Birth Pains of Astral Projection

“If we believe in nothing, if nothing has any meaning and if we can affirm no values whatsoever, then everything is possible and nothing has any importance.”― Albert Camus, The Rebel In 2001, I saw God, which is to say, I saw nothing. I was depressed about everything. Leaving the bubble to enter college- even though I thought I was open-minded - the deluge of responsibilities and possibilities for the rest of my foreseeable future hit me like a fucking brick wall.

Emotionally spent and at the point of literally laying down to die, I stuck myself in a closet, completely vision-denied. Pink Floyd’s “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” worked as a mantra. Ritualistic phrases and orthodox adherence to a set mantra and style of meditation had not yielded results for me at that point, but the music allowed me to fixate enough on something else (actually depriving my sense of hearing of any intrusions) to let the mind wander inward. I saw nothing but darkness. And still I saw potential - the becoming. Coming out of my state, I laughed at how absolutely absurd life is. Everything we do or say we live for. Fabrications upon fabrications. We are nothing, and in that, everything. 

The days - nearly two decades - since that experience have been a continual struggle in some ways. It’s a trouble I chose though, once I was able to fully comprehend the gravity of non-being. I totally understand the evangelical mindset because I feel saved too. In my case, saved of any hope there’s some answer out there at all. Or perhaps the answer is completely irrelevant because it’ll never be confirmed by some official authority or understandable to me. It’s a faith in the unknowing. An acceptance of complete lack of control.

That realization made me simpler in some way. There’s a connection with the very nature of my existence that I cannot sever. The nature of my reality revealed itself to me in a wholly physical realm. So unlike the evangelicals, I believe the soul is the fleeting aspect. The body is the eternal, as it recycles into billions upon billions of atoms and reforms in myriad fashion. Stardust - algae - ferns - trees- ammonites - trilobites - and so on and so on all the way to - humans. The ego can’t bear to reconcile this fact. Everything about our society reinforces our tendency to want to escape our impermanence. However, once you see through the veil, it’s a game changer, and a relief.

Life In Mono

I like the Vedic idea of all being one - as all literally made up of the same material and living in the same physical realm. It's comforting, ego-effacing and a pleasant sort of nihilism. Eventually, one will come to know that through an epiphany, an enlightening moment or just upon one's own death (...or so I hope, anyway). Generally, our consciousness provides an opposing sentiment - that we're all unique and different and, somehow, in competition for resources. As if only one of us surviving makes the world more livable. With an attitude like that, we get the mess we're in politically, socially and environmentally now. Over-stuffing and trashing a planet that clearly is as much alive as its inhabitants; a biome for this entire universal experiment of carbon-based lifeforms that sparked out of proteins dancing in electrified water. Aqua vitae, quite literally. 

Somehow, by evolving to a point of not only being capably aware enough to recognize that we're "blessed" (inexplicably) to be here, we've also evolved the ability to actively disown that truth in pursuit something beyond it. No matter the gain of knowledge, if it kills all life, why continue in this pursuit? Isn't that the moral of Adam and Eve? Not necessarily that knowledge is power and God arbitrarily wields it, but that seeking forbidden knowledge is detrimental and dangerous to life. Knowing becomes an addiction. Quitting Facebook means I view a lot less "news" (which are really morsels of information) . But I realized that "knowing" more in the way of constant exposure leaves little time to actually reflect and think deeply. My attention was simply a commodity for advertisers - their interest never lies in the relevance, importance or truthfulness of the information. The more I had looked, clicked, and commented, the more my time had been exploited. And, not for love- as in the all-encompassing attention a newborn child might need, for example- but for someone else's profits. In such a search for knowledge, one engages endlessly, because there is no end. At least not for human beings and our limited capacity to remember everything we encounter. Leave the notion that you're a living bag of guts for too long and the mind begins to play tricks on you - like, "Hey, you don't need the body. The mind is all there is." When in fact, it's very not the case. There's an alienation, a hollowness, without something physical, material, to bring you back to a grounded sense of self. This can also explain why experiencing pain is a grounding moment. There's a visceral wrongness that hits you as all other concerns are pushed aside - no more "to-do" lists or preoccupations about decorum. There is nothing else but pain and (possibly) a desire to end it. There's a feeling of helplessness and vulnerability that penetrates the mind. Anyone with mental illness also experiences this physical pain within the mind as well, which is what I think those who have not endured depression or anxiety have no perspective on. Even though your mind may look to find an "out" or a way to control a painful event, sometimes the realization occurs that there is none. In those moments, there's no escaping the thought that, "Oh yes, I am a mortal that's destructible." 

