It is Little to Give (Love vs Sex 246)

“What is there I can give you? Love, it is true.”

“And is that so little?” I asked looking into his eyes.

“Yes, my dear, it is little to give you,” he went on. “You have beauty and youth. Often now I cannot sleep at night for happiness: I lie awake and think of our future life together. I have lived through a great deal, and I think I have found what is needed for happiness: a quiet, secluded life here in the depths of the country, with the possibility of doing good to people to whom it is easy to do good which they are not accustomed to receiving; then work – work which one hopes may be of some use; then leisure, nature, books, music, love for a kindred spirit – such is my idea of happiness, and I dreamed of none higher. And now, to crown it all, I get you, a family perhaps, and all that the heart of man could desire.”

“It should be enough,” I said.

“Enough for me whose youth is over, but not for you,” he pursued. “You have not seen anything of life yet. You may want to seek happiness elsewhere, and perhaps find it in something different. At present you believe that this is happiness because you love me.”

Happily Ever After

Leo Tolstoy          1859

Cribb Comment: I am extremely fond of this passage. Tolstoy reveals the hard to tell truth about love that most do not want to hear or even come close to contemplating; it must be grandiose and dramatic, fervent and uber passionate, and a thrill ride of unending emotional hype, stimulation, and volatile exchange, never just basic, simple, easy, and quietly profound in its energy and transcending bond. He also touches on the attainment and understanding of happiness in life which requires a security and willful stability in individual perspective and contentment of purpose. His promotion of the importance of untainted and unhypocritical good will towards his fellow man is also captured elegantly and succinctly by “doing good to people who are not used to such things and doing so without forcing this “good” upon them in an overstep of intent.” Lastly, his point of youth and its hunger, aware or unaware, for more than love, for more than genuine happiness, is presented with the unselfish tenderness and empathy of a saint. It is an undeniable truth that most youthful “old souls” can’t quite accept about themselves and their overriding desire. They seem unable to digest that real happiness and real love might just be too pure, obtainable, and stable, for the premises and constructs they have anchored into their psyche as defining a normal existence.

I would have preferred for Tolstoy to postulate a manner or theory in which these two characters could have worked together to address and resolve the youthful subconscious yearnings (their burden of misunderstood nervous and excitable egocentric energy) of the wife more effectively and profoundly. It would seem that Tolstoy might believe such a transition utterly impossible without the context of further life experience to curb and temper such youthful yearning.

2017

But It’s Here Now (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 184)

“Some people think that it’s only possible to be happy if one makes noise,” she said, after a pause. “I find it’s too delicate and melancholy for noise. Being happy is rather melancholy—like the most beautiful landscape, like those trees and the grass and the clouds and the sunshine today.”

“From the outside,” said Gumbril, “it even looks rather dull.” They stumbled up the dark staircase to his rooms. Gumbril lit a pair of candles and put the kettle on the gas ring. They sat together on the divan sipping tea. In the rich, soft light of the candles she looked different, more beautiful. The silk of her dress seemed wonderfully rich and glossy, like the petals of a tulip, and on her face, on her bare arms and neck the light seemed to spread an impalpable bright bloom. On the wall behind them, their shadows ran up towards the ceiling, enormous and profoundly black.

“How unreal it is,” Gumbril whispered. “Not true. This remote secret room. These lights and shadows out of another time. And you out of nowhere and I, out of a past utterly remote from yours, sitting together here, together—and being happy. That’s the strangest thing of all. Being quite senselessly happy. It’s unreal, unreal.”

“But why,” said Emily, “why? It’s here and happening now. It is real.”

“It all might vanish, at any moment,” he said.

Emily smiled rather sadly. “It’ll vanish in due time,” she said. “Quite naturally, not by magic; it’ll vanish the way everything else vanishes and changes. But it’s here now.

They gave themselves up to the enchantment. The candles burned, two shining eyes of flame, without a wink, minute after minute. But for them were no longer any minutes. Emily leaned against him, her body held in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. He caressed his cheek against her hair; sometimes, very gently, he kissed her forehead or her closed eyes.

“If I had know you years ago . . .” she sighed. “But I was a silly little idiot then. I shouldn’t have notice any difference between you and anybody else.”

Antic Hay

Aldous Huxley          1923

 

 

 

 

Taking Someone Along in Your Soul (Love vs Sex 245)

He knew nothing of the figure’s origin; Goldmund had never told him Lydia’s story. But he felt everything; he saw that the girl’s form had long lived in Goldmund’s heart. Perhaps he had seduced her, perhaps betrayed and left her. But, truer than the most faithful of husband, he had taken her along in his soul, preserving her image until finally, perhaps after many years in which he had never seen her again, he had fashioned this beautiful, touching statue of a girl and captured in her face, her bearing, her hands all the tenderness, admiration, and longing of their love.

