a card pulled
The tar, the thick-honey-sludge of what keeps us bound in any of the seven powers is the judgement we hold against ourselves for what we’re going through; judgment of our own humanity is the single greatest obstacle to our spiritual growth.
When we get to the third power in Mary’s gospel, we’ve given a profound insight on how to free ourselves from all seven powers: “The soul came to the third power, which is called ignorance. It examined the soul closely, saying, ‘Where are you going? You are bound by wickedness…’ and the soul said, ‘Why do you judge me, since I have not passed judgement?” (Mary 9:9—13)
It’s fairly ironic for ignorance to call the soul “bound by wickedness.” Because of course, the one actually bound is ignorance, not the soul. Ignorance, the third power, is seeing (or projecting) onto the soul what it can’t see or refuses to see about itself. The truth that in fact the one who is bound is the one who feels the need to judge in the first place.
And then the soul reveals its ultimate super power, non-judgement. The soul asks the third power, or ignorance, “Why do you judge me since I have not passed judgement?” (Mary 9:14)
Freedom from any of the seven powers begins with this awareness of how and when we judge, either ourselves or someone else (because as the third power demonstrates so beautifully here, we often judge in others what is actually true about ourselves.)
The real power here is when we can see that there’s nothing we have ever done that we actually have the right to judge. Judging what we have done only forces us to remain in the same power that caused the action we’re judging.
Seeing that we are human, which means making galactic mistakes, and also having a soul that can love even the worst of our actions—this is how we move away from the practice of judgment.
Seeing that we are here to be human, to make mistakes, and to then let love reach where it has never reached before—this is a purpose. A calling. And the whole point in being here.
a prayer
I recently decided, with great satisfaction, to abandon the myth of human progress. More specifically, human progress in the sense that there is cumulative growth always leading to greater technology and better living conditions for the species as a whole. Which isn’t to say that human progress doesn’t happen, it does in specific pockets of time for specific people, but this is never a guarantee of it remaining nor continuing, nor extending to everyone. In fact it can’t continue, not forever—it has limits (which is seldom included in its mythos). The thing about “progress” is that it is often defined by the most powerful and their marketers, and of course, it also tends to follow the line of thought that all of life on Earth has led to us to be able to progress, as if the same couldn’t also be said of whales, or cockroaches, or a flower for that matter. The bloom of the cosmos has led to everything—here now—are we really so vain to think it is for us alone?
Tell me, is there such a thing as flower progress? How does one measure the progress of a flower? At which point in its unfolding process has it achieved what we deem the point? Is the point of a flower to bloom? To smell good? To spread pollen?
Or is demanding the point of a flower, a most beautiful, fragrant and curious process, the original sin?
For weeks now I’ve been reading an onslaught of essays1 and data points around a current and oncoming collapse; economic, climate, and civilization. I don’t think it should be any surprise to anyone that we’re nearing some sort of anthropomorphic edge regarding the damage we’ve done potentially upending the progress we’ve made. Or maybe it is. But not from my corner of reality. From here, one must learn to discern between fear mongering propaganda and consequential facts, and to bear the effects either of these have. And while this line becomes more and more blurred on the bowels of the internet, one must also begin to invoke their own intuition and follow their own whims of study.
In this recent, we’ll call it “doom gazing study” of mine, I also found myself learning about the fall of Rome. If Rome did anything, it was achieve what it set it out to do—and then utterly fail. It took centuries for Rome to fall completely, and I imagine many of the people included didn’t fully realize collapse was happening as it was, and yet “All roads lead to Rome!” is now just a catchy thing to say.
I’ve been to the city of Rome and wandered its streets, every turn met with the ruins of the once all encompassing, highly advanced empire. In fact, they’re scattered all across Europe. The remains are as magical as they are mythical, even under the unbearably gooey heat of July. I’d love to go there now, with my new perspectives and new reverence, not for what was built per se, but for how it all came crashing down. There’s a lot to unpack regarding the fall of Rome that I am not educated enough to speak on, and anyway, what I find even more interesting than the fall is that the period that followed, eerily named “The Dark Ages” (although I believe it’s more academic nowadays to call it “The Middle Ages”), lost nearly all of the advancements of the former era, returning to a more Bronzian age of living, which is to say way simpler and less progressive. Eventually, obviously, “progress” returned, The Dark Ages were then followed by the renowned Renaissance, and then the Enlightenment (which gave rise to many of our modern notions of human progress).
The era’s before and after the dark ages get all the hype, and for good reason I suppose—they were the return from the long, dark night of collapse, where, also, less of life was recorded. But I think it would be unwise to deem The Dark Ages as wholly bad or unnecessary, and to consider it may be pointing towards the truth of “human progress”—that like a flower, it blooms and it decays. And it is often hard to tell at which point one is in without hindsight2.
I’m enjoying (with dread) my studies on collapse. I would even admit I’m uncovering an awakening passion towards it. A viscerally grim one, like an itch that isn’t satisfied until it bleeds. And at the same time, I find myself needing to take a break from reading so much about it, because even though I want to stay “in the know”, it is encouraging my fear body to run on overdrive—and no good comes from lingering in this state. I recognize it gives me a sense of control to read about the grim realities on the horizon and their potential threats, defeating as they are, because I feel so utterly helpless against the (potential) collapsing of a world as I know it. But this is not sensible to overdose on. After snapping at my partner last night over different view points (our main point of contention is AI, lol), then crying on my bed for a solid 10 minutes, I decided that to fuel myself with only doom narratives is not actually helpful. It is one thing to stay aware of a broader context of consequence and to align accordingly, while it is quite another to pretend to predict exactly how these consequences will certainly come to be and how they will look /feel and panic accordingly.
