Point of You

The reason our gatherings worked is because all of us were present. Despite being the most engaging educator I've yet to learn from, Dr. Sexson could not have weaved such a life-altering experience alone. Each of us surrendered to the flood. We lost ourselves in the dance. In doing so, we've grown closer: to each other, to our selves, and to meaning. Thanks for letting me come and see from the point of you.

Yasmin:
Thank you very much for posting your notes and reading list. It demonstrates your skills of organization and attention to detail - both very useful qualities for an engineer. Your ability to speak publicly and reach out to people will also help you in whatever path you take. Far from being just an engineering nerd, you have a genuine capability to communicate ideas which is so often missing from the STEM side of academia.

Jonah:
Every fool needs a magician. You are a very thoughtful and passionate dude, but what I liked most about were your infectious good vibes. Your good nature consistently lifted my mood and reminded me that while much of what we talked about was very serious, in the end the smile trumps all.

Katie C:
Not only your presentation, but your blogs and comments too have a dream-like quality to them. As you sat quietly in class, I would always wonder, "What's going on behind those eyes?" It's clearly much more than is apparent.

Spencer:
You never have to feel out of place in a humanities class because of your "engineering mind". In fact, I'd argue you're better equipped to approach many of the problems we talked about. The fact that you engaged in the class shows your openness and willingness to cross the fence to "get it".

Alaine:
Beneath your silence lies a spirited and expressive soul. I'm so thankful we got to hear you loose the reins on it and let it burst free, even momentarily. While others may speak often and cheapen their words, those who speak least usually have more valuable things to say.

Calder:
When you speak, others listen. Its the way you hold yourself, your tone of voice, but most of all your conciseness. This, and your dedication to your studies, convinces me you have much to give as a historian and as a human being.

Matt:
If you don't act in the theater, you should. Or at least read stories to kids or something. Your talent for storytelling and performing amazes me. Your words touched something very close to me. Keep telling the story, Matt, for all our sakes.

Charlie:
I'm so happy you were with us, Charlie, even as an observer. You are a very genuine and wise man. I hope to take a class from you in the future to get to know you better.

Rose:
"Because something is difficult is one more reason to do it." Those are Rilke's words in Letters from a Young Poet. I know the class was hard for you, but I think you'll find yourself more whole for going through with it. This is a tough age for most, so there's no shame in it. Stay strong, Rose.

Katie N:
I always sensed a kind of sadness from you. After your presentation, though, I think what I was seeing was intense concentration. Your game was brilliant. It was a perfect vehicle for what you wanted to convey. Such crafts take much cunning and superior observation, both of which you possess.

Valerie:
Mystical and enchanting, your grasp of the metaphysical is astounding. I'm very glad we had your more experienced voice in the group; your perspective and wisdom is infinitely valuable to younger souls.

Brady:
I really enjoyed that you're able to relate your literature studies to whatever topic was at hand. I've met a few lit. people who were very narrow-minded, so focused on their study that they couldn't see the big picture. You can, though, and it has proven many of my English major stereotypes wrong.

Carol:
But oh, Carol! It's been a real treat to see you become so engaged in this class. I can see your mind working through what's being said, a perpetual question mark furrowing your brow. There is a contemplative depth to you that will help you to understand and digest all that we've learned.

Joe:
Old friend, I wouldn't be writing this if it wasn't for you. You'll do great things with your life and I'll sure as hell be there to support you. Be so good they can't ignore you.

Logan:
Although you sometimes have difficulty expressing it, your passion is inspiring. Don't worry - human language is often frustrating for all of us. What matters is that you are possessed by the madness, and you clearly are.

Brooke:
There's something very ancient in your soul, Brooke. A cry of freedom, a return to nature. You are gifted - you have so many gifts, not the least of which is an ability to connect to others and what's around you in a profound way. Your extraordinary ability to recall dreams says something of this awareness.

Sexson:
The first and the last, old wizard and young heart. We couldn't have asked for a better psychopompous for this journey. You have the undying gratitude of one who has been changed by your presence, your words.

History

"Who controls our past?"
-Calder

Answer: those who tell the version most aligned with the ideals of whoever pays them. Or doesn't kill them, depending on the time and place. Basically: those in power control the past (control the present, control the future, etc.). This shouldn't be news to any of you, even before Calder's presentation. The question then becomes: how do we reclaim our past? I won't describe a comprehensive plan here as I believe Jonah addresses that quite well in his most recent blog, but I do have a place to start.