Narcissus and Goldmund

Hermann Hesse          1930

The Song of the Psyche; the Song of the Soul (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 171)

We are not being taught or encouraged to engage in real conversation with one another. Instead, we are being taught to have vocal exchanges of non-conversation, to bark at one another with a particular absence or lack of sustenance in what we present and how we respond. It is a portrayal of exuberance and eagerness in the desire to form union (whilst happily exchanging or sharing the energies of observation and experience), which is enthusiastically insincere in its advertised intent regardless of the pseudo-bonding emotional hype said intent, interest, and comradery rides upon. It is much “Hey, What’up?, How are you?, How’s it go’in?, What’s up bro?, (fistbump), How’s your family’n’em?, How’s everything?” about nothing. Most often, it is only the bottled up energy of an advertised existence which is incapable of achieving the stable state required for authentic self-aware output and accurate objective perception, drawn from the marketed hype and armchair quarterbacking of all of the mundane irrelevancies, occurrences, and distractions within the universe; it is the vocalization of undead maws, a chorus of soulless, segregated, and detached cacophonies.  It is worse, much worse, than the instinctual bonding which reflexively occurs in the realm of utter silence.

We are taught to pretend, to act, and to feign; we are taught to amuse and to be amused above all other perceptions of relevance and significance; we are taught to bark and laugh, to look beyond and askew, to jitteringly posture and not sit too still for too long; we are taught to annul the reality of ourselves and the reality of any mutual existence of higher meaning under some sort of unspoken indoctrinated commitment to the supposed beneficial preference of marketed and rewritten reality for all. Hear ye, hear ye! Disengagement and delusion, for all!

Reality and the graces within require respect if they are to deliver revelation and transcendence unto humanity. Respect requires a noble effort of the soul which surpasses the temptation and compulsion to subconsciously taint and twist all of our perceptions of mutual objective existence with our own isolated egocentric sin of doubt, fear, and selfishness. Noble effort is composed through the prioritizing of our own focus of empathic intent; and empathic focus of intent is only achieved by those willing to fully expose the tender sensitivities of their core essence and inner sanctum to the raw exoteric and indomitable landscape of independent coexistence and ceaseless vulnerability. Regressively, awareness is thus born and given its proper birth rite.

If we are not to rewrite and bastardize one another, ourselves, and even the realm of existence itself, if we are not to foster an oh so lethal and infectious madness within all of our hearts, minds, and souls, we must engage in awareness. Our fear, our petty amusement, and our overdominant ego, must let go for such awareness to thrive and flourish, and if we can do so, if we can become less than ourselves, and simultaneously also much, much greater than who and what we think we happen to be, we will come to crave and savor the ever-constant truth and reality of the independent and indomitable exoteric universe which is easily found once we are able to escape the prison of our own isolated mind.

This is the potential of earnest conversation and exchange; the gift of greater awareness, understanding, empathy, and union; upward transcendence. It should be the primary focus of our collective and individual humanity. Change everything, it would. To shun awareness and deny engagement with objective reality is a decision and action based in fear; and fear is always isolating and tortuous to those it possesses. Pretending to be someone else or not to be anyone at all during interaction, enclosing oneself in a buffer bubble of amusement and fun, or exsanguinating one’s soul out to the nervous vampiric energy of an overemotional horde, are all acts of fearful self-negation and they never will confront, nor can they ever overcome being possessed by fear.

Pretending, in all of its various forms, is chosen fearful non-existence and verbally, it expresses itself as chosen fearful non-conversation. The pretending must stop for individual and collective existences to start, for the hidden reality known deep within a man’s bones and humanities blood to obtain a peaceful synchronicity with the spiritual nature of his, and their, psyche. Real non-bastardized, non-marketed, non-tainted conversation, is the song of this psyche, the song of this soul.

We all need to stop pretending. We all need to talk to one another. Our souls all need to sing to one another and join in chorus together. This is the true path out of and away from fear; the path towards genuine individual and collective peace; the only path, the only one, that leads to union and transcendence.

Cribb          2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Answer (Love vs Sex 243)

 The Answer

The world is upside down. The answer is never fear. Never. The answer isn’t defensive posturing or preemptive attacks. It isn’t subjugation, deceptive manipulation, intentional misrepresentation, enablement, fostering of delusion, hoarding, war, addiction, organized religious placation, or any other form of over-dominance and pathological preparedness.
The answer is unrelenting love. It’s not a fairytale or something I say lightly or flippantly. I understand the cost and the risk involved in such love and those things simply put, just don’t fucking matter. They never really did. True love walks on water and over coals, it survives alone in the frigid cold and empty darkness, and it has not the slightest concern over the substantial cost of what it must pay or the risk it must endure to offer its energy so freely to another. Love dwells on hope and union and blissful happiness, not skeptical reservation, nor doubt, nor fear.

Love everyone and everything with all of your essence and all of your might, all of it and more, until the association creates unnecessary persistent suffering within your own soul. You must take the first step. You must make the offering, the sacrifice, until proven otherwise. It doesn’t make you a fool or an idiot. It makes you an angel blazing in the glory of God…..in the graceful glory of love.

