even lower class citizens in this nation have luxuries that ancient kings could not enjoy. Is it possible that our biology is used to more hardship? is it possible that our amygdalae (yes that’s actually the plural of amygdala LOL) are used to being activated more for real threats? perhaps our hardwares are unhappy because they’re not used to how they’re being used/how they’re not being used. 

I wonder if people haven’t been looking in this direction because of our natural desire to feel comfortable. What if, in looking to alleviate our suffering, we’ve actually been compounding it? What if the key is in suffering in the right ways instead of looking to escape our ills?

something I love about animals and small children is their lack of ability to lie

there is no difference between the inner and outer with them. what you see is what you get. this is purity. no matter what they do, who could really be at fault?

and, quite honestly, in a higher and more meta way, I don’t know if adults really are so different. perhaps more advanced beings see us similarly. 

i honestly suspect that omniscience and infinite love are one and the same. i think infinite compassion and infinite knowing are one and the same.

there is a reason, i think, why ancient spiritual/religious systems emphasized asceticism in the ascent of the soul.

the nature of spiritual systems is in the discovery of the spirit. the spirit is, in these systems, innately antithetical to the corporeal. (keep in mind that there is not one ultimate way of looking at things; there are, in fact, many systems that see spirit and matter as being intrinsically linked, with the line between the two being grey or entirely nonexistent.)

so, in ancient spiritual systems where spirit is to body as yin is to yang — innately opposites — it is the denial of the body that aids in the discovery of the spirit.

what could be more carnal than raw lust? what act could be more bodily and affirming to the existence of the physical body than sexual activity based on raw physical desire alone? it is innately animal if the act is not infused with “higher” emotions such as genuine love and spiritual connection. those old systems perceive danger in acts that make our experience so enmeshed with physicality due to the risk of us losing perception of the immaterial spirit.

for the record, all forms of “sin” in old systems — consider the seven deadly sins — follow this exactly. sin is any act that removes us from the spirit and enmeshes us in the physical realm. the lower worldly and material realm is validated in “sinful acts” as opposed to the virtues of the immaterial spirit being honored. greed values wealth of material over wealth of spirit; lust values connection of bodies rather than connection of hearts. they’re like inverted, dark mirror images of the higher.

so, the reason why those old systems would advocate for abstinence is because, through the denial of the body, we come to realize the existence of the spirit within. the spirit, incorporeal, is without sexual desire. it has no need for physical reproduction. raw lust is entirely physical. it points “downward” into the animal self, anchoring us into physicality, rather than nurturing an upward ascent into the spirit.

however, i do have criticisms of this.

i believe it is possible that the highest and best way to go about relations to sexuality is in non-attachment. there is danger in rigid asceticism based on fear and shame. if the goal of abstinence for spiritual purposes is to discover our identity as spirit beyond the body, does not celibacy out of shame and fear force those practitioners to still yet base their identity on something physical?

i am saying there is just as much danger in an excessive focus on abstaining and fearfully basing one’s value on how well that’s been done as there is to being completely lost and awash in lust.

our existence as spiritual beings means that our identity is not based on the body. we are not measured by our “body count” at all, whether it is 0 or 1,000.

still, however, i do tend to, at this point in my life, only wish to be sexual with another being if there is genuine love there. this is where the act becomes spiritual. if sex is purely bodily and based on lust alone, then it is affirming only to the physical senses, to the body alone.

however, sex can become an act of beauty if the physical union reflects the union of hearts. this is where it becomes lovemaking, an act of art. is not art based in symbol, when some form becomes a reflection of a higher spiritual or emotional reality? sexuality can be artistic if the union of physical bodies reflects the union of spirits.

this, i think, is tantra. this is affirming to the spirit.

this is basically just me saying that i need an emotional connection to truly feel comfortable having sex. this isn’t something that was necessarily a change within me so much as something that was discovered. through maturity, i simply began to realize that i needed that all along, and was harming my emotional wellbeing through sexuality without an emotional and spiritual connection.