We must first learn to accept our ugliness.

A few weeks ago I sat patiently through some previews before watching a movie at the theater. One was for a television show on the Kennedy assassination. As the preview ended, I heard a woman behind me say, "How can they do that?", implying deep disrespect of the man's ghost. The thought I had then was the same when Calder told us of the Enola Gay exhibit: "How can you not do that?"

Every psychologist knows the dangers of repression for the individual. Running from one's problems does not solve them, it only gives them time to fester and in the process consume the mind. Cultural repression is far more sinister in that it consumes the past. By refusing to look ourselves in the mirror and face the ugliness of our previous actions as a species, we are only running. That reflection is an uncomfortable one to face. No one is pleased to see their own flaws or consider they may be less than worthwhile. It is that reflection that people are only too relieved to abandon to authorities who twist it into something that looks fairer, but feels much fouler. They turn war into justification, betrayal into initiative, slaughter into sacrifice.

I don't presume we could ever come close to an unbiased reporting on any of the great atrocities of the past. Even calling something an "atrocity" is subjective. But these events, these Berlin Bombings, these Hiroshimas, these Libraries of Alexandria, clearly affected us. I don't ask for an interpretation. I ask for an observance, an awareness. I wish to force people to look away from the aeroplanes and laser surgery and towers reaching to Heaven and say, "We are this too."

If we are to reclaim our past, we must reclaim all of it.

Consumption

Your breath clings to the cold air, so tight you'd think it was scared
The sign of life
The spirit easing into death, letting a piece of itself go with every exhalation
Puff, nothing, puff, nothing
Marking time until...
You have no time left

I wish we were closer
I'd look into your eyes and smile
Not mocking, but thanking
Congratulating
"Your life is not your own."
Maybe if that was the last thing you saw, you wouldn't be afraid. You wouldn't feel pain. Maybe if, even for one tiny moment, for just one breath, we connected there would be no "you". Or "me". We would see the contradiction, the whole.
We would be free.
Or maybe not. You have to remember I'm human. We have silly thoughts sometimes. Your eyes are on the sides of your head while mine are on the front. You are prey. I am predator.

One tactless gunshot is all it takes to end you
It feels like cheating
There's no intimacy to it, no challenge
You deserve better
But instead you have a bullet in your heart
Anyway, thanks. I'm sorry, it's nothing personal.

Your spirit greets me, eager to escape your body
Pee-yoo!
Smells like sage and shit and death
Did you know your brain is just big enough to tan your hide?
I doubt it
Maybe that's why it's me gutting you and not the other way around
You grow your clothes, I have to steal them

"Eating is the only way of truly possessing," a spider told me in a dream.
I think what she meant was:
Fuck all that other bullshit, to live is to consume
I consume you, you consume the grass, the grass consumes the sun, and the sun consumes itself
(By the way, has anyone ever made an ouroboros of the sun? Because that would be awesome)
While I am alive, I can lose my tools, my home, my clothes (very willingly), but I cannot lose that which is closest to me: my body
And my body is made of you
Well, not just you, but you're sure as hell gonna help
I think that's what the spider meant when she spoke of possession

The key phrase there was "while I am alive"
I'm part of the cycle too
I eat you today, but you will eat me tomorrow
We eat each other (not at the same time though; that would be weird)
We are the prey and the predator
The water and the wave
The connection and detachment
The murderer and the mystery

(After) Love

"...she loved me more than I loved her, and that consequently I had in some indefinable way won."
-Magus, Chapter 6

Or, as it was put in class: the one who loves the least has the most power in a relationship. To love is to a selfless act, inherently exposing. To be loved is a selfish act, inherently isolating. For any relationship work, especially a romantic one, both are needed. A give and take of love is required to forge the bond.

At first, there is the honeymoon phase. The love is new. It is exciting. One or both people have longed for the touch of another and find validation in sex. The bond is formed of mutual desire and the release of sexual tension. It resonates with the crash of broken barriers and the whispered words, "I love you." The lovers bare themselves and drink deep the heady wine of affection. This is the easy part. Being in love may be stressful at first, but the worries soon fade as the two begin to see themselves as one.

Then, there is a crisis. A turning point. A moment of clarity in which each individual sobers and is distinct once more. Either there is one who loves and one who is loved, or the two share love equally. The former leads to a break or an unhappy couple. The latter I'll term "true love" in that it is reciprocated. To love is to give selflessly, to fill the other's cup expecting nothing in return. If both halves of a couple love, neither goes thirsty. If one drinks without filling, his partner will surely die for lack of substance.