At the point of persistent suffering you must remove the direct connection of your offering. Love’s duty is not to suffer at the hand or boot of another. It suffers enough in its own pure balanced state. To do otherwise, indicates a disrespect of yourself and the purity of your own love. Accepted persistent suffering is accepted distraction and detraction from the transcendence and implementation of love.

Walk away when you must, but never cut the love out of yourself. Don’t change your posture. Don’t change your approach. Don’t assume a pathological pattern in others will repeat, even if it might. It’s irrelevant. Your love should never stop, never be deterred, never withdrawn, even if it must be continually redirected to flow in some other direction.
When you obtain a truly pure state of love, you realize it applies to all of existence. You don’t get to pick and choose where your individual love goes. It flows freely to where it is needed, where it is sought, and where it will find its most magnetic bond of unity to ultimately achieve its greatest catalytic effect on existence.

We all live a life that is primarily based on fear or love. Most have deluded themselves into believing that they have chosen love as their guide stone, when in fact and in deed, the markers of their fear run rampant throughout their existence and their orbit. The behaviors of over-dominance and over-nurturing are prime indicators of those ruled or simply controlled by fear. Toggling back and forth between those behaviors is most often misinterpreted by people as some form of spiritual healing or spiritual growth, when in fact it only depicts the definitive absence of love.

When you truly become a creature of love through and through, the fear and anxiety and the swinging pendulums fade away. All that is left is love, and then you realize that you have no desire or time to waste on any of the other nonsense. It is an absolutely titillating and resounding epiphany. It is the moment of your true birth and the beginning of a beautiful existence.

Cribb          2016

Such Inertia (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 166)

Existence

is only a dance

of

patterns (pattern recognition) and drive.

This

tempo and melody

allow for

the identification of

truth

and the birth

of

contemplation, dedication, integrity,

and

ultimately

of

love.

It is about

primordial energy

taking structured forms

of independence

which then

seek interconnectivity

with other independent forms

and

express their desire

through the intensity and the tenacity

of

their focus.

It is the ebb and flow of energy and intensity,

of patterns and drive,

of separation and union,

and the appreciation of such inertia.

Chaos

ushered forever forth

by

its constant distractive and nullifying consumption

on the aegis

of

its own godforsaken tentacles

of apathy and fear,

swirls endlessly in motion as well,

but only

in the stagnant agitation of entropy,

in the refusal

to

acknowledge and actualize

meaningful

inertia.

The negation of existence

is thus fundamentally

a static acquiescence

of isolating denial and of plausible delusion

regarding the remainder of the universe

which is not engaged.

The agitation of entropy

is

only

a dark and woefully cracked mirror

to the meaningful inertia

of focus,

but lost souls

will often be charmed and bedazzled

by its excitable and nervous oscillations,

drawn and lured closer

to that

which was before beginning

rather than towards

that which is meant to become.

Existence is meant to move forward.

We are meant to become.

That becoming occurs

via

a

dance

of

patterns and drive.

Cribb

2017

The Kitsch Heart of both Communism and Capitalism (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 161)

“Kitsch” is a German word born in the middle of the sentimental nineteenth century, and from German it entered all Western languages. Repeated use, however, has obliterated its original metaphysical meaning: kitsch is the absolute denial of shit, in both the literal and the figurative senses of the word; kitsch excludes everything from its pureview which is essentially unacceptable in human existence.

Ten years later (by which time she was living in America), a friend of some friends, an American senator, took Sabina for a drive in his gigantic car, his four children bouncing up and down in the back. The senator stopped the car in front of a stadium with an artificial skating rink, and the children jumped out and started running along the large expanse of grass surrounding it. Sitting behind the wheel and gazing dreamily after the four little bounding figures, he said to Sabina, “Just look at them.” And describing a circle with his arm, a circle that was meant to take in stadium, grass, and children, he added, “Now, that’s what I call happiness.”

Behind his words there was more than joy at seeing children run and grass grow; there was a deep understanding of the plight of a refugee from a Communist country where, the senator was convinced, no grass grew or children ran.

At that moment an image of the senator standing on a reviewing stand in a Prague square flashed through Sabina’s mind. The smile of his face was the smile Communist statesmen beamed from the height of their reviewing stand to the identically smiling citizens in the parade below.

How did the senator know that children meant happiness? Could he see into their souls? What if, the moment they were out of sight, three of them jumped the fourth and began beating him up?

The senator had only one argument in his favor: his feeling. When the heart speaks, the mind finds it indecent to object. In the realm of kitsch, the dictatorship of the heart reigns supreme.

  The feeling induced by kitsch must be a kind the multitudes can share. Kitsch may not, therefore, depend on an unusual situation; it must derive from the basic images people have engraved in their memories: the ungrateful daughter, the neglected father, children running on the grass, the motherland betrayed, first love.

Kitsch causes two tears to flow in quick succession. The first tear says: How nice to see children running on the grass!

The second tear says: How nice to be moved, together with all mankind, by children running on the grass!

It is the second tear that makes kitsch kitsch.

The brotherhood of man on earth will be possible only on a base of kitsch.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Milan Kundera          1984