Our Many Worlds: The Benefits and Detriments of Insanity



Whatever worlds make us feel better, live with less fear and positively impact those around us, are the worlds we should exist within.


This morning I was talking with my friend Arkhipova, a diagnosed schizophrenic. We spoke about his dreams which are always so varied: flying through the cosmos on dark wings, speaking to the dead who give him powers. In this particular conversation, Ark Masha Screamwas excited about a dream meeting he had with a woman he’s never met. Her name is Masha, the lead singer of a Serbian music group named Arkona. Masha is everything to Ark. She came to him at a time when he was most alone. He’s learned to keep his relationship with her secret or be taunted for his ‘obsession’, but no one can deny that over the past five years his transformation has been staggering. He has confided in me that this was due to his relationship with Masha. Whether or not this is a figment of his imagination, she has set him free.

I’ve known Ark for more than 20 years. As a young man, his stoic countenance and particular dialect always set him apart from the rest. It was as if he stepped out of a time machine and was making the best of the future. He had a large group of friends that, as teens, partied together in their small, dwindling college town. The entire friend group came from broken homes and were outcasts to the locals. Raised by mental illness, alcoholism, drug addiction, emotional/physical abuse and neglect, these kids somehow emerged as amazing human beings with huge hearts. I met them by what seemed a fluke and came to love each one as a brother.

As they grew older, the friends put partying aside for careers and family, but Ark did not. His mental illness became more apparent; he couldn’t hold down a job, couldn’t live on his own, couldn’t drive. He became a raging alcoholic with anger issues that caused everyone to stop coming around. His dreams were of the psychotic kind: paranoid obsessions that caused him to engage in stalking, grand claims of ruling the cosmos alongside demons and wildly outrageous accusations against his family and friends. As we distanced ourselves from him, Ark turned against us all.

Eventually he was diagnosed and put on heavy medication, moving from his family home into assisted care housing where he was left alone. No one had any hope that the old Ark would ever resurface. He seemed incapable of change.

Five years went by before we reconnected online. Instantly I could tell that something had changed. He was sweet, kind, quiet, thoughtful. He smiled a lot and there was a twinkle in his eye that denoted wisdom and depth. We continued to talk and he slowly opened up to me about his visions and dreams, which are the most important part of his secluded life.

“Are Masha’s gods yours now?” I asked him. “You seem very changed.” He was a devout Satanist when I knew him last. Masha prays to the Serbian saints, and seems to be somehow connected with nature as well; all positive directions away from the nihilism of Ark’s past. “I am trying new things!” he replied. “Not her god, Masha would not have that. But I am trying love.” Music to my ears, coming from one who once openly rejected such sentiments. What could account for such a change?



I can only speak for Westerners, who are programmed to deeply mistrust and judge those who do not fit the norm. What are the guidelines by which we judge insanity, when each of us lives in entirely relative worlds whose rules are based on a unique set of experiences? Do these experiences need to be “real” to be of benefit to us? As quantum sciences advance, the term real seems more and more illusory and multi~dimensionality becomes more a possibility.

Degrasse Tyson GOT

Despite America’s clinical stance on insanity as allowed unless it is a danger to others or self, it’s safe to say that the average person would call someone like Ark insane. For this, people like him either hide their experiences from others or demand that others accept their beliefs, thus risking being labeled crazy. Each of us, however, lives in many self~constructed worlds. We move between them based on new information, revising the rules moment by moment as we see fit. Though some of these worlds are shared by others based on societal laws and regulations, there are no two exactly the same.

When I’m having a bad morning and someone cuts me off in traffic, I run to a world called “People Aren’t Supposed To Do That” and can now judge the line~cutter based on the rules of that world, dwelling on his/her actions all day some days. If I’m having a good morning and the exact same scenario plays out, I drift in the blissful world of “Everyone Makes Mistakes”, and the infraction is forgotten minutes later.

When we meet a person that claims to see visions, travel to other realms or have dreams that come true, we tend to judge them from the world of “Where’s The Proof?” We simply hqdefaultdo not see proof of miraculous events in our daily lives, and very few have experienced anything so bizarre. Even I, who here claims to see visions, travel to other realms and have dreams that come true, judge others on their level of believability based on my own rules. It is that ingrained! These experiences also tend to be tabooed or even vilified by visible charlatans attempting to make money off of false abilities, though not all charlatans are without gifts.



My twin sister has recently become a nun of the Russian Orthodoxy (renamed “Sister Masha”, interestingly enough). In the forest behind the convent, while chopping wood for the winter, she was visited by a Father of her order named Silouan who died twenty years before she was born. Though we both speak to those who no are no longer human, it is still hard for either of us to share these experiences with one another for fear of being judged; largely because our mother’s similar experiences destroyed our family, but also because, over years of not being able to relate profoundly esoteric, life~changing adventures, it becomes difficult to even try. The deeper you go into the spiritual worlds, the less you are able to describe them in words.

