THE CLOSET MYSTIC

The rebirth of that Ram

A singular point, a singular spark, 

A singular concentrated centre of raw potential —

That first spark of life,

Let us take life headfirst. Why not?

Be set ablaze. Feel the vitality surging through your veins, the primacy of your youth expanding your horizons farther than the eye can see. Your heart, your soul, your gut, your instincts know what lies beyond. You can feel it. Honor that tug, honor that pull. I care not if your immediate physical senses can perceive what is beyond that distant horizon. 

Live, live, live. Live. Live. Live your life. Live a life you love. Love the life that you have chosen, for it is all your choice. You are at the wheel. This is a choose-your-own-adventure. The essential truth of life is your own potency. Be confident. You should. Self-belief is critical to creating and following your highest bliss. 

Why pick up a sword if you think it too dull to be of use? How can you live as both sword and the one wielding if you do not trust your own potency? 

You are capable of so, so much. Do you see that rising Sun? Do you feel its blazing heat? Do you not realize that you are the same? Do you not realize that it is your choice entirely, your choice alone, whether you nestle comfortably in the shade, ignoring Helios’s expanses, or if you step out into the burning Phoenix’s eye, and allow yourself to be seen, allow yourself to live as your spirit would demand? 

This life was meant to be lived intensely, truly, fully and totally. Throw yourself into all of your endeavors. Do not hold back. The key to a life without regret is in squeezing that sponge of your heart totally and completely dry, the waters of your soul having been released fully and totally into this world. To be on the deathbed with still yet more to give, yet to be without a body, a vessel, a tool to enact it, is to be choked by one’s own mistakes. The only mistake truly made is in not trying, is in not going out to be. Look at this grand world, its infinite horizons. How can you sit in what is comfortable and not want to scream, to howl, to fight and punch and kick and not allow what’s in your heart to burn, burn, burn, even if you get scorched? Realize that you can set others ablaze, too, allowing the fire of your spirit and soul to create an even greater and more wild flame, that flame’s name truth — 

Thank you, thank you, thank you to those spiritual traditions who remind me that our mind can be our greatest enemy. That mind of mine! Equal parts wings, equal parts deadweight. What will I make it today?

Today, I choose wings. Today, I choose passion. Gooseflesh, chills, a swelling in my heart. I feel electric, I feel alive. 

I feel me.

I approach the easel and stare at the canvas. As I look inward for inspiration, I am stunned and overwhelmed by the number of impressions that arise seemingly at once. Where do I begin? How could I ever begin a process that I know will never have an end? 

A surplus of emotional waters. A surplus of spiritual wattage. A surplus of wooden Earth set ablaze by my passions. A hurricane, and I am the still centre. But where, where can I begin? There is so much in my heart, but my throat chokes. It chokes, for what to give expression to first? 

Abundance is a blessing, yes, but it comes with demand. Knowledge — what is knowledge without action? Knowledge, knowing, and perspective are counterfeit without corresponding action. I care not what talk you talk, for if it is not being walked, it is sterile. Potentiate that mind of yours with your body, with your hands. You’ve studied the choreography, but have you twirled and swayed? Have you allowed your hips to give it life? Have you allowed the energy condensed into Ajna to trickle down that spinal channel and instruct the other selves you are home to? Or have you been taken by daydreaming, the maladaptive sort? Do you live your successes in the mental sphere only? Have you allowed planet 7 to remain castrated without approaching the material realm who holds that scythe? Have you not the Jovian bravery to rescue the rest from the belly and allow them to see the light of day? You have the strength — will you or will you not use it? 

words are alchemy.

your life is a story —

your identity is a narrative —

write your own allegory.

how will the pen of your will

meet this day’s paper?

let poetry be

that childhood candy

let it pop,

crackle,

sizzle,

upon your tongue —

oh,

let those emotions

sparkle as carbon,

massaging.

firecrackers

roll out,

flicked —

with each syllable,

popping —

every stress,

charging —

charging the air —

your hairs,

stand in salute —

sound waves

as conduits

for the electricity,

of spirit.

let my words,

massage you,

massage your spine —

do you feel

those twin serpents?

do you feel

the caduceus

intwining?

snakes meet

saying hello

at each vertebrae

every loop

where they kiss

is an epiphany.