Some of our discussion this week and what I've read in the Magus thus far has touched on the last romantic relationship I was in. Unfortunately, it was the post-crisis case of me loving and her receiving love. I'm not terribly sad that the bond was severed -- these things happen, especially in youth. What broke my heart was how well I thought it was going right before it wasn't.

As Brooke spoke of on Thursday, love is one situation in which one may feel very vulnerable. While we fell in love, we both felt this vulnerability. We admitted our growing attachment to each other. We sighed the promises of love into the hot night air. It wasn't scary. It was exhilarating.

Something changed. The balance tipped, and suddenly I found myself despairing my unrequited love. I was hurt, but I will never regret. To see the fullness in others, this is my love. To slip from control, to feel "the otherness of the other disappear", this is my my love (Magus, Chapter 7). There is strength in surrender. There is growth and pain and joy and freedom and fulfillment. The key is to pick up the pieces of the broken heart that shine and put them back together into a stronger form than it was before. I was hurt, but now I heal.

A song I wrote shortly after the break up:

After Love

Been a long time comin'
The bed was already cold
Rain outside drummin'
Out the breakin' of my soul

Heart still beatin' on
But the rhythm has changed
And what song does it play
after love?

What comes after love?
It'll never be the same
After you marked me, baby
After you took away my pain
After we came together
After we fell apart
After you'd had enough
After love

Will the rivers run dry?
Will you forget my name?
Will the seas turn to sand?
Or will I live another day?

Will the earth quake below?
Will the sun still shine above?
Or will all still remain
after love?

What comes after love?
What of me will remain?
After you marked me, baby
After you took away my pain
After we came together
After we fell apart
After you and me, my dear
After love

The Dance

Septimus: When we have found all the mysteries and lost all the meaning, we will be alone, on an empty shore.
Thomasina: Then we will dance.

The other thing about time is that even if one spends it appropriately, there will always be an end to it. At the end of our lives, Death waits patiently to hang our coats and welcome us to the ballroom. Whether it is the death of the intellect, as Septimus alludes to above, or the death of the body, there is but one thing left at the end: the dance. And really, what the hell else are you going to do? After one knows all the answers, after one dies, there's no point to it anymore, is there? This whole human condition business becomes junk floating under the bridge, the flotsam of some strange dream. All that remains is the dance. The cosmic dance. The one in which all the particles of the universe vibrate together, colliding and spinning off each other until there are no more collisions or spinnings. Until there is unity, or as we call it, heat death.

Our science can't say what lies beyond heat death. Religions make a good go at it, but it's really just a guess. What we do know is that, in the mean time, the universe dances. One day it will dance itself to sleep, but should that depress you? I don't think so. As Brook understands: dance for the sake of dancing. It's all we know how to do, anyway.

Time

"Oh, we have time, I think.
--till there's no time left."

I don't believe we are the only species aware of our mortality. We're just the ones who make the biggest fuss about it. Living, not dying; awake, not sleeping; active, never inactive: there is an obsession these days to maximize our time doing and cut everything else out. The march moves faster now than it ever has in the past. Are we better for it?

When I was younger my mother chide me for eating slowly, walking slowly, getting in the car slowly. She said I was on "Connor time". I feel just fine about this. Connor time is the only time I have worth spending. Everyone has his own time, his own frequency. It's what we call metabolism. And I know damn well that I'm not going to force myself into anyone else's time. Especially not "corporate time" or "yolo time".

We've talked a few times now about not wasting time and despising those who do. I agree with this on a certain level. Yes, I strive to make something of my day, my week, my year, my life. The days I find myself cramming my hours and minutes full of intent, though, are the worst I've ever spent. They leave me feeling burnt out, and I fear this much more than idleness.

The human brain isn't meant to work sixteen hours without rest, despite what the modern workforce would have one believe. As a nation, we're more productive than ever before. But are we happier for it? Even those of us who ask the "big questions" feel the strain of wondering too much and resting too little. As Frye puts it in the last chapter of The Secular Scripture: God's greatest act is that of the Sabboth. It is the sitting back and admiring one's work. It is rest and recuperation.

Appropriate song lyrics:

"Slow down Jo
Anybody ever tell you that you move too fast?
Anybody ever tell you how to make a good thing last?
'Cause it ain’t like that

First you gotta slow down Jo.
Last night I was talking to some friends of mine.
A.J.’s afraid you’re gonna kill your time or lose your mind.