Silouan Soul

When, I first shared stories of my spiritual master with my sister, she would be very quiet and change the subject as soon as possible. Once Silouan began to come to her, she began to listen with an uncomfortable curiosity. Having spent most her life deep in Protestantism, Sister Masha knows the Bible better than anyone I’ve ever met; not just common interpretations, but the pure truth beneath the words. The more I shared Dap Ren’s teachings with her the more Bible verses she found that mirrored them. Through me she discovered a thread that winds through all religions and belief systems. Through her I discovered the truths of the book that I’ve rejected my whole life. In Matthew, the guidelines for how to tell whether truth is pure or impure are explained.


Growing up, my sister and I only witnessed bad fruit. Our mother has a genuine gift to see and sense beyond the human experience. As with many who are so touched, she was severely abused as a child. Utterly alone, she clung to the word of God to save her. It helped her believe that she was not alone, that she was loved.

Over years, however, the voice of her ego became a god’s voice as her psyche shattered and her personality borderlined. She became an addict of signs and wonders which she must create in her own mind as proof of her unique place at God’s side. The Voice began to tell her exactly what she wanted to hear: that she was special and that those who did not believe as she did were wrong. We are sinners in her eyes. Though we don’t hold this against her, my three siblings and I, as well as mother’s sister, brother, nieces, nephews and grandchildren, have had little choice but to cease all contact with her. Every rejection has been nothing more than further proof that she, like Jesus, has been crucified by the very people she was sent to save.

Like my friend Ark, my mother couldn’t help what she became. He could very well have suffered the same fate, continuing to believe the lie his sickness was telling him; that his actions were blameless and those who rejected him were to blame for his loneliness. Why didn’t he? Because one person loved and believed in him? No amount of the love we or her God had for our mother changed her. The difference in them is that Ark was ready to change but my mother is not. Isn’t it interesting that one finds damnation through the voice of God, while another finds saving in the growled voice of a metal music singer? Nothing is as it has been judged by man.


Ark’s story is also mine. Diagnosed bipolar, put on heavy medications and left alone, I tried to kill myself with drugs and life~risking behaviors long before I chose to change. It was an astral being that came to me in a vision who initiated the change, and the many worlds he took me to ~~worlds most would consider delusional ~~ altered my trajectory from a life in hell towards a life of beauty and wonder. Because my mother believed concretely the lie that was her truth, it took many years for me to believe my own worlds. Slowly, my siblings and I learn to believe ourselves and each other, a process that is still in progress.



In the annals of this website you’ll find all sorts of outrageous claims, but I write them down in hopes that others who share similar experiences will also feel empowered to believe in themselves. It is important to remember that each of our personal worlds are absolutely real to us, and that we don’t have to try and convince anyone that they are real. To be true to our own worlds, and to respect other’s worlds, is to find peace.

All that matters is the journey, unique to each of us.

Our Many WorldsAll that awaits us is love, and the worlds that lead us there are worlds worth believing in.


Ending Physical Pain For Good, Pt II: Ouroboros


“Oroborus, symbol of eternal life
dig a tunnel through light, through ignorant walls
I’m counting the days but I’m dying
Grow up with impatience I’m falling down

On the peaks of radiant mountains
this truth is growing before before me
My attention fixed on this silence
Rediscover life while I’m breathing

Designing the shape of material
Frozen icon distant reminder
Mankind has forgotten the gateways
By the mouth of the serpent regenerate”

Oroborus, by Gojira


“To be human is to suffer.”

This statement is not true, but it’s what most of us believe; even those like me who tell themselves they don’t. It is true, however, that to be human is to experience pain, whether or not we must. But pain goes deeper than just the suffering we cause ourselves by believing a lie. Sometimes specific pain is the reason we are here. Surpassing pain leads to ever~increasing states of fulfillment and peace.

How can we tell why we are suffering? There’s no point in trying, yet I find I always want to know the why, though the reasons are usually infinite and intertwined. A major indicator, however, is evident in all aspects of my life that are being hindered by pain. Once my life ground to a halt due to debilitating spinal pain, I had no choice but to face the reality of my creation head~on.

All I had to do was look it in the eye and acknowledge that it was not Me, and the powers that be swooped in and did the rest. After eight years of increasing debilitation, I am Surpasshealed and it is done. My previous post on this subject, Ending Physical Pain: For Good details the process as prescribed by master Eckhardt Tolle. It works. Doesn’t matter what kind of pain it is, emotional or physical, or how incurable. The only catch is that if you’re not ready to move on from the lesson your pain is trying to teach you, it won’t heal, or another, similar sort of pain will take its place. If what your pain is teaching you is a lesson you came here to learn, you’ll live it until you’ve learned it. That may mean being in pain your entire life, but that doesn’t mean you have to suffer every step of the way.


