Poetry and the Illusion of Fact

The prose is nothing without the poetry; two lovers that must find, once again, their union, which is their power, and the only truth in a world that is a nonsensical maelstrom of streaming fictions and facts. Today, poetry has become something designed to be understood, something clever and tactical, something like programming and surface mathematics, expressions of feelings and perspectives. Meanwhile, facts today have become trivial twitters, three-dimensional Roblox and Minecraft hacks, all built, one on top of the other, like Lincoln logs or reference manuals. Both are a dying breed, because both pay very little attention to the wisdom that binds them together.

There is a saying that life happens while you are making other plans. The truth of that saying, unfortunately, has become a trivial and hackneyed meme, concealing a poetic depth and wisdom that that’s extremely deep and profound. One of the signs that a truth has become stale is that most everyone will agree with it, and yet simultaneously refuses to abide by its wisdom. Most truths suffer this kind of experience, as they become objects of mind, rather than flowers of the heart. After all, people still persist in making those plans. There is hope still, however, because in their mind, they do still agree with the old bit of wisdom, a relic of an ancient but very alive beating heart, a heart to which we all connect at a deep resonance. Deep within, everyone knows that there is something missing; something not quite right “in the world”. The thing everyone gets wrong is that there is nothing missing except the presence and awareness that nothing is actually missing at all.

O, the conundrum! The sheer drama of life!

The mind struggles to find the cause of this dark spot, the evil, or the bad, or the missing, or the undesirable. It continues to entertain itself with plans to fix or change or modify. It is still making those plans or trying to find someone who can advise better plans. Wisdom? It is usually ignored by the ego-mind’s attachment to immediate utility, which is always personal gratification and the need to see instant results. The ego despises gardening because the seed doesn’t sprout the moment it is placed in the soil. Make no mistake, listening to wisdom from within is no different from gardening. The truth as a seed must be digested deep within slowly and over time. It blooms only as time and space dictates, as the sun and rain fall over from above and back up through the roots, over a process of experience and deeper awareness.

The one who nods his head in instant agreement is usually just the ego-mind. The soul never agrees – it just receives, it plants, and it watches it grow. It is only present; always present; omnipresent.

But ego-mind doesn’t work this way. The ego-mind has a thick outer wall and barrier that makes it impossible to digest the depth of the wisdom that would, without that wall, stream through it like the radiant limbs of the sun, catching all lies in the process and banishing them into some kind of dark oblivion. That sun brings a deep and profound transformation to any flower that is in its seed-form – there is no controlling it and there are no plans that can be made outside of it. This is what the ego is programmed to resist and to fear most of all, and it is why the ego itself is a house built on lies. It doesn’t have the patience to curb its desire for control and domination, and, as Nietzsche often reiterates, it is the house of what most humans live and die for, in order to feel whole and complete. He proclaimed, quite shockingly to the ego-mind of that time, that “nobody really wants truth; that what everyone really loves is the lie”. Oh, and that God is dead because of it. God is dead because the heart is too weary of life and has given up on mankind and has replaced it with the Intellect or AI, and AI that so many comically or tragically believe can replace them.

Nietzsche’s entire focus from that point onward was to plant the seeds required for resurrection – the resurrection of the god, and the awakening of the human heart. Thus, he wrote Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the reading idlers.
He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader. Another century of readers–and spirit itself will stink.
Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run not only writing but also thinking.
Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becometh populace.
He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read, but learnt by heart.
In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that route thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those spoken to should be big and tall.
The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.
I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The courage which scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins–it wanteth to laugh.

Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

This “wisdom” of the AI is just knowledge, and knowledge doesn’t have impact when it is translated into the data storage of the ego-mind. Most of the history of philosophy, including Nietzsche, has been analyzed and synthesized ad nauseum by clever minds who edify themselves by means of their own measures. The ego-mind can certainly admire beauty and wisdom, from an intellectual standpoint. But the intellectual standpoint is a position that is exactly that, a standpoint, an epistemological understanding, a claim to knowledge, rather than guidance for the heart, or an uncovering of the power of Self in all its mysterious depth and fearsomeness, the blood and the sweat and the poetry. At best, philosophy and spirituality and wisdom, in the context of the ego-mind, has an objective sort of beauty or intelligence, that is often repeated and reconstituted in the form of advice or instruction, either given through a human mind or AI. It is something you admire, like artwork in a museum, but not something you can touch, consume, embody, live and breathe. The mind only works with objects and makes statements about objects. It does not understand the experience- nor does it want to – of Self, the deep cord that connects your thought right this very second to the plans that you are making in order in order to “surf” the frequency waves of being, of life, and love. On a deep level, life is passing most by because they are too well insulated by the great oceanic waves of energy that only adults can handle. They make plans out of fear; plan A, plan B, and plan C, and the more they make those plans and worry about the plans they once made, or the possible plans that may come to be, the less they are engaged in actual life, the less they learn how to create something out of nothing, how to improvise, and how to master their energies, how to play with dark and light. The realization of this, that they have missed the experience of life, is often to devastating to address. They look at the behavior of others who plot and plan and ruminate on the past and future, and we take comfort in, at least, the fact that we are normal, and like all the others. And that, my friends, is the essential bedrock of modern society, which is designed to keep human beings inside a realm of fear in order to control, limit, and validate the need for society itself. It’s a vicious circle of energy that surrounds every human being, even as they struggle to find their own pure Self in the midst of it. Time and time again, each upon each, falls into the ego-mind, the comforts of safety, and the eagerness to offer itself up to the machine in exchange for some semblance of protection.

Such are the comforts that ego-mind creates for itself, society and its egalitarian attitudes, conforming and diminishing simultaneously depleting and preventing. From that standpoint, society is the source of all egoic wars, the employer of egoic-minds. Ego cannot explain the existence of what it perceives as being dangerous and bad to itself, and so, when the wild ocean of energy hits it through a crack in the system, the ego-mind is triggered into a rampage of anger, fear, and disbelief. In that fear state, it so easily and willfully chooses to make war on what seemed to penetrate its mighty fortress. And this is where ego-mind thinks it needs to improve (its fortress), to get rid of, to make war on, to destroy, or to flee, in order to be happy, to find power, success, and connection. War is the story of thousands of years, of the struggles of ego-mind, and even to this day, we have our for and against, our great wars between mine and yours, this political persuasion vs. that one; demons vs. angels.

What ego doesn’t understand is that the war it is waging, spiritual or physical, is the war against Self or Love itself, of a deep resonating trust in the whole, a trust with which it is entirely unfamiliar and in utter disbelief.

“All you need is Love.” Well, perhaps. Perhaps not. The good news is that you don’t need love at all, because you already “have” it as a presence. So, “I have” is the same as “I am” when it comes to love. There is no needing of love. Only ego-mind declares neediness, and that is the problem with ego and why it must make war against those who take what is “owed” to it. Most wars are wars in the name of love, even though the AI-ego-mind is good at tricking itself by using different words for the same energetic frequency. For ego-mind war is love and is actually demonstrative of love. “I will fight for your”, “I will die for you”, “I love you more than all the others”, “Your enemy is my enemy”, etc. Love, to ego, is no longer the stuff of poetry, the birth and the death and the ever-flowing life that emerges into fact by virtue of its power. Instead, love has become a hard fact, a contract of mind, a brutally heavy ball and chain that withers the muscles as they age. Love, something that, in its true presence only increases the levity of the dense body, preparing it for the flighty and lofty aspects of the honest heart, to prepare it for an experience of otherworldliness, the beyond, the god that wants to be free, to let the love carry it by lighted wings…

As the geometer intently seeks
to square the circle, but he cannot reach,
through thought on thought, the principle he needs,

so I searched that strange sight: I wished to see
the way in which our human effigy
suited the circle and found place in it—

and my own wings were far too weak for that.
But then my mind was struck by light that flashed
and, with this light, received what it had asked.

Here force failed my high fantasy; but my
desire and will were moved already—like
a wheel revolving uniformly—by

the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.

Dante, Paradiso, Canto 33

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