If you don’t slow down Jo.
Anybody ever tell you if you lose the knack.
Anybody ever tell you that it’s true
You can get it back?
But not like that

It ain’t by kicking down the walls or pissing off your friends.
Every time the cards don’t fall your way.
It ain’t by poking out your eyes when you see something you don’t like.
Even your mama said she don’t want to see you spent at twenty-five,
So come on Jo stay alive"

"Slow Down Jo" by Monsters of Folk

Snakes

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/10/131028162928.htm

No wonder these guys are so archetypal.

Reading/Recreating

I finished reading Frye's Secular Scripture today. Although I lack most of the literary knowledge required to fully appreciate his arguments, I did pull some bits from each chapter that provoke some thoughts. The final chapter in particular has some good quotes:

"The past is not returned to; it is recreated..."
"...imagination brings to life the specters of the dead who inhabit memory, creation thus being to memory what resurrection is to death."
"One's reading thus becomes an essential part of a process of self-creation and self-identity that passes beyond all the attached identifications, with society or belief or nature, that we have been tracing."

We touched on these ideas a few gatherings ago. When one remembers, it's not like pulling a file from a cabinet. Instead, its more like painting a familiar picture on a blank canvas. Every act of remembering is an act of recreation which changes the memory. By remembering, we are constantly updating and revising our view of the past and, therefore, of the present.

What is interesting to me is this idea of "specters of the dead". I've had a similar thought before. I was confronting my own mortality, trying to come to terms with the fact that this life will come to an end. It frightened me, and still does to some extent. Death itself is not what worries me because it is that which takes away all worries. No, what I struggle with is the question of whether anything I do will really matter, if any of my labors will mean anything.

As I chewed on this thought, I came to a realization: the dead speak through us. Not in a black magic, seance, talking in tongues way, but in a very real way based on our interconnectedness. This is because everything about us, from the way to we dress to the foods we like to the words we use, has been informed by all who have come before us. As long as one touches another, who touches another, etc., the continuity is never broken. There is a thread running through all of humanity: woven by the dead, carried by the living, and passed on to the unborn.

Time and Effort

Calder's recent discussion of handwriting (http://cthingvold.blogspot.com/2013/10/apology-in-absence.html) brings up a mounting tide of thought I've had over the past year or so. It is no great secret that humanity (particularly those living in "developed" nations) is shoving more and more of its burdens onto automated machines. We take those tasks we deem tedious and place them in the cold hands of computers. Makes sense though, right? Who has the time anymore to actually open a dictionary? Thus, spell check. Who wants to fly a plane over the Pacific Ocean for hours and hours? Thus, auto-pilot. Who wants to make the effort to call or visit friends to check up on them? Thus, Facebook.

This attitude is dangerous for several reasons. Automation works by reducing complex situations to a list of variables that a machine can respond to in a predetermined manner. But what about situations that can't be reduced this way? What if the machine is trying to respond to a set a variables its creators never predicted? This system is designed so that it will respond correctly most of the time. The times it can't respond, a machine's human operator is required to take control. But will he be ready to? If he has assumed this whole time that the machine will do his work for him, how is the operator likely to respond when suddenly thrust into a position of control? In this way, automation not only opens itself up for error by not being able to adapt, but it also erodes the skill of those it supposedly services.

By handing our responsibilities off to machines, we are also demeaning our own abilities. One of the facts Google touts around about its driverless cars is that they have never been in an accident. The statement behind this is: we can't drive. It's a very defeatist attitude, one that weakens the trust we have in ourselves. How can we ever expect to be better (drivers) if we purposefully disengage ourselves from the task at hand?

This is the crux of the issue for me: no labor = no investment. Yes, doing things by hand takes longer. It requires more effort. Yet as Calder finds while handwriting his essays, the enjoyment of labor is the labor itself, not only the completion of it. The more time a person puts into something, the more labor it requires, the more invested she becomes in whatever it is. By sharing more time in the labor, she allows herself to attach meaning to it, to be changed by it. Can she be changed by staring at a computer screen? I have my doubts.

I've had a kind of writer's block lately. I lack motivation; I feel like I'm getting nowhere. I normally do my writing on a computer and I'm wondering now if this isn't the problem. Instead of holding in my hand the physical manifestation of my thoughts on paper, I scroll through a Word document. Instead of watching the ink vanish from my pen, I stare at my keyboard, static. Maybe its time for a change.