and then,

wings emerge

from the back of your skull.

fly ~

Inspiration!

it is accessing the dream realm

while in the waking

art is the train station,

the ticket is a willing mind

where do dreams come from…?

what are those mists,

protean,

hazy, baby blue,

what medium is best suited

for their condensing?

how can I take you

where I have been?

no —

that’s the wrong question —

how can I let it

better take me

where it wishes?

for those mists are animate

for those mists are conscious

for those mists have thousands of hands

and where they nudge me

I’ve no choice

I’ve no say

what do you will of me?

how can I pay homage to you?

is my ode in dance?

is my ode in song?

is my ode in war?

is my ode sitting at the dividing line

and laying down my sword

knowing I cannot die

because those mists claim me as their own?

or is my ode in kindness —

is my ode in loving the broken,

is my ode in trying my best to be everyone’s missing puzzle piece?

is that love?

what is it?

make my life a living art form.

make this whole life a song.

make this whole life an ode to you

Oh,

I can see you in all things —

Nothing is solid!

wrong are you

if you honestly believe

that science limits transcendence.

for that ode,

for that song,

teaches

that nothing is solid.

that the manifest world

is thought

is dream

the artist of this cosmos

was inspired by his consort

he lays in a raft

along the lazy river of fate

and daydreams.

And the spirit of dance overtakes me!

It overtakes me!

It is ecstasy,

It is praying with my body,

Rather than my words!

A devotional movement dedicated to the Goddess,

A living metaphor,

I become her puppet,

She pulls my strings,

I have no choice but to sway,

But to sway,

But to swirl,

But to twirl,

But to be taken by her!

…

…

…

(this is post number 333 on my blog, which is behind the title. how in the world?)

random burst of inspiration:

I opened Reddit and saw a post on r/Spongebob (yeah I’m fucking subscribed don’t judge me) asking about some random plot hole — it was like, “why is there a light switch that can turn off the lights for all of Bikini Bottom?” Obviously, the show has a million and a half random, itty-bitty plot holes. The show in general does not make any fucking sense, and I adore that about it.

The top comment was “Because.” Obviously, I giggled. People were like, “Ahhh that makes sense,” and “Understandable. Have a nice day.”

I found the whole thing to be very funny. Then my brain began over-complicating it and relating it to spirituality. However, I think there are some things of value there that I wanted to share here.

I began to have a train of thought that was in itself sort of ridiculous — something like, “Hey, there’s actually an immense amount of wisdom in Spongebob, in that the absurdity of the show points to the overarching absurdity of life itself.” It reminded me of that Rick and Morty copypasta, the one that goes like “You actually need an i m m e n s e l y high IQ to understand Rick and Morty. It is NOT for fools. If you don’t like the show, you are a certified dumbass.”

Regardless, I began to consider the fundamental absurdity and ridiculousness of all things, and how moot thinking can itself, at times, be.

Something I’ve been focusing on quite a bit, lately, is simplification. Overall simplicity. I think it came about through my contemplation of Taurus and the Earth element. The sign itself feels rather nonverbal by nature. It feels practical, only speaking when necessary. It feels concerned about what it can see, touch, feel, sense, et cetera, perhaps less oriented to consider the intangible, abstract, and ethereal. Grounded. Rooted. Generally… without drama.

And I have very much enjoyed the energy. It feels like a needed respite from the narratives my mind can spin. A necessary balancing force. As an individual who’s long sought so intensely to transcend the mundane, I feel like I have forgotten to connect with the Earth element and its simplicity. Just… grounded. Simple. Plain. And oh-so-strong in that rootedness. Fixed, powerful, reliable.

How does this relate to the absurdity of Spongebob? Consider the response to the poster questioning the lack of logic in the show: “Because.”

Life itself. Life itself. How many times have I run my head into a proverbial wall trying to make sense of all that is?

Consider the supercomputer’s answer to the central question, “What is the meaning of life?” in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

“42.“

Reality itself is not words. Reality is reflected in words, but reality is not words. We can capture some of reality through words, but the totality of reality exists beyond the verbal. This pertains to my discussion on archetype in previous posts. Archetypes/forms are containers for spirit, but the spirit usually contained in those aforementioned vessels is far greater than the box it’s presented in.