there isn’t some “deep truth” latent in me going out looking gay. wearing eyeliner, lip gloss, a choker, booty shorts. there isn’t some “deep and holy liberation of my feminine.”

it is an act of opposition and rebellion to the fact that it would raise eyebrows. the mere fact that there are people who would have a problem with it makes it all the more alluring. it isn’t the enjoyment of being a provocateur, it isn’t me getting off to pissing people off.

it is a statement. it is a statement on the absolutely arbitrary nature of these gender norms. it is a statement that this shouldn’t be met with fucking backlash therefore fuck you if you feel that way and be stunned and shocked. 

it is an act of nihilism. it affirms the emptiness of all things, the meaninglessness of all things, the cosmic joke latent in all that is. 

my vessel is static but my mind and spirit are anything but. my spirit is an orb that hovers above the body full of possibility. it can be anything it wants to be, it identifies not with one manifest version of itself but can instead shape-shift into any number of contexts and presentations as it chooses. it sees beyond time; it sees beyond the illusion of what this specific instance of time and space sees as the right way of doing things. it is freedom. it is freedom. therefore, i simply must challenge those who would try to limit and stifle the extent of human expression, for the sake of freedom alone. i am as attached to femininity as i am to masculinity — they are all on my palette, to be painted with when i choose, to be blended or stratified as the artistic impulse beckons. but those who would tell me, just because the brush of this physical body is shaped in a certain way that i cannot paint with a certain color, deserve to have it thrown in their face. 

do you not think i get uncomfortable walking around looking like that? but do you not think my desire for truth and freedom is greater? again i will tell you: the mere fact that people would judge and feel distaste makes me want to do it all the more, to challenge their folly, to open their mind even if that opening means cracking it. 

but know this, too: those who then see me as statically feminine and expect me to sit within the box of being a flamboyantly gay, effeminate creature then see my masculine present itself — suddenly I shapeshift into a straight-passing boy. 

i cannot and will not be contained. i want to be more creative than being stifled into one modality of expression. people crave order so heavily; people so desperately want to categorize and box people into things that make sense. but i care not for your sense of linearity — i will be me, even if it does not compute for you. 1+1=3. in the sequence of my expression, there are formulas that exist beyond the bounds of mathematics as we know it. 

to be an anomaly is all i know how to be. 

To love is to guarantee loss:

such is life. 

Who has a grip stronger

than the pull of time?

But know this:

pain is guaranteed.

for one can choose

the pain of heartbreak

or the decay of regret

it’s all the same to me.

so, know this:

to live is to hurt. 

there is no way around this. 

but you choose:

will you take a risk

and experience the joys 

that make it worth it?

to have the treasures 

that you will pay in full for? 

…

riddle me this:

in a world inundated with fairy tale

why do we still live so? 

i’ve been steeped, saturated, 

awash in the ideal,

Disney entraining my subconscious

to take the journey of the hero 

long before i could speak. 

and in this, i know i’m not alone. 

so, then, 

tell me:

why do we still live so? 

for as long as i can remember, 

i’ve been told

to live each day as if it is my last

that true love wins in the end

to up and slay the dragon

that i only have fear to fear

but here i am: 

and here we all are

being granted,

day after day,

pure gold — 

the pure gold of pure possibility — 

every day, precious metals on silver platters — 

yet here we are

fearfully declining.

so intent on being our own captors

an inner political system

all checks, no balances

constantly

constantly

constantly checking ourselves

vetoing the desires of the heart

the urges of the soul

so many reasons why not — 

but don’t we know better?

how many times must we be told? 

what were all of those stories for? 

and what are we

but prisoners to instinct?

we are the confines of the cell.

all so, so afraid 

why? why must we all be afraid?

fear! fear! fear, the mind killer

no more, please

please

It’s been said

that all emotions

are merely emanations 

of either side of this duality:

love,

or fear.

these are the primary opposites

what else can exist 

but these two?

something that I find so completely and utterly fascinating 

is that FEAR

a biological mechanism designed to stave off death

can be the only thing that prevents us from actually living

fuck it all

I do not want to be afraid anymore

let my love be greater