Why

I was just perusing our little blogiverse and am now inspired to write a response to Katie's question of the Why (http://katieneal14.blogspot.com/2013/10/stranger-than-fiction.html).

Like her, I've been thinking recently about what kinds of questions we ask and how we answer them. Being hit over the head with a chunk of science education and research for the past two years, I'd grown to see the world in a narrowly-defined, completely objective, rational way (probably due to brain damage from the aforementioned bludgeoning). Science provides us great answers to the What, How, Where, Who, and alright answers to the When. It does not provide answers to the Why and the How Does One Live (or how does one relate to all the other shit).

As Katie pointed out, where science falls short, people turn to religion. More accurately, I believe people turn to spirituality, where spirituality is not necessarily organized worship but more of a way in which one connects with the universe he finds himself in. He can use science to observe himself and his surroundings, but ultimately he must find his own way to deal with them.

This is what every human must do in order to find meaning in her existence. Even the most stoic and "objective" of scientists must give meaning to her life. Otherwise, she will die. Her body may continue on like a machine, but the spirit animating it will have perished. It is as we discussed in class: human beings need meaning to survive, and we find meaning in the telling of stories. A nihilist tells no stories, for she rejects them outright. She no longer asks Why.

For everyone else, we struggle to answer the question throughout our lives. In reality, this is a journey of self-discovery. As Eliade would put it, we are initiated into a labyrinth, one that we become lost in and wander. When we do find the center and confront the minotaur, we answer a part of the question. We know ourselves better. Then we are initiated again, lost again. It's a process I don't believe can be ended. It's also a process I don't want to end (at least not now). Questioning is living; answering is death. There's a tension between the two, one that Freud called the destrudo or death drive. He explains it differently, but it's basically the same idea: humans seek the end. We struggle so that one day our work may finally be done. We wake so that may finally lay down to rest. We ask for answers so that we may stop wondering.

This end, this death, is the ultimate goal to be sure. It is one we all must face. Getting there, though... That's what makes life a helluva time. There is no meaning in death. It is arbitrary, unchanging. It is a dispersion. Room temperature. There IS meaning in life because it is that which changes, which collects and organizes and produces information. It is heat. Is the question Why not the question of "Why are we organized this way? What have we been collected for?"

The answers will come some day when we are put to rest. Until then, we question. We live.

Scenes from the New World

Sorry I wasn't at today's gathering - I had a test in the lecture I usually skip to come talk with y'all. Sometimes our schooling gets in the way of our education, no?

Issue 4 of my zine also came out today. I don't have very many hard copies left, but below is a link to the Facebook page with all the pdf versions. Check them shits out if you're interested in some short bits from the story Joe and I are working on.

https://www.facebook.com/NewWorldZine

Anamnesis

 I decided it would easier to share my thoughts on today's gathering in poem form.

Anamnesis

I once lay behind Heaven's door

Sat my ass in the evermore

Full of knowing the way things stood

Until I fell (as all men should)

Thrown into blindness, out of sight

The angels mark my every night

They touch my lips, make me forget

All I learned since we last met

In the dark they have no faces

They find me in my mother's graces

I know it then, feel them coming

Steady as Her heart a-drumming

They curse me for my failed task

My face has now become the mask

I ate too soon, they always say

They bow their heads and fly away

Now I wander through a haze

I can't recall those better days

Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum

Ask whose dream I think I'm from

Are they the angels from before

Who shut my foot in Heaven's door?

Caught between the high and low

Damn them 'til the wind won't blow

What right have they to bind me here?

To cut my wings and keep me near

The earth and all its mortal coils

The silly men and all their foils

Or do the angels know what's best?

Are they sent at His request?

To teach his son to take the throne

When the fire's set to his bones

Spin a web that we call “story”

Catch those errant wings a-soaring

Fill the pages with my longing

'Til Heaven feels I am belonging

Energy

You know those conversations that wake you up? The ones that engage you so thoroughly that the hours seem to tick by like seconds? When you can feel the energy of everyone in the room gushing out and flowing together? A genuine conversation. One that brings you closer in a profound way both to knowing yourself and those around you.

That word, energy, always comes up to describe these intense kind of relationships between people. Whether you're "exchanging energy", "sharing energy", or some other starry-eyed New Age phrase, there is an idea that some kind of force or power is at play. One of my friends in the conversation last night said he couldn't conceptualize this energy because it has no physical or scientific basis. I've had similar feelings in the past, but was having a hard time reconciling them with the fact that I did feel the energy of connection between people. Hell, between everything on the planet. His comment made me realize something: there is a physical explanation. A scientific one.