Words are the very same in this way. They can reflect part of the whole, but certainly not its entirety. Reality itself has primordial roots. Consider that the advent of language has billions of years of the history of the universe predating it. Reality itself, and its creation, is preverbal. Could this mean that perceiving “true reality,” whatever that may be, must involve us using faculties that exist beyond the scope of the intellect and its linguistic capabilities?

(Side note/edit: I’ve at times considered Mercury to be the serpent tempting Adam & Eve to eat of the fruit of knowledge in the Garden of Eden. The creation of opposites is a facility of language. This is why Mercury is dual in nature, for language categorizes, and thus divides, things, making them separate from one another. Mercury can both create and reconcile opposites. I consider the preverbal soup from which we originate to be the unconscious. The conscious mind is like a ship traversing the ocean of the unconscious, its depths infinitely greater than the ship could ever come to know and understand.)

There is a reason why monks believe thinking causes suffering. There is a reason why, to so many monks, the goal of meditation is in the cessation of the narratives of the intellect. The crystal-clear, meditative mind, to them, is thoughtless, a clear sky without the clouds of thought.

To the questioning of the absurdity of reality itself, the answer is simply

“Because.”

or

“42.”

There is a Buddhist parable I am reminded of, outlined in some of Joseph Campbell’s material. To summarize:

Essentially, the Buddha is out teaching his followers. One of his students asks him what the meaning of life is. The Buddha pauses. He looks around. He picks up a flower, displays it to all of his followers, and says nothing.

Only one of them understood, nodding.

Taurus,

Oh, my Queen —

crown of horns,

A crescent disc,

Ornamenting thee —

Let us distill your silver,

And let me drink —

Love that stands the test of time.

You are Earth,

You are the fertility and permanence,

of the Goddess!

You are her purity…

You are her joy…

You are… so many things —

You are the dawn of spring!

You are the first bite of a strawberry,

had in a lush garden,

the whole spectrum of light contained,

in flowers surrounding.

I hear angelic harpsichords

pacifying the mind,

stilling its winds.

You clear the smog

of the modern psyche

leaving only fresh air,

scented by lavender

and roses

in its wake.

you are the hands of a lover,

scratching my hair,

tracing with their fingers,

“I love you”

on the back of my neck.

your sweetness is unparalleled.

your safety,

is a coveted beginning,

preceding untold magnitudes,

of spiritual wealth.

I love you, Mother.

I want to snuggle with you in fields,

of the tallest, softest grasses,

multitudes of your hands,

sprouting from the ground,

caressing and protecting,

my blanket.

I am yours,

I am your boy…

I smile eagerly,

wide-eyed and innocent,

up at you, oh Mother —

you hold me,

you hold me against your breast,

and I can feel the warmth of your heart,

and all is complete,

and all is perfect.

…

I need not fly from this realm

any longer

to meet the sublime.

no, it is here.

so often

did pain shatter

the windows of my perception

the cracked glass splitting

my heart

from the world that surrounds

but no,

oh no,

Venus,

Your sweetness

is sugar

placed in the ridges

of that schism

its crevice mended

closed

two made as one

once again

by the force of that Queen

Her crescent Moon

reflected in the smile that possesses me

I’ve no choice,

I’ve no say,

The sweetness and goodness

is too great

I am born anew

in the springtime

of my soul

💚

Sun!

Moon!

Twin conspirators,

Grant me a coin!

The luminaries held in my palm

I flick her upwards

I kiss the Sun

I kiss the Moon

I watch as the coin

Flips

Flutters

Spins

Blindingly, in mid-air —

Gold and silver blur into one another

Is that quicksilver I see?

Or is it Platinum?

I fall to my knees in gratitude

They’ve granted me

a piece of intelligent infinity

What will I do with this gift?

today in meditation, my smallness dawned on me, nearly collapsed on me, crushing me in some heavenly euphoria

for if I am small, then so too is every facet of my life — problems included

it was incomprehensible for a brief moment the amount of souls on this planet. 8 billion spectacular points of light traversing this globe. the sheer amount of consciousness this planet holds. how can it be? the extravagant degree of vivid experiences being had at the same time right now. I wish to open mine up evermore to the experiences of others, that there is less stratification between our points of consciousness, but that we find strength and alleviation of our personal ills in that unity.

we are never ever alone.