To expand on this, I like "psychological horror" writer HP Lovecraft's works for the reason that knowledge, in his stories, represents the ultimate danger. If his stories hit you right, you experience what his narrators do -a protagonist comes across some arcane knowledge that's absolutely horrific in nature. Despite being exposed to this information, he is completely helpless to prevent humanity from being destroyed and, thusly, either sequesters himself or is driven mad by the end of the tale. Impotent in the face of such psychic trauma, the protagonist slips into a depth of despair nothing in life has ever prepared them for. Somehow, understanding too much has its consequences too. Perhaps, for our overall survival of our species, there needs to be an acceptance of an unknown. 

I fall back on musical analogies a lot because, despite being a poor talent myself, years of listening to music has left me with a deep appreciation for this form of expression. I feel music - physically feel it. There’s a need for music to produce a positive visceral reaction for me to truly be into it. If there’s only aural engagement, it will never have the same impact. I appreciates good storytelling; many bands I am into have lyrics which are thoughtful/thought-provoking. But that storytelling must extend into the music for me too. I know different people’s tastes lead them to have this sort of reaction about music that, personally, I could never get into, but I respect their feelings for whatever rocks their socks. Unsurprisingly, I tend to fall in love with people who appreciate music. Could be romantically, but also platonically. If someone can open their anthropocentric mind to a language that’s older than human speech - melody -it's likely we can have a healthy conversation about music whether or not our tastes coincide. And if someone can start with opening themselves up to artistic expression, there's a flexing of an ability to transcend one's own consciousness and even, potentially, species-ness. It's humbling if one becomes vulnerable enough to allow themselves to just be a vessel of acceptance for experience.

An Atheist Laments the Loss of Spirituality

I write a lot about influences on my personal philosophy and worldview. 2 undergraduate history courses had a great impact on who I am today.The first was "19th Century Europe," and the second, "The History of Modern Japan." Time-wise, there was overlap, obviously, with both classes focusing on the "long century" that was the 19th. Chronologically, the 19th century was clearly as long as any other. However, certain historians designate the ideological underpinnings and mindset that came to signify the 19th century as beginning in 1789 (first French Revolution) and ending with the outbreak of WW1 in 1914. There is a dialectical forking that persists through this long century - one marked by the ideological optimism of Enlightenment thought that brought sweeping reforms as well as medical, social and technological advancements which ultimately made life more easily lived by most; the other prong characterized by a cynical secularism that arose from the waning power of religious ideology - a disregard for most of human history by training the eye always forward.

These two paths, I'd argue, didn't really coalesce into a new formation until after the devastation of the first truly "world" war. There is something absolutely beautifully breathtaking in the scope of the existential crises that WW1 inflicted upon humanity. Nietzsche was right about the men of his time - the scientists, the secularists, the non-believers in anything spiritual- so sure of themselves that the only thing that mattered was the material. If or when their "spirit" of life sought solace, the only choice became destruction - death. Such a man is capable of committing suicide to alleviate his angst, but only through mass homicide. And thus, the very long 19th century, one marked by practices in  restraint and propriety and logic, led to a bungle so heinous that the world was forever transformed, but scarred, in the process. Thus, for all of the measured control exerted by the Victorians, they succumbed to the same crushing defeat (through mass carnage) as any other historical era.

The burgeoning world power that was Japan at the end of the 19th century (fin de siecle) shared Western Europe's ideological, future-oriented optimism. However, the reasons I gravitated toward Japanese literature were grounded in their philosophical outlook - the first being that "Japanese existential essence." The canonical works (and even entire forms of expression like haiku) reflect Buddhism steeped in fatalistic waters. Japan lies on fault lines, hosts volcanoes, experiences real catastrophes based on sea level changes and is at the forefront of tsunami activity in the Pacific.  Secondly, in many works from the fin de siecle through WW2, the meteoric rise of a culture so divorced from real spirituality is evident. Rituals and relationships begin to ring hollow, and yet leaders push them to mean more and more. After the fall of the Japanese Empire in 1945 through such a brutal explosion of force (re: the atomic bomb) a new interface between existentialism and nihilism opened up. The collective consciousness of an entire nation became one of post traumatic stress disorder.

