Everyone has their tragic life story. In certain ways, each of us experiences life kicking us into submission. Our eyes and our mouths swell, bleed, and collect bits of dirt. We can classify this experience however we want. We can describe it using abstract names like oppression or discrimination, but this beating is not particular to you. Granted some have it exponentially harder than others but in reality, life’s boot has no eyes to see. The boot doesn’t see race, nationality, gender, nor creed. The world isn’t against you personally. If you feel personally victimized, get over yourself. The world is just that callous. The world is just that ruthless where you’re crawling out from underneath its boot, and the sun maims you. The insects burrow into you. The wind embeds dirt into your flesh, and the boot keeps kicking. Even as you lie still and mounds of dirt build on top of you, the boot doesn’t stop kicking. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to even stand up. Although, if we can’t get off our stomachs and our knees, what does that accomplish for us? We stay down, and we join the ranks of the living dead.
Every period has its bias, its particular prejudice and its psychic ailment. An epoch is like an individual; it has its own limitations of conscious outlook, and therefore requires a compensatory adjustment.
~Carl Jung, Modern Man in Search of a Soul
Balance is the magic word. It opens doors. Not only figurative passageways but it opens actual, physical doors. Take a car just submerged in water for example. The pressure imbalance holds the doors tightly shut. For the opening to materialize, the pressure must equalize. Once equilibrium is complete, life can resume and possibilities can flourish. The human intellect seeks this balance as well. We trap ourselves and create unnecessary problems if we give too much importance to a particular viewpoint. Time and time again we realize our speculations and agreed upon truths were imperfect and were unable to hold up against impartial scrutiny and behaving like the fools we are, we swing our theories and facts completely in the opposite direction. We overcompensate for our inaccuracies. As we do this, we catapult ourselves further away from truth. Today we completely disregard archaic wisdom in favor of scientific materialism and end up almost as blind as our ancestors. Our ancestors placed overwhelming emphasis on the supernatural. We do the same today with science and technology. Science squashed the supernatural, and in many ways we benefited from that. However, the choice to depend wholly on science is marked by serious flaws. Science only studies and diagnoses the physical heart, and it neglects the intangible, the heart and soul of humanity. How can the intangible heart be salvaged? How can the meaning of life be resurrected? We live in times of strife and human indecency while under the supreme authority of science. By overemphasizing matter, we’ve been hit with a spiritual crisis.
Authentic love is selflessness; it is also mindfulness. A true act of love demonstrates loyalty, honesty, and integrity. It is not our drug. It is not our shopping list nor our parachute as we fall further out of grace. The more selfish we become, the further we fall. If others cannot meet our stringent demands, are they really to blame? Once our happiness depends on others complying with our wishes, we corrupt love. We sabotage it by ensnaring it and owning it like a pet. This universal feeling is not here for our amusement. What matters is not our end of the bargain, our precious minerals we extract from the mine of relationships. What matters is our compassion. Life offers us a critical choice, which tests our character. No one can make the choice for us. Will the world attest that our hearts are good?
Is humanity thoroughly satisfied? Can we now relax and place our trust in authority? After all, we don’t like to be inconvenienced. We indiscriminately eat what corporations sell us and indiscriminately consume what corporations present to us. Many of us don’t like saying, “No.” Many of us tolerate the tyranny. We give airlines, which shamelessly irradiate us, regular business. We don’t check our food for the genetic engineering label, and we’ve lost too much ground already. The war is not over. The war began before all of us were born and will stretch past the innumerable generations that follow. This is also a multifront war. Offensive attacks waged by the oligarchs originate from all directions, and the tactics employed by them typically contain more than one purpose. Nonetheless, the end game never changes. The powers that shouldn’t be want precise control over every facet of our lives, and our fertility is under attack.
In the age of cheap and fashionable technology, the dead no longer keep their secrets. The dead bombard the Internet with platitudes they parrot and banal media they upload. Their videos plead us to subscribe to their channels yet offer nothing of value, and their images plead us for validation yet offer nothing of interest. Everyone poses the same way and peddles the same tired slogans describing how unique they are. They become emotionally invested in vulgar, narcissistic celebrities and athletes. They clad themselves with arbitrary brand names completely unaware that they’ve morphed themselves into walking billboards. As this behavior reaps profits, society not only accommodated but normalized this specific case of delirium. Being a fanatic warped into being a badge of honor. Wrapped up in their tribe’s colors and logos, they’re oblivious to their uniforms turning into shackles. If our team loses, our irrational feeling of loss is commended. After all, we must prove our loyalty to a franchise or brand that never will and never should care about us. Regardless of any corporations’ sociopathic micro focus on the bottom line, the vicissitudes of the seasons and playoffs parallel our own. The spectacle of playing with balls takes precedence over making this place better for future generations. The dead are hopelessly compelled to feel a part of something but have a true stake in nothing.