Mirror neurons are those that fire when one either performs a specific action or sees it performed. The mirror neuron doesn't care who is the doer, just as long as the action happens. These types of neurons are thought to help in learning motor skills. More importantly, they are intimately linked with the concept of emotional empathy. You can watch videos of someone in a neutral mood slowly adopt the mood of those around her. For example, if she talks with a sad person, her shoulders will slump, her tone of voice will drop and slow, she will frown.

A few weeks ago Frans de Waal gave a talk at MSU on the subject of animal empathy. His lecture was fascinating and covered empathy in broad strokes, but one study he explained stood out to me. He described an experiment in which his research group found that chimpanzees (the most closely related primate to humans) who see a member of their in-group yawn are much more likely to yawn themselves than if they see a stranger yawn (the idea here being that those in the in-group will have a greater empathetic bond). And what system is responsible for this "yawn contagion"? Mirror neurons. Thus, they've showed that mirror neurons are more active between individuals who share a greater empathetic bond than between those who share a lesser one.

This fits beautifully with our notion of energy, don't you think? When you're feeling that energy, it isn't some intangible force. It is your brain's chemistry enacting change on your consciousness. It is the brain literally taking on the form of another. We feel connected with others because we are emulating them. This also explains why one feels the energy more intensely with certain individuals. People who we "click" with, who we have some innate connection to, share with us a more empathetic bond than those who we dislike or disregard. Now the reason why some bonds are inherently stronger than others is a different question.

This not only applies to conversation. In fact, the most connected I've felt with others has been while playing music with them. Whether it be a West African drum circle or Sunday Mass, it makes complete sense to me why communal music-making (especially singing) is such a strong component of cultural and religious identity. Making music requires everyone listen to each other and be in sync. While conversation is a give-and-take, music is unified expression. I'd love to see the activity of mirror neurons when one is involved in this kind of situation...

Love,
Connor

Thank You

Until recently, I'd thought my life to be distinct. From other humans. From other animals. From plants. From the earth, the sky, the sun. Being a scientist I was always aware of the fundamental connection my atoms had with all else. I knew that my existence was a coming-together of dust, a fleeting moment in which this particular mass of molecules formed a conscious being capable of knowing itself. But that was where my understanding of the connection stopped. It was a purely material link I thought myself to be in, my own "free will" unaffected.

Now I know better.

I know now that my life is not entirely my own. Imprinted on my mind (and yours too!) are the seeds for a pattern that is as fundamental as the atoms composing it. I remember two years ago having an illumination of the fractal branching pattern so often found in nature, whether it be in tree branches, neuronal connections, or the interplay between galaxies. It fascinated me. Maybe it's more accurate to say it haunted me. Wherever I looked, there it was: the pattern. The branches. I observed that it was a characteristic common of many structures in nature, an architecture tailored to some law of the universe that allowed it to flourish and replicate itself across every level of organization. Even so, I cut my awe of it short. I could see the pattern, the branching, but I didn't consider the possibility that such a pattern could wind its way up through the layers of human consciousness, history, and spirituality. This is what we call archetypes.

In retrospect, it's an obvious conclusion. How could I be so blind (or arrogant) to think my own mind and the minds of others weren't subject to the same patterns? I let my belief in an objective, scientific explanation for the universe cloud my judgment. As with any religion, science is exceptionally good at causing self-deception. It's a helluva lot easier to trust in it, to believe in an "objective truth" (what a ridiculous concept, right?) that one may reach from a spiritually-detached place.

But without science, or rather without the knowledge it gave me, I couldn't have made the connection at all. The biology, the mythology, the dreams and the waking, it is all one. The same pattern repeats over and over again... It's as if nature is telling us, "Look! Didn't you see it last time too?" How gracious of the universe to give us so many chances.

I hiked up the South Cottonwood trail today (and you should too if you haven't -- it's an absolutely stunning piece of country). While standing on the top of a rock formation jutting from the mountainside, I closed my eyes and breathed. I breathed in the wind borne of the solar tide. I breathed in the sun, that great body which destroys itself to cause us to live. I breathed in the rock under my feet, the old bones of the Earth. I could only say one thing after that moment: "Thank you."

Thank you.

Love,
Connor