Personally, that type of existential crises intrigues me. How does someone (or in this case, an entire people) overcome such trauma? Not that my culture has ever experienced anywhere near that level of devastation (maybe some of the more recent hurricanes would fit the bill, but even those were not colored by the same gravity of being a choice made by humans to inflict directly on other humans), but for many empathetic people, one can imagine how quickly everything you know could change. We all know people whose lives were going one way....until they weren't anymore. On the other hand, American culture likes to promote only the successful stories - the rags-to-riches (and even the riches-to-riches) tales. As a species, we tend to learn more from the oppositely-oriented ones.

Subsequently, the development of Japan in the post-WW2 era is also fascinating. Fast-forwarding to today, the country's embrace of technological advancements and capitalism created a society of commodification. No time for a relationship? Go to a host club. No time for a pet of your own? Visit a cat cafe for the afternoon. Is the spiritual edge that once stirred me still there? According to various news reports in the past few years, old ways are indeed dying out. Less and less people are identifying as a member of any particular religion, and without patrons, historic temples are shuttering. Beyond the rise of secularism, Japan also faces a crisis of being at zero population growth. Is this a natural ebbing which will be followed by a flowing of fertility? Or has intense commodification wrought these changes? Much like in the Western world, many people of childbearing age delay having children due to extended educational careers, economic instability and generalized anxiety over bringing a child into a seemingly tumultuous world.

Would things be different if there was some degree of spiritual grounding? Populations that identify as religious have a been studied to have higher birth rates. Is there less anxiety about the future (and your children's futures) if a god/gods is/are involved? Personally, the idea of having children never scared me, nor did I think of "the right time" as being any other time than the present. Perhaps that's a stupid, short-sighted way of approaching the big responsibility of bringing another life into this world, but it's also a biological impulse for many that doesn't really warrant that much thought. People successfully had children when they were mucking around as serfs on some lord's lands. Children were brought into this world in the middle of wars, under enslavement, in concentration camps, during diasporas - in other words, the absolute worst conditions humans could endure. So the middle class professional who's "just waiting for the right time to bear children" might be overthinking things a bit. An industry of child-rearing books, products and experts has stripped away what humans have been able to do naturally, even under duress, for millennia.

Thus, the restrictions we face are often put upon us by ourselves. This fact is evident from about day 3 of being a parent or ever being in charge of anyone (even for a short period of time). Why the fuck do we care to continue to restrict human potential? Are we carrying on in ways we know are unsustainable, illusory, etc? What could possibly end some, even if not all, of the destructive behaviors we engage in? Literally wading through consistently flooded streets? And what can replace the desires that are not acted upon? Distractions...material accumulation? Virtual realities? I would constantly ask myself these questions while studying the 19th century, as I do regarding our society now. Surely we do not live in such a buttoned-up era as the Victorians, but there is some overlap ideologically. The confusing social milieu of now leads to personal censorship akin to the propriety of our predecessors. Say the wrong thing, share the wrong meme, and *poof* "cancelled." The fear of being shunned has dampened personal expression and experimentation. There is little room for mistakes. So people don't even try, as not to fail.

Perhaps with God being dead (and we, and our forebears in Western society, having killed him), the only way out of endless material accumulation IS (self) destruction.And not mass suicide or suicide through homicide, but the tearing down of a system that has failed. For the sake of all of us, and especially for the sake of the generations recently or even yet to be born, fuck this society. Let's band together to build a new, communal one.

Do You Have To Use So Many Cuss Words?

I don't like too many movies. I have blogged about a few on here, true, but in general, I prefer television to film. The format of tv shows is more akin to chapter books, allowing for development of character and plot in a much more elaborate way than most movies are able to capture in their short amount of time.