It’s so strange to me now that three months ago I was bedridden more often than I wasn’t, bent on figuring out how I was going to live out my dreams from the bedroom, and now I’m working in the garden, running up and down stairs like a teenager and planning for the rest of my life. What’s most interesting is that nothing has really changed.


I expected the very Earth itself to hold its breath or throw a party, or mourn the years I spent in bed. I expected people around me to be shocked and amazed, and feel like something really huge and inexplicable had taken place, and that they would shout to the rooftops that they had seen a miracle occur. But none of that happened. It was all a rather quiet affair. I would tell people that I was cured and they’d say “That’s awesome…hey, did you see that blog on Facebook about…” and I’d want to grab them by their shoulders and say “WAIT! Didn’t you hear me?? I’M CURED!!!!“, but in the end it was best to move on with them.

Much of people’s reactions were due to the fact that I hid my pain well. The end of my pain meant little more to the world around me than that my boss would no longer be getting those inevitable, early morning call~ins, or that I could make it to my classes every day. But I didn’t need anyone else to be shocked. I, myself, was more shocked than anyone.

The way it all went down was one miracle after another. I got to the point where I was dropping classes and not able to work because of pinched nerves and spinal migraines that kept me in bed for days at a time. In search for disability services, I returned to the chiropractor that had initially taken the x~rays of my spine years ago, who had diagnosed irreversible spinal fusion. New x~rays would prove that I could no longer physically function in society. It was a dark thought for me, that my body could no longer do what I wanted it to do.

But the new x~rays showed something entirely different. My spine was miraculously no longer fusing itself together. My condition had reversed and was suddenly reversible. I had adjustments three times a week for three weeks, two times a week for three weeks, and once a week for two months. And here I am. Healed.


All we have to do is reach out to that Something More, and we don’t have to do that gracefully or easily. We can crawl towards it on bleeding knees, moaning the entire way…as long as we are still crawling. All we have to do is take just a few steps towards a goal and a way is made. Yes, made. Designed by the exquisite Everything, whose fingers are people and bones and synchronicities. This is what is meant by the Universe making a way for us, the most awesome part of us that can pull all the strings and make magic happen when we meet It halfway. Nothing is set in stone, no condition is permanent.

It can be a time to stop imagining that the Universe is not entirely capable of stepping in when we’ve done all we can. It can be a time to stop hindering ourselves and start using the unimaginable power we have access to, to empty ourselves just enough that some small trickle of the light or sound can flow through. We need only allow it in.

Does that mean that I can now live happily ever after? Interestingly enough, no. Just as soon as the physical pain was gone, a whole host of new problems flooded my life situation. One of the medications I was for the depression I was experiencing ravaged my faculties and I had to drop out of school, despite the willingness of professors to work with me and my increasing ability to sit in the chairs and do the work. Due to my ages~past misdiagnosis of bipolar, and the list of medications that only caused more problems, I have been outspoken most of my life on the dangers of such diagnoses, and the tendency that carelessly scripted psychiatric medications have to exacerbate problems that therapy could greatly improve. That I agreed to this medicine and it caused so many problems made me angry. The side effects lasted for months as I slowly weaned myself off of the medication, ranging from sudden, extreme rages, derealization episodes and black depressions.

The worst of it was that I seemed cut off from spiritual escape. I couldn’t focus my mind long enough to meet with my master or travel the other dimensions that I’m accustomed to The Sky Is Shutvisiting when I need to center myself. I started smoking cigarettes and even drank some alcohol on occasion, after having not touched either in fifteen or more years. The world around me seemed to go mad. It wouldn’t stop raining; many places in my town flooded, then the entire state. My daughter got into a bad car accident, totaling her car and causing her injury. My nephew’s father went into the mental ward, causing him suffer yet another suicidal depression. Shortly after that his mom, my twin sister, disappeared into thin air. The police got involved. We had no idea if she was alive or dead for weeks, until we got an email saying she had entered a convent and was never coming home. I never got to say goodbye.

This all threw me into a midlife crisis, which I now find myself in the midst of. I have no idea who I am or how I am perceived by others, which seems to be the ego’s intense focus at any given moment. I feel as if I can only cause damage to those around me, and so I am not capable of being in personal relationships. I have removed myself from all social media and cut down on my personal interactions with friends who, interestingly enough, all seem to be quite busy with their own lives at the moment, so it works out fine with no hard feelings involved.

