C’est la vie

Fuck me but protracted celibacy coupled with a long night of raunch dreams makes for a heady brew over breakfast.

The situation would be highly comical, if only I didn’t take the absence of a sexual other so damn seriously.

Nah fuck that its pretty funny. We’re generally a funny breed, we humans. This whole drama becomes ridiculous to the point of hilarity when I remember it’s just cheek-to-cheek dancing with the hurricane.

“Ashes work,” Roberts Bly calls it in Iron John. Ashes work. And so it is. As a society we have lost our appreciation of the vital importance and value of ashes work. I’m slowly coming around to the understanding that (wait for it, big reveal…) I’m just the same as everyone else. No more special. No less a manifestation of the divine spark. And this spiritual-/ developmental-/ psychological-/ status-derived-/ materialism that I have (subtly or overtly) used to elevate myself over others, or elevate others over me, are just flip sides of the same coin of fabricated nonsense the exact shape and size of my internal imbalance, projected onto life’s geography.

I believe I have lived in fear that if I wasn’t special then beneath that veneer would be nothing, nothing at all. As it turns out, I was wrong. Beneath it is the primordial soup of God’s love, made manifest by the hair and skin and teeth of organic biology. The muck we have strived our entire history to abstract ourselves from is actually ambrosia.

This is not a call to pre-developed hedonism. Rather it’s a transcendent, expanded moral horizon where hedonism is understood as a pathology born of unconscious drives, and when owned in this way allows you to relate deeply without compromise. “Know thyself” said JC (and every other guru). I have been labouring under the misapprehension that this meant to know my quirks and foibles, values and psychological tics. That’s like trying to memorise every book ever written. Existence is far more elegant than that. Rather it’s a reading of every book you encounter until you realise, having consumed “enough” theory, that the answer is something deeper. Like trying to find an elephant with a microscope, our true nature is the context of our experience.

We are being, lived as humans. Not humans being or human beings.

Well, shit. I didn’t expect a couple of fuck dreams to get me to that. See how funny all this is? I can’t help but laugh. Still horny though 😉

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Manifesto of Relating (first ed., subject to revision)

“I miss you.  Do you want to be friends again?  If so, would and could things be different?  Would you work with me to sort out what is my pathology and what is yours, such that we are both stronger and better able to relate to each other and everyone else appropriately?  This would involve a sincere desire to develop and grow for our own and everyone’s sake, a lot of honesty and probably a therapist each.

“I know I ask a lot.  In fact, I ask everything of you.  You know that I also offer everything of me.  There is no rush, and whatever you decide, know that I love you now and always.”