So It Doesn’t (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 242)

I don’t believe that there has ever been a lack of genuine love in the universe. I think it has always been there since the moment of creation and perhaps it was even the primordial or originating flame that climbed out of darkness to produce that fulminating event. What I do see are the overwhelming number of souls everywhere suffering in isolating fear. Instead of turning to the light, they turn much more often and much more readily to the dark, defaulting to an existence based on overcontrolling and over-dominating all else within their sphere of influence. These confused souls obsess on their destructive orientation even as they vehemently deny such intentions and instead adamantly proclaim that their motivations are harbingers of unifying love. The majority of humanity spends its time not on the contemplation, fostering, and actualization of genuine love enacted, but on denying, sabotaging, corrupting, bastardizing, and defiling this inherent energy of union, grace, and peaceful bliss, which is just too simple, too pure and vulnerable, too calm and quiet, to otherwise ignore.

Humanity is too scared to listen, so it screams and shrieks instead. Humanity is too scared to be kind and gentle and peaceful, so it wars and kills and rapes and pillages in the name of justice and freedom for all. Humanity is too scared to be stable and uplifting with unconditional respect for everyone, so it becomes a fear mongering leviathan, eating itself and branding all in destabilizing doubt, confusing uncertainty, and paralyzing paranoia. Humanity is too scared to make love with one another, so it either fucks its fellow beings instead or chooses to simply fuck itself in a perverse anti-union effort of celebratory climax. Humanity is too scared to live, so it eviscerates life, cuts everything vivacious, organic, and perceptively aware, out of our collective and individual existences.

Humanity is too scared to love,

so it doesn’t.

Cribb          2018

Past a Certain Point (Love vs Sex 253)

 

Control (a nickname of a person) could not get the image of the biologist out of his head. The look on her face in the empty lot—that blankness—and then, later, in the sessions, the warring of contempt, wildness, casual vulnerability, and vehemence, strength. That had laid him low. That had expanded until it hooked into the whole of him, no part of him not committed. Even though she might never know, could give two shits about him. Even though he would be content should he never meet her again, just so long as he could believe she was still out there, alive and on her own. The yearnings in him now went in all directions and no direction at all. It was an odd kind of affection that needed no subject, that emanated from him like invisible rays meant for everyone and everything. He supposed they were normal feelings once you’d pushed on past a certain point.

Authority

Jeff Vandermeer          2014

The Killing of Comet Trails by the Phone World Filter Clan (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 241)

A lady and her young daughter walk into the restaurant. They walk up and sit at the sushi bar. The parent has a faint aura of pretentiousness and lack of concern regarding any external perception about her. The child is relaxed and smiling, with sparkling energy flowing constantly in, out, and around her essence, like tiny comet trails of excited stardust. Her vibrant posture possesses no discount or disrespect for any of the world that swirls about herself and her comet trails.

They sit down. Mom immediately buries her head and all of her attention in her phone. The child, who seems to understand this mommy behavior as the norm, quietly refrains from intruding into mommy’s important activity. The little girl’s head remains up at all times and she keeps quietly observing the entire world of the restaurant. Is she looking around for something specific or just looking around to see if anyone else in the room actually notices her, actually sees her, I wonder?

After a few minutes, without any other engagement, mom pulls her phone out of the downward cradle of her hands, out of her own bubble of isolated existence, and points her phone world at her daughter. There isn’t really any verbalization or look of communication in the process, only a controlled pointing of a phone world filter at something organic, living, and breathing, which seems used to not be interacted with except in this given manner. The child doesn’t even turn or move for the first few snapped pictures. Then the photographer mom of the phone world filter clan apparently decides the pictures might be improved upon. Remaining as minimally interactive as is feasible, mom reaches up and moves the little girl’s flowing mane of curls slightly further towards the back of her head. Then, silent click, silent click, silent click. And maybe I’m imagining it, but now mom appears to feel like she has something to be happier about. . . a digital prisoner doppelgänger held perfectly in her own phone world filter of the alien organic-living-breathing entity that still sits right next to her, yet also apparently a million light years away.

The young girl eventually giggles and laughs at her photo session. Small meaningless words of empty banter bounce back and forth between the mouths of mother and daughter for a moment before both return to their previously adopted (or should I say adapted?) roles in their separate worlds of fictional crossover coexistence and union.

Their to-go-order eventually escapes the kitchen and is delivered unto them in a neat, nice, and immaculately folded paper bag. Mommy and daughter rise back up out of their seats as good as any strangers might do and then together, without words or gestures amongst themselves, stroll out of the restaurant so obviously happy in their unified familial bliss that I can barely stand it.

Cribb          2018

The Relief of Selling Your Soul (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 240)

Pretext Note: This lesser known novel written by George Orwell deals with the constant struggle of the protagonist who is trying to avoid the insanity, destabilization, and bastardization of living in the money world as he also attempts to continue to comfortably interact with others who are of that world and maintain the survival of his own perceived self worth. This passage is essentially the culminating point of the novel. The tragic nature in the outcome of his “relief” of accepting that he must sell his soul if he is to integrate with the money world in any respect is fatalistically depressing, but astoundingly and hauntingly accurate in assessing the impossibility of meshing and melding the worlds of money and non-money prioritization.