The feeling of having nothing to offer the world but pain, and being in pain because of the world is so intense that I have no choice but to return to silence, to return to my master


Muddy Handswasn’t that what my disabling spinal pain was also trying to teach me? The world around me becoming so intense that I had no choice but to return to the silence? Isn’t that what pain is for? To remind us that everything we need is a breath away. Every answer we have ever asked is in the glorious, Wordless Chamber of the soul. The lesson I’m learning now is that same lesson I was learning in bed, day after day. It’s the same lesson I’ve been learning my entire life, and the learning comes and goes, intermingled with forgetting.

Therefore… if, as human beings, we will continually be subject to pain throughout our many cycles upon the Earth, it would benefit us to stop focusing solely on the pain and
start focusing on the cure. That cure is the silencing of the suffering victim inside.

Journey of Souls

Journey of Souls…artist: ?

I can stop now. Right now. Shut all the thoughts down and listen to my breathing. The only trouble with this process is remembering to do it. It has taken over ten years to get to the point that I am at now, only for it to be ripped away, leaving me naked in the dark and at the mercy of my never~silenced voice. But even here I am grateful. Even here there is hope, and it’s taken me ten years to be able to know that. It could be another ten years before I can hold silence, but to paraphrase one of Ram Dass’s favorite sayings, “What else am I gonna do?”

We fall asleep, we wake, over and over. We fall asleep and die, we wake as another human, new to the Earth but ages old. We travel through time with our mind, past to future and back again, dreaming in those eras that we label good or bad, painful or pleasurable. We create worlds that we live in, and often those worlds are painful, and we imagine that the pain comes from outside, when it is merely a reflection from within.

We have not felt, or have felt but have forgotten, the pleasure of being in this exact spot, in this exact moment, the pleasure of creating a world in which joy reigns. We label life, think it is one thing when it is something completely different. At its root, life is all things and every thing, and whatever we want it to be. It is bliss, waiting for us to refocus enough to notice it. Only we can make it blissful.

I can stop now. Right now. I can feel the knowledge burning within me that I hold the cosmic keys to my creation and times. Anything is possible, and only fear can keep me from becoming this new thing that waits beneath the shell of misery I believe to be reality. Even in this state of complete unknowing and constant mental turmoil, I am aware that there is a purpose.

Only when we have forgotten who we are, we remember that we are not what we believe ourselves to be, and that is vital to whatever future Now we create, for rise or ruin. We must reincarnate ourselves into the ever~more~empty vessels through which all possibilities flow. In the wake of being cured of the disability I defined myself with, I can imagine no better lesson than for that self to die so that a fresh, new consciousness can be born.

The persona I had become is dying, and it is extremely painful. I go to work and come home and recluse myself and chant, chant, chant. I have never chanted before, and to be honest I thought I never would, but when the ego is going mad chanting is a key. A few weeks ago I chanted for four days. By that fourth day a euphoria was coming over me, filling with that oneness of the universe and myself as a part of it, grasping my abilities of materianimus once more, using them to shape my world back into the soft, rounded path, away from the thorns and potholes I had grown too accustomed to. And then I slept again, and the misery returned. It’s like menopause, a burning away that waxes and wanes until it is done. I can fight against it and be angry that I cannot hold focus for long, or I can flow with it, be one with it, fully integrate it into myself and give it acceptance. It’s a frightening process, to face one’s fears and embrace them, yet this truly is the only way through. Straight through the maze, walking through perceived walls.

My master, DapRen, acquisitioned me to help him build a temple on Stilleverden, a planet devoid of life but plants. I go there and ring the glass bell anytime life on Earth gets too complicated. It’s a larger version of an inverted crystal wine glass, and the part that rings is a wet, plasticized mat that, when swung in a wide circle, causes the HU sound to echo out across the ocean. That no one or nothing is there but me to hear it means everything.


As tumultuous as this phase sounds, I am finally able to juggle the intense emotions of the human experience. I am separate from them while simultaneously experiencing them, and finally have a concrete understanding of inner stillness as the single solution to any maze. I love this part of my spiritual walk; that Knowing even in the midst of profound Unknowing, dark and light in equal parts, turmoil intermingled with a calm acceptance of it and an understanding that it is not for nothing.

I’m so ready for what the future holds, so readychoosing joy

Illusion’s Dance of Good and Evil

Illusion Three

“In life we will die over and over again, until the day that we can walk the earth with only our immortality left.” ~ Teal Swan

In these times, religions continue their advocacy for “good”, viewing “evil” as that which consistently attempts to thwart it. Life is an enthymeme whose warrant we fulfill with words like ‘humanity’, ‘godliness’ and ‘reason’. We look to the archaic texts for what is good and bad, which is protected behind the boundaries of man’s punish and reward system of common thought. With these mistaken axioms in tow, we reward or punish our children and our fellow man based on the physically accessible, general truths of planet Earth, despite what our heart and soul tell us is best.

