They believed in nothing; there was no right and wrong.
They enjoyed nothing but the absence of pain.
There was no love for the Empty Ones. No obsession.
In the beginning, God had many children.
And they had His spark in them. They were full of joy,
creative, alive.
And God decided to send them to Earth, to
see what they would become. And they thrived.
But the children were not infinite in number.
God would eventually run out of sparks to clothe with
muscle and heartbeats.
Eventually the Soulless began to be born. No
sliver of divinity sparked their intellect. No passion drove
them.
These were the Empty Ones.
As God slowly phased out His own children, the
Empty Ones multiplied. They could see that they were empty,
for they saw fullness in the Children’s lives.
Though all-but-devoid of desire, the Soulless did
not want to be the way they were; it was their only clear drive.
They tried to copy the others but, of course,
could not. So the Empty Ones settled with studying the Children,
consuming everything that could let them feel, if but for a
moment, that borrowed passion.
But the feelings never lasted. And the Soulless were
again left empty, even more aware of the void.
And the Children began to number fewer and fewer.
Writing truly is magical! Once you put pen to paper, thoughts that once seemed insightful and necessary immediately are transfigured obvious and insipid.
Maybe it all has to do with the format. The fact that these thoughts are lurking in the dark alleys of your head is what gives them that perceived uniqueness and mystique (similar to why vampires are inexplicably “sexy”). Basically, because they’re in a unique format (ie – your own consciousness), they seem wonderful by default. However, as soon as the medium shifts from the unique to the mundane, your perspective shifts and (after having conquered the vertigo), you unconsciously compare your creation to the millions of similar experiences you’ve had with words-on-paper.
I guess that’s why the vampires stay in the dark: better mysterious than dust.
The truth is that thoughts of creation are dark thoughts, expanded while lying in bed, roving the misty scape of near-dreaming. These thoughts [Continue reading...]
Those who adhere to universals – who insist that axiomatic living is ideal – want us to become machines. We would operate to specification, staying within our parameters, never deviating from the algorithm.
But our humanity is found in trying to reconcile the dark and the light, in seeing the good in both. It is not until we experience the pull between all of our facets that we are truly ourselves.
Milton could not have been righter:
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan
The proper study of mankind is man.
Plac’d on this isthmus of a middle state,
A being darkly wise, and rudely great:
With too much knowledge for the sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the stoic’s pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast;
In doubt his mind or body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