He walked rapidly away. What had he done? Chucked up the sponge! Broken all his oaths! His long and lonely war had ended in ignominious defeat. Circumcise ye your foreskins, saith the Lord. He was coming back to the fold, repentant. He seemed to be walking faster than usual. There was a peculiar sensation, an actual physical sensation, in his heart, in his limbs, all over him. What was it? Shame, misery, despair? Rage at being back in the clutch of money? Boredom when he thought of the deadly future? He dragged the sensation forth, faced it, examined it. It was relief.

Yes, that was the truth of it. Now that the thing was done he felt nothing but relief; relief that now at last he had finished with dirt, cold, hunger and loneliness and could get back to decent, fully human life. His resolutions, now that he had broken them, seemed nothing but a frightful weight that he had cast off. Moreover, he was aware that he was only fulfilling his destiny. In some corner of his mind he had always known that this would happen. He thought of the day when he had given them notice at the New Albion; and Mr. Erskine’s kind, red, beefish face, gently counselling him not to chuck up a “good” job for nothing. How bitterly he had sworn, then, that he was done with “good” jobs for ever! Yet it was foredoomed that he should come back, and he had known it even then. And it was not merely because of Rosemary and the baby that he had done it. That was the obvious cause, the precipitating cause, but even without it the end would have been the same; if there had been no baby to think about, something else would have forced his hand. For it was what, in his secret heart, he had desired.

After all he did not lack vitality, and that moneyless existence to which he had condemned himself had thrust him ruthlessly out of the stream of life. He looked back over the last two frightful years. He had blasphemed against money, rebelled against money, tried to live like an anchorite outside the money-world; and it had brought him not only misery, but also a frightful emptiness, an inescapable sense of futility. To abjure money is to abjure life. Be not righteous over much; why shouldst thou die before thy time? Now he was back in the money-world, or soon would be. Tomorrow he would go back to New Albion, in his best suit and overcoat (he must remember to get his overcoat out of pawn at the same time as his suit), in homburg hat of the correct gutter-crawling pattern, neatly shaved and with his hair cut short. He would be as though born anew. The sluttish poet of today would be hardly recognisable in the natty young business man of tomorrow. They would take him back, right enough; he had the talent they needed. He would buckle to work, sell his soul and hold down his job.

Keep the Aspidistra Flying 

George Orwell          1936

Why did you let me? (Love vs Sex 252)

‘Yes, you call it love but I call it torture,’ I said. ‘Why did you let me go into society if you thought it so evil that you ceased to love me because of it?’

‘It was not society, my dear,’ he said.

‘Why did you not use your authority?’ I went on. ‘Why didn’t you lock me up or kill me? I would be better off than I am now, deprived of all that made up my happiness. I should have been very happy, instead of being ashamed.’

I began to sob again and hid my face.

‘Yes,’ he began, as though continuing his thoughts aloud, ‘all of us, and especially you women, must discover for ourselves all the futilities of life in order to come back to life itself: the experience of other people is no good. At that time you were far from having got to the end of that sweet and charming nonsense that I used to enjoy in you, and I left you to have your fill of it, feeling that I had no right to stand in your way, although for me the time for that sort of thing was long past.’

‘If you loved me ,’ I said, ‘why did you stand by and allow me to go through with it?’

‘Because even if you had wanted to accept my experience  you would not have been able to: you had to find out for yourself — and you did.’

‘You thought it all out – thought it all out very carefully,’ I said. ‘You did not love very much.’

We lapsed into silence again.

‘That was harsh, what you said just now, but it is the truth,’ he exclaimed, suddenly rising to his feet and beginning to walk about the veranda. ‘Yes, it’s the truth. I was to blame,’ he added, stopping opposite me. ‘Either I ought not to have allowed myself to love you at all, or I ought to have loved you in a simpler way.’

Happily Ever After

Leo Tolstoy          1859

Cribb Comment: I believe this passage exquisitely portrays a dynamic all too common in any relationship involving one member who is maturely and aptly at peace with themselves and their existence versus another member who is immaturely floundering about in nervous energy anxiety (etc.) and the narcissism of satiating themselves in societal delusion and distraction. The passage is even more profound and relevant for this dynamic when a significant age disparity exists between these two entities. The man of this passage (the more mature entity in this case) profoundly loves this woman and he almost refused to marry her earlier in the book because of his prophetic knowledge of how things were likely to play out. The last sentence in the quote refers to this. His other counter to this tragedy, in this very same sentence, is to say “or I ought to have loved you in a simpler way.” My interpretation is to assume that this simpler way means without such passion or remaining further removed, but it is feasible that he is simply referring to enacting greater patience and personal acceptance of the “cost” involved in remaining unselfish and supremely stable in such a relationship. Any of these behaviors by the man would have required enormous self sacrifice and essentially equate to him moving into a long term yielding (negative) transcendence state (instead of a horizontal or upperward transcendence state) with someone he dearly loved.