The philosophical man contemplates modern society’s mythological worldviews with a four dimensional awareness of what lies beneath, attempting to scribble in the missing components of the puzzle. If one looks one finds that the warrant itself (anything that goes against man’s conglomerate idea of goodness is bad) is a limited view of the bigger picture. That bigger picture, to me, looks like ‘good’ and ‘bad’ working together for a common cause.

“Truth is found neither in the thesis nor antithesis, but in an emergent synthesis which reconciles the two.” said Hegel. I find this to be the basis of my personal philosophy. On both cosmic and molecular levels, what may seem like death or destruction is, in fact, re~creation and incarnation. The process of change towards progression may look elementally different than one might imagine.

For instance, a supernova causes a star to explode. Yet, new worlds are formed from its death, new life created with the components of the blast. Proteins die in the synapses of the brain so that others can form, based on new information gathered. In that same sense, man can improve himself by questioning old information and incorporating new data which draws him ever closer to the most complete understanding he can attain for his current level of comprehension.

Humans tend to consider things as ‘wholly good’ or ‘wholly bad’. Consider this: which is worse, anger or sorrow? Both may be considered to be bad, but on the emotional scale anger might result in a brighter outcome. If one gets angry at the world to keep from ending one’s own life, anger might be a step up from annihilation. If one gets depressed and does not act on their desire to kill another person, sorrow is the step up.

A serial killer kills because he/she perceives that it will satisfy an urge or ease suffering. Does that make killing good? No, but it helps us to see that man’s action is defined by that which he perceives will make him feel better. That’s not to say that there should be no repercussions for the actions of man. Were there no laws against it, even those who might not have been murderers may do so, in moments of extreme emotion.

What if the only good were the advancement of the soul? It would certainly simplify things. In our self~importance we believe that human life is of utmost value. We turn up our noses at abortion and call it ‘murder’ even as we overpopulate the Earth. We remove wolves from state parks to keep them from killing the very deer and elk that, when overpopulated, decimate plant life. We find new ways to ease pain, wipe out illness and deny death, as nature creates super-viruses and natural disasters to maintain balance.

Pain is ‘bad’ because it causes us to want to be without it. Mankind has taken great leaps to avoid ever being in physical pain, but he largely ignores treatments to help himself stop hurting inside. Somehow society has tabooed the art of self~awareness and advancement, though there has been a recent movement of ‘mindfulness’ which has even made the cover of Time Magazine. Any fad is better than none. Whatever causes mankind to return to the innate wonder of self that he has lost is good.

We presume to call something ‘good’ or ‘bad’ because all we have is our perspective from this little point in the universe. We draw conclusions based on limited experience. There are as many perspectives as there are perceivers in this world. If ‘good’ were advancement of the pneuma, amalgamated from the unnatural state of its segmentation, then ‘good’ would be anything that advances the splintered self towards wholeness.

“One must know oneself before knowing anything else.” said Kirkegaard. What would the world look like had we taken his advice long ago? We might answer that by considering what is ‘bad’ about the miscellany image of all we’ve worked towards to create.

“Love of money is the mother of all evils.” said Diogenes. A common societal warrant is the lack of joy in the world. People work five to seven days a week to make money they don’t have time to spend. They choose jobs based on the amount of money they can make instead of what talents they possess and the joy of the work. We spend entire lifetimes gathering material things only to find ourselves giving them away in our old age. After a while we believe that this is all there is to life. It’s because we’ve idolized the gaining of property and riches and devalued personal satisfaction and spiritual gain. Had we, as a race, moved towards our aspirations and that which made us truly happy, work days would be shorter and fewer and pay better. People would be less stressed, which would lead to fewer sickness, disease and mental illness. Many parts of Europe have employed this technique with much success. We have very little understanding of how connected one aspect of society is to another. Who knows how many things might change if we were able to take steps to reshape society with a positive self-image?

Another typical warrant of man is that fear and worry are integral components of life. Because of fear, countries bomb each other, entire generations of peoples wiped out or grossly mistreated. In ‘civilized societies’, much of the health concerns are attributed to worrying about things that may never happen. We judge each other based on fears of what actions may lead to unwanted outcomes. We fear what we do not understand, and categorize people based on assumptions.

“The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” said Mandela. If we were all to see fear as that which promotes growth, the world would see much less violence and discord. Due to our inability to see struggle as a challenge we’ve come to see any obstacle and something that is ‘wrong’. Gone are the days of olde when man did not cry out in his defiance of hardship. We run to the doctor for every little ache, and chew medicinal pills like candy.