The truth is that the future, while seemingly cyclical, is a surprise, for better or worse (but likely both). Besides there’s nothing one can do, really, to avoid collapse once it begins rolling. Really, one can only do what they’ve only ever been able to do—change and be changed.
What goes around comes around is true, not because we are good or bad, deserving or undeserving, rather because there is no singular endpoint to the infinite motion that is the source of life. Progress happens and is then lost. And then, funny enough, it is somehow remembered3 and reimagined. In reality, all things transmute, and perhaps this is because they are not “things” at all, but “processes”. If progress is a steering wheel we wish to cling to, it’s important we define it for ourselves and redefine as necessary—which may be more and more in the coming years. The world is alive, in constant motion, and this is the only truth I dare lay claim to. We don’t know for sure what is to come. But we do know that everything that organizes collapses, and so to reforms. Collapse is not wrong. Organizing is not right. We are not “caught” in this flow—we are the flow.
There’s a mantra I’ve been invoking when I remember to. If I can become aware of the incessant, chattering stories (dreadful and otherwise) in my head (which by nature can only pull me away from now) and realize that this is what’s happening, I recite the word details.
Details brings me back to this moment, the only real moment. As much as we’d like to believe the future is predictable, it isn’t. There are patterns and rhythms we can groove with (or deny), but the dance is forever unfolding. Reciting details reminds me of this. It invites me to look at the subtle precision that is within everything. Details brings me into my body and into reality.
I want us to keep an ear for danger, but to focus, without judgement, on the details of our present experience. When we are lost in thought, fearful or even hopeful, I want us to remember where we are right now. When we can remember, I want us to meet the moment anew, mundane as it may seem, and to notice the peculiar and particular perplexity of our surroundings and our experience as a sensuous body within them. I want us to awaken from the haze of the dreamlike story running in our mind and instead notice the most fragile of flowers that somehow pierce upward through the cement of a sidewalk; or the buds on the trees that each day begin to blossom into what will soon be fertile and lush leaves; or the glitter like particles that can be caught in the morning sun as it peeks through the window. I want us to cherish this beautiful niche we’ve been allotted, and I want us to make decisions, as best we can, that are supportive of our lives and the surrounding lives—of life itself.
a poem
Bloom—is Result—to meet a Flower
And casually glance
Would scarcely cause one to suspect
The minor Circumstance
Assisting in the Bright Affair
So intricately done
Then offered as a Butterfly
To the Meridian—
To pack the Bud—oppose the Worm—
Obtain its right of Dew—
Adjust the Heat—elude the Wind—
Escape the prowling Bee
Great Nature not to disappoint
Awaiting Her that Day—
To be a Flower, is profound
Responsibility—
- Emily Dickenson
the unconscious
This is a piece created by Amit, also known as (@warmvoices) on insta. She recently reached out to me about doing a trade, a tattoo for hair. I obliged, but soon realized my relationship with tattoos is complicated right now4, and asked if she’d be willing to trade her artwork instead. She obliged! Neither of us made any money, and what we traded wasn’t entirely equal in fiscal value or time, but I felt great about the exchange, even just having her in the chair and discussing such things was expansive.
I’m thinking a lot about trade, money and resources. How I don’t just want stuff and money (resources) for myself, but to really consider how I can extend them beyond into my community—those I share resources with. I’m thinking about trade beyond money, and how value becomes much more distorted (in a wonderful way) when there isn’t a dollar sign placed upon it. It becomes more relational.
Don’t get me wrong, I want and need money, for I am a human in NYC in 2024. I still need to charge for my craft foremost. But I’m privileged to work in an industry that makes trade possible, and that it earns me an income that allows me to explore it further. I am learning to enjoy what I charge for hair, though I struggle with this5, and am so grateful so many people lovingly pay me for my craft. I feel I’m a true artist, getting paid for my art making, but also because I love the craft of art itself in all its diverse forms and want them to exist. My reality is full of artists who support artists. Art is sourced from the unconscious well from which all life springs—of which we are a manifestation. We must make sure art is possible for artists in this world, and we must learn to embrace that we are each inherently artists (ie. creatives).
How do you feel about trade and is this possible for you? If so—where?
This essay has attached other essays worth reading if you’re interested.
This is not just regarding the Roman Empire, but there have been countless civilization’s and empires who’s remains are ruins with only limited knowledge left of them.
I think ‘the collective unconscious’ remembers (this isn’t quite the right word), and it springs new life from old ideas.
I’m getting some tattoos from my youth removed, and have gotten some new ones recently that I have a few gripes with. As someone with body dysmorphia, tattoos are an interesting choice I have made with my body. Nonetheless, I’m learning to meet them with love, and more recently, apparently, more consideration.
My relationship to money is complicated, but ultimately pretty healthy. Still, sometimes feeling like I’m charging too much for my services creeps in. I’m learning to relate to this in new ways.