That being said, my favorite movie of all time is actually about nothing - The Big Lebowski (I alluded to characters in The Big Lebowski in a previous post, but I would like to expound on the philosophy of that movie in more detail). Why do I say it's about nothing? Well, there are nihilists and they "belieef in nussing," but the movie on a whole is also about nothing in particular. When someone says, "what is it about?" and I try to describe it, the plot sounds terribly blase, or if I go into detail, incoherent. It's about a kidnapping? And bowling? And a rug? And a guy who drinks White Russians? And feminist art?  And pornography? AND nihilists? Well, yes, it is about all of those things, but in no particular way. In fact, as the viewer, you are dropped into the world of "The Dude," aka Jeffery Lebowski, a washed up former hippie who does not seem to work, but likes to smoke pot, drink and go bowling. But you really don't know too much about him beyond what you see - his back story is hazy, his friends are an odd collection of misfits and he seems to try to do the right thing, but mainly he wants to be left to do what he wants. With this guy, The Dude, as our guide throughout the movie, it's hard for it to be about much of import when you first watch it. If watched once, the viewer would likely think, "That was ridiculous! I laughed, it was funny....blah blah." But, it's a grower of a film. With there being no real purpose for much of anything that happens in the plot, and in fact, even when the main characters plan for a particular outcome, it's botched somehow; the deeper meaning is that it mirrors the course of our lives.

Three characters, in particular, are avatars for aspects of our own being, which I will relate to Freudian terms of id, ego and superego because I think most of us have a general understanding of what is meant by each of those. The Dude is our baseline desire or "id", The Stranger is our "ego," and Walter is our "superego." Our lives are strung together by us, represented by the Stranger (Sam Elliot). He introduces us to The Dude and the story, and sums it up at the end. We do that for ourselves all of the time, furthering the narrative of what is "us" versus someone else. The ego is what we present to the world, and thusly, the Stranger presents to the viewer a coherent storyline and sensibility to the entire plot.

The Dude, as aforementioned, represents our desires. He's a lazy hedonist - not willing to really work for some pie-in-the-sky dream of jet-setting worldwide or owning a lot of expensive material items - but most definitely desirous of being able to continue to partake in that which he enjoys on a most basic level without any effort. His chill vibe is unyielding and in the midst of any sort of obstacle to him being able to just "be" actually ends up with him being annoyed and frustrated to the point of being at a loss for words. It is only when he is met with the harsh reality of knowing that his status quo chill will never be reobtained UNLESS he deals with the problem at hand that he actually begins to figure out how to solve the problem.

The third avatar of all of our personalities that appears is Walter, the Superego. He's an energetic absolutist who touts the rules that he holds near and dear to him. He is always reminding everyone of the "right" way to be. When you think about that nagging inner voice that tells you to make sure you exercise or go to church or not steal someone's lunch from the refrigerator at work, that's the "fault" of the superego. It represents the internalized values that form the principles by which we all stand by. In fact, in this movie, Walter actually calls out the nihilists as being bullshit because they do not have an ethos and are not to be feared because their own lack or suppression of a superego will lead them to inaction or even destruction in the end.

I have written much about our general desire for control over our lives when in fact we have very little. The illusion of control is strong and stability helps to cultivate that further, but in reality, everything we hold dear could end tomorrow (bus accident, asteroid, some other "act of god" scenario). So why not side with the nihilists? I come back to this point quite often. Maybe Walter was wrong and their belief in nothing mattering is the best course of action because it would potentially free the actor up to do whatever with no consequence. Yet, just like the nihilists in the movie, it's an unobtainable standard. They DO believe in something, in fact. And when faced with not getting what they wanted, they belie their supposed core tendency to not believe in anything by whining. So maybe to rephrase, the movie about nothing is really about something, just not anything tangible or even easily graspable upon first watch. There are many other aspects of the film that I have not mentioned (like, the dream sequences in the movie are only the Dude's, which is fitting if he represents the id or deeply unconscious mind)

It is only through the union or balance of our psychological components that we are able to actually achieve success. In my plea from December, I did ask for a Stranger to come into my life, as I was pulled between the baseness of pursuing only my own needs and what I knew to be "right." I did not know how to reconcile these two ends of the spectrum. I still don't entirely have the answer, but I do think I need to watch the movie again for some clues as to how to obtain it.