“One who gains strength by overcoming obstacles possesses the only strength which can overcome adversity.” said Schweitzer. There are more and more youth suffering from mental issues than ever before, a phenomenon unheard of in years past. Sunlight, for one, has been proven to be mentally and physically beneficial, and nowadays many children lack contact with the sun and nature as a whole. In this ‘screen-submerged’ society, today’s children miss out on the physical and emotional contact that comes with family interaction.

In a past age children worked as hard as adults did for the farmer’s harvest. Hard work was a matter of survival, the way of things. Thought it is nice that ‘civilized’ children of today are allowed to enjoy their childhoods without hard labour, they have gone too far in the opposite direction. For the most part, they have no clue what it means to truly suffer, causing them to have a concerning lack of compassion for others. They learn about life from watching television rife with unrealistic scenarios and expectations. They don’t exercise, and so physical pain becomes a ‘bad’ thing, and they are overly upset by the smallest offense against their physical person, be it a bug bite or a stumped toe. Simply wading through tall grass or going on a camping trip suddenly becomes a frightening endeavor.

We’ve forgotten how to know what is good and bad for us by being sensitive to the emotions actions cause. We are numb to the indicators of unhappiness, no longer fine~tuned to our own, true basic needs. We know something is not right, deep inside us, but no longer have the skill sets to follow the trails back to where we’ve gone wrong. Excessive hours of video game play or television watching is perceived to bring pleasure because we’ve forgotten what real pleasure feels like. In an instant~gratification society, we’ve lost the ability to spend the necessary time on ourselves and our personal growth. We’re too often on Facebook or sitcom reruns to meditate or exercise, or to pursue any disciplines of value.

“The undisciplined mind is a wild elephant.” Says Dalai Lama.

And yet, in my own claims of ‘good’ as counterpart to ‘bad’, I can be sure that all this is leading us somewhere. If that somewhere were to be man’s ultimate demise, the Earth might know release from that which is worst for it. Evolution is moving along, for whatever cause. Technological advance, as well as advances in medicine and science, are progressing way beyond our ability to keep moral check on them. On the whole man, if anything, is regressing as a spiritual being…isn’t it? Nine out of ten people would tell you so, but that is not true at all. Each one of us is progressing at the exact rate we choose to progress. Even back~tracking is progress if it’s what we came here to learn. We must all reconsider the very foundations of what we believe to be true. Whatever direction we are going as a species, it’s been chosen by us for us, for a reason.

“The survival of the fittest…” as Herbert Spencer saw it. And yet it seems unlikely that every part of the macro and micro is progressing but us. Perhaps we are not yet able to see where this progression will take us. Perhaps that which prevails is that which is the fittest to do so. What is weak will be weeded out and what is strong will flourish.

“…if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” said Thoreau on the subject. He proved this himself with his experiment on Walden Pond.

The miscellany ‘dream’ of all we’ve worked towards to create has not succeeded in causing us to be happy nor beneficial to the world, and so it lies to each man and woman to move in the direction of personal peace. When each looks to him/herself for an answer that answer progresses the whole. We each need to re~evaluate our current state of affairs and focus on the real good, that one act which causes a ripple effect along every single other aspect of humanity: advancement of the self. In the end, self-advancement is the advancement of all things that are good in the universe, and it’s amazing what difference one person can make.

Awakenings In The Platonic Cave

Plato's Allegory

Plato’s Allegory of the Cave

Shackles opened after a lifetime of knowing only they. My neck crackled as my head turned to and fro for the very first time, though there was beauty and freedom in the pain enough that I refused to remain still. Complex movement was unknown to me and took time to initiate; from blistered feet to loin and up through the torso which, I attained, all functioned together quite fluidly.

Shakily, and with great cost to my physical being, I came closer to the scrolling figures I had watched so long and found that they did not exist; they were in fact shadows on a wall. I noted how the light between figures flickered, a byproduct of something more real and less fleeting than they; that they, themselves, were illusions, merely spaces in between the light.

I climbed the wall that my back had rested against for longer than I could remember, and saw that the shadows were the ghosts of moving things passing before a fire, arms laden with all manner of materials and shaped forms, none of which I had ever before been able to see. I stood rapt, then gathered myself and dropped into the tunnel where they passed, them whose eyes regarded me so curiously, continuing on by as I gawked in confusion. At first I was angry, thinking them to be our captors, but by the looks of the cloth of their robes, which was no more than the ragged garb we, oureselves wore, I knew that they, too, were enslaved, and so I caused them no harm.

I could feel the light of the fire on my face when I stretched up to touch it, and blinked to accustom myself to it, but more than that I felt the warmth on my skin which settled in my bones a creeping weariness. I crawled up to it with my eyes squinted, where I sat and cried, overwhelmed with too much new information. The figures below stared up at me, but made no move to intercede in my lament.