At the time of this passage in the book, the female character has already bucked a simple, intimate, and quieter life with her husband, opting instead for the chaotic excitement and thrill which dwells most manicaly in the nervous energy of the fickle societal herd. She has run that course out of her own choice with some component of said choice being related to her utter defiance of her husbands stable posture and contentment which she cannot help but perceive primarily as authoritarian in nature. After profoundly discovering through her own experience and suffering that the societal bosom is never more than a “futility of life,” our female character must look to blame another for the consequences of her own unrelenting egocentric perspective. She must blame him, damn him for being too authoritarian or for not being authoritarian enough, to justify the suffering and consequence that she so proudly chose to march into with such gleeful determination. Our female character now sees all of the wasted and nonrecoverable time that she threw away in the suffering and consequence of her independent choices.

Cribb          2018

 

A Tempest of Simplicity (Love vs Sex 251)

I lost my heart

to a tempest of simplicity,

and once I was caught

beyond my will and desire

to escape such an odd manifestational paradox,

I realized that there was no tempest before me,

but only the vivacious rippling and vibrational energy

of contact, melding, and attempted integration

of two existences

which are so oft

catastrophically cleaved from one another;

between a soul of heaven and a world of unknowing flesh;

between crucifixion by the many, knowingly or not,

for the grace shown and proffered by the one;

between an attempted revival enacted by empathy and faith upon apathy and despair;

between the primordial forces of chaotic entropy and the stable orchestrations of synergistic and harmonious union.

It wasn’t a tempest at all

but the orbiting gates of heaven spinning, swirling, and dancing upon the earth.

And deeper

within that skin and those bones,

it was a fragment of heaven itself,

grace undulating incarnate.

An aspect of an essence, I now knew that I had always belonged to as well.

There was no fleeing from its path,

no attempted escape,

there needn’t be,

because there was no fear.

There was only a desire to join with it in a yin and yang of the most joyful appreciation imaginable;

to love it for the simple and pure sake of knowing that it also loved freely, respectfully, and without abandon, anything capable of such energy and attention.

My heart,

my soul,

my essence,

my appreciation and desire,

my compulsive joy and laughter,

had once again,

been simply called home to union with my tribe,

to the inclusive energy and bond of heaven’s blessing and it’s amazingly profound grace.

Cribb          2018

The Relativity of Expertise (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 239)

My brother recently adopted a new puppy and my dad has aided and assisted him throughout the process, as well as with some of the follow up veterinary care required. My brother doesn’t talk to me, that’s another lengthy story, but my dad and I are closer than ever and we have real conversations with one another; you know, the ones where both people speak and both people listen.

My dad, to his credit, has learned to listen and abide by the veterinary recommendations and behavioral advice I give him. He has seen the repetitive objective evidence and listened to my observations and justifications for why I approach things the way I do. He has accepted my expertise.

Oddly enough, even after I graduated as a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, my mom would continuously argue with me about the facts of physiology, anatomy, diagnostics, historical case evidence, and behavior. She was discomforted by my knowledge and expertise on the subject, framing these qualities as “my opinion” while framing her own uneducated and unchallenged rationale and comforting delusion as “indisputable fact.” Let’s just summarize and say my brother eventually went down that same wormhole of delusion for the same exact behavior glitch in his psyche.

So, my brother is failing in house training his dog, effectively walking his dog, and in setting up the other proper pack boundaries and structure for his dog which expresses itself in other undesirable manifestations. He had decided his puppy had “physical” issues to explain these failures, which is highly unlikely, up until recently.

My dad tried over and over to pass along my advice to my brother without success, without heed or hesitation, for the longest time. That all met a deaf ear and a closed mind.

My father finally established some breakthrough success getting creative and giving my brother a book written by Cesar Milan (of course, a sensational society approved celebrity). My brother apparently read at least some of the book and since doing so he has improved much of the puppies behavior. He was even proud of his learned knowledge and took the time to show my dad some of the tricks “he knew” about puppy behavior.

My dad and I laughed about this the other day. It wasn’t to be mean and it wasn’t to be ugly. It was to process the stultifying denial and delusion we all tend to inflict upon ourselves in some vain attempt to avoid our fear of one thing or the other. My brother was in fulminant denial until he could twist reality enough to his liking to accept its validity. It seems so bizarre and so backward, but I promise you I see the same behavior from some other pet owners quite often.

At the end of our discussion about this issue, my dad suddenly turned to me and chuckled a good bit as he seemed to stumble upon an internal epiphany. He said “Jeff, can you imagine what kind of reaction or response Steven would have if you strolled into his civil engineering office and started telling him how to build things, manage a project, or compute a critical and complicated engineering formula that carried great liability with it? Can you just imagine what kind of hellacious hissy fit and temper tantrum he would have?”

I smiled back at my dad and I thought “Wow, dad just keeps surprising me with his observations lately, how awesome is that?” But I held the thought silently and only chose to reply “Absolutely, I have no doubt whatsoever how he would react. He would lose his shit like Mount Vesuvius.” And we laughed a little bit more together about all of it because we both knew how profoundly true that statement happens to be.

Jeff Cribb DVM          2018