Let’s imagine we can project our minds into the future. Will screens not leap closer to our eyes until the interface is embedded into them and soon afterward, into our brains? The story of the phonograph, the radio, the television, and the smartphone should startle conscious beings. However, the bond between human and machine will only entrance the average human. The average human is a fallen leaf, going where the violent, rushing current takes it. Any new toy under the spotlight of a marketing campaign will mesmerize them and if he or she keeps producing for the current technocracy, they will merge with machines and seal their fate as irredeemable slaves. Advertisements primarily were found on storefronts and billboards but leaped closer to us as the screens had jumped from the laboratory, to the theater, to the home, to the pocket and eventually, to the body and brain itself. Film from the 20th century showcased the working grunt spellbound before the glass of a shop. It’s eerie how one little piece of footage can depict the downfall of humanity itself. How very uninteresting a working grunt would be when nearly every thought revolved around buying, selling, buying, selling. Being underpaid and overworked enables the worker drone to buy but still remain virtually powerless. The more the drone sells, the less overpaid he is, but the more the drone sells, the more the spirit languishes. Generation after generation we transform the entire planet into a dumpster, a platform for buying and selling, going out of our way not to work together and cooperate.
The good relinquish their attachments to material objects. They recognize rituals of the heathen and withhold their participation in such activities. Gift exchanges, which are inferior forms of kindness occurring during certain times of year, are unhealthy social conventions that obligate us to spend money on one another. It’s excessive. Being kind and respectful should suffice. Instead of nurturing a deep respect for life itself, some of us grasp after death and surrender to the impulses of the beast. We plug our umbilical cords into anything we can. We seek not truth but lies to prop up our dreamy existence. Forever scouring the face of the earth for the comfort of a warm womb, we idolize the rich and denigrate the poor. Unsurprisingly, we cannot plug our umbilical cords into a poor person. The foolish hate the vulnerable. The vulnerable remind fools of their own vulnerability. Anything that contradicts the fairy tale we’ve created for ourselves we greet with hostility and incredulousness. Any spoken truth that shatters the lies of our supposed invincibility and imperviousness to danger will incite even greater animosity toward the weak. For some, weakness is characterized by a person lacking the financial resources to appease their infantilism. For some, the gift of kindness is taken for granted and dead plants and pointless rocks elevate social status. Whether male or female, status symbols become cheap trophies providing short lived validation. If we truly loved flowers, we would learn to grow them and would cringe at the sight of cut stems. Material gifts, such as dead plants, gems, and metals, intend to capture beauty by not only artificially packaging it but mutilating it.
American Internet culture reeks of putrid ignorance. Bombarded with smug users’ vitriol and shallow media, communication online disintegrated into a cesspool of rabid animals and instant pleasure seeking addicts. The marketplace and political tribalism dominate their online discourse. Images of cats and memes repeat on a never ending, soul sucking loop. It’s a flood of filth. Americans have been historically hostile toward British royalty, but Americans have given the royals of all nations plenty of reasons to be hated themselves. Even a subset of American Internet culture, which challenges authority with conspiracy theory, is bogged down by words like Illuminati, Red Pill, and Reptilian. As if watching a few videos and streamlining the acceptance of unfamiliar ideas led to their enlightenment, their words parade along the web, drumming up not only ignorance but more intense ignorance than ever before. Their general motto is as follows: “I have awakened. Now, my only purpose is to wake others.” More than likely, the same conspiracy theorists haven’t familiarized themselves with the works of Carroll Quigley, Antony C. Sutton, Manly P. Hall, and countless other authors who’ve poured their lives into their research. However, even with mounds and mounds of data, we all will struggle to grasp the totality of truth. I don’t recall reading a book created on a sturdy foundation of logic and research where the author describes the completeness of his understanding. I don’t think any author with an ounce of credibility would serve truth in convenient, bite size morsels because his or her consciousness supposedly reached the apex of understanding.