A thought registered: that fire was the ultimate truth, reality and all that was; in essence that very thing which I had been missing for so long. I lost myself in it for a time until, while turning my back to the flame to warm each side equally, I glimpsed a purer light upon the wall beyond that of the fire and, having gained some strength from the warmth, rose and followed its lead. Up a long corridor the light emerged, emanating from an entrance leading to…what?

I went.

That purer, whiter light blinded me, and at first I could only stand with my hand across my eyes, though curiosity (and the moans of those behind me still locked in that choking, metallic embrace) compelled me to take it through bitten eyelids little bits at a time. When I could fully see the wonder of what surely must be heaven around me, I stood amazed before a wide field of colours more vivid than any under-ground could ever possess and textures soft and giving, grass and the flowing of wind in the trees on a hill leading up to the greatest light of all. I wept again, but could not weep long lest tears blur that sacred vision.

I stumbled through trees and to the hill, that tall, rocky hill which cut at my bare feet (whose blood had never, itself, seen the light) and basked in the warmth of the glow which bared its own, special hues unto me, until I had forgotten completely what I’d left behind. I wrapped myself up in its golden rays and slept for a time, and in my soul every answer to every question I’d ever asked, every solution to the queries of why the dark had seemed so wrong, a feeling I could never quite capture fully, a distant knowing that chains were not what I wanted, not all that there was for me. It had been a feeling of absence, and I knew this because that absence was now gone, replaced with the feeling of being full.

When I was sufficiently warmed and the awe and succor of the light began to wane, I looked back down the hill and, for the first time, saw my previous home for what it truly was. I was horrified. I mourned the many deaths that had become me there. I shook my fists at my captors though I knew not who they were. I wailed at the insufferable unfairness of chains, of their gnawing, jagged nature, and yet the splendor of my surroundings called louder still as if to say, “Why cry when you’ve discovered, at last, all the beauty you’d ever dreamed could be?”

And yet, instead of succumbing to that simple, silent desire, becoming one with the light and taking its gift unto myself, I turned in sudden epiphany, for everyone in the dark needed to see what I’d seen. Everyone deserved to see and to know the light and feel warmth. And so without a further thought to myself nor the wounds on my feet I ran full speed back into the hole to set them all free.

It didn’t take long to re-adjust to the darkness, and in those moments of waiting I spat at it and called it death, blasphemed it and kicked at its dusty recesses in display of my new-found power. When I could at last make my way I went to the first of them chained there, where light was foreign and far away. I whispered urgently into an ear, I tugged at the chains around the neck, but the figure cursed at me with bloody spittle to my brow and cracked, broken fingernails clawed into the skin of my hands. I drew back, aghast, bewildered as to why it would not let me free it. I tried again and again with the same result, and this time it called me wicked, ignorant, insane.

I cursed it and turned to the next, taking a new approach. This time, I gently whispered in its ear of shadows, fires and all the things I’d seen outside. I told it how I’d come to be free and tried to warm its frozen bones with tales of light and heat. But the figure only laughed and said to me, “This cannot be. This here is what is real. You are mistaken, poor thing, so lost in your fancies.” Flustered, I became righteous and made demands. I called it blind, swore that if it simply saw the truth, if it followed but for a moment it would see that it was wrong. But it would not allow me to set it free and so I went to the next.

Hours later I sat with my back to fire, sniffling and in no small amount of shock. To each I had said my peace and, in turn, each turned me away. Surely a blind man, when hearing all the words that describe the light, and with the promise that his blindness could be reversed, should tear off the blindfold and run screaming towards it, begging thanks for he who gave such hope! With that thought I humbled myself, for it was not I who was looking for reward, rather it was I who wanted desperately to share such a reward with them all. And so I decided to deny myself that heaven beyond the entrance of hell. I chose to stay with them there in the dark, to martyr myself; that surely, eventually, my stories of the light would make them come around and want what I had. And so I would sit by the fire and laugh where they could hear. I would attempt to find words to describe aloud to myself the succor I had felt in the presence of the Great Light. I would anguish rememberances of what it was like to be cold, and reminisce over the blissful moments when my bones boiled beneath the fiery impishness of that ‘blazoned star which sets all things beneath it aglow.

A year I was in the dark and starved, and for all it was naught. Not only did they not heed my wisdom, they shunned it. They took it as condemnation; my laughter as if it were at their expense, my prayers as though they were curses. I realized that they themselves were their own captors, and that there was nothing I could do to free he who held himself in chains. It was then that I turned away.

In the end I left only to spite them. I left so that I could be free, but also that their chosen bondage would hurt the more. I danced through the grass that their chains would bite to wounds upon their scrawny hides. I stood in the Great Light that their coldness might oppress them like a deathly shroud, I stared into it until my eyes watered that the colourlessness of the cave would blacken out even their dreams. But I grew weary of this, for emotions in the spectrum of anger take such a toll on mind and body. I lay beneath a twinkling night and slept well for the first time in my history.

When I awoke to the light blues and pinks and golds of the sky I cried, for in my heart I didn’t wish them pain, I wished only for them to see what I could see. I wished only for someone to share my heaven with. What is the point of having a heaven if there is no one with which to share? And so with a heavy heart I set out to explore the land. I ate of the fruits of the trees and drank deep the waters of the ground. I dug my toes in dark soil and gathered flowers for my hair. Years I wandered.

Then one smoky eve I found an end to the world around me, the finale of all that could have existed before I came. At that stark, leading edge I sat and pondered why the vast void stretched to the horizon and beyond. To my incredulity, when I wished for what I would want to replace that void my wish came into being and was more magnificent than what I would have known, myself, to make.

Thus I, the creator, was born. I looked at my creation and it was good. Such a process silenced any lingering threnody for those I had left in the dark, and after years of creating I stopped thinking of them altogether.

Discovery was not the least of gifts. My travels eventually lead to another creator. At first I could not believe my eyes, for I had been alone so long that I had thought I was the only one. Had I created him myself? Perhaps. Or…had he created me? These questions we pondered together, until we realized that the answers did not matter. Soon creation became a cooperation, better than creation-by-one ever could have been. He told me the names of things, and the one I cherish the most was the name of the Great Light: Sun.

He had never seen my side of the world, nor I his. And so he showed me all that he had done, and it was more than ever I could have made; the colours seemed somehow brighter, richer, the waters more clear and the sky more blue. Yet when I took him through my lands he said the same of them. We laughed until we could laugh no more. In our wonder we never asked where the other had originated, for nothing seemed to matter but the miracle of the finding. He called me Other and I he, for we were of each other and equally amazed.

We wandered in my endless garden mazes until we came again to old lands faint in memory. We followed familiar paths though I couldn’t remember where they lead until I saw, in the darkening of the twilight on the hill, the entrance to the hole from which I had wandered those many years before. Sorrow gripped me, and my Other held me close to him and whispered that he too had come from such a place. A cave, he called it, though he’d lost the memory of where it was long ago. I asked if he would accompany me in, just to see if anything had changed, and he agreed.

Once our eyes became accustomed we saw that nothing had. Bleeding wounds wrought by jagged metal clasps had bowed resentfully to ragged scars. Nothing moved but the mouths of those who spoke of the politics of shadows, the wisdom of static and the plunder of the sounds of our approaching footsteps. I’d never noticed the smell before, but the stench of brute existence was overwhelming. Had it always been this way? I could not remember, it had been so long.

I recalled that last thought I’d had before I’d left, that they had wrought the chains themselves and were responsible for their own slovenly manner. I felt a new sense, something akin to bereavement, for pity had replaced my previous resentment and humility had replaced my martyrian fire which, itself, had stood in a false light and called itself truth. No longer did I wish such a state upon them, rather, I realized that they could not yet be ready for the light of dawn nor the softness of grass. After all, many years had I wallowed in self-pity as one of them. I could never have been ready to break those chains until…well, until I was.

A matronly love pumped through my quickened heart. I only wanted to make their stay in chains less unbearable, and realized that it was more bearable to they than it was to me, for I had been so far removed from it for so long that I knew full well the price and weight of chains; yet they, having known only chains, were accustomed to the weight and knew nothing else.

And so I and my Other tore swaths from our clothes wetted by the river, bathing their wounds and their feverish heads, stroking the skin about their swollen, weathered necks and saying kind nothings. They were nothings because they could not endure, yet the feeling there remained in moments, glistening in their lolling eyes. ‘Twas the seeds of such nothings that would grow in their minds, and this was what we hoped for. We would leave to create, returning from time to time with gathered logs to stoke the fires that perhaps some warmth might reach them or, at least, the shadows might appear more vivid to further fuel thoughts of the natures of movement, because we could hear that some seeds had grown.

Yes, for the first time I truly heard their words, heard the fleeting truths between the falsities, knew the falsities to be more true than anything they’d pondered previously. I cultivated hope for them inside me, knowing that eventually they, too, would wake and wander outside, beholden of the change from dusk to dawn, the dusk that would draw towards dawn inside them, alive in the slow process from sorrow to rapture, the knowledge of creation and the wonder that it would bring. Like a flower it bloomed, that knowledge that there was an infinity inside eternity, and that no time wasted in chains was too long. Once a soul is free, joy rewards in years what days of sorrow made. In the Other’s eyes I saw, and he in mine own, that all was well, always and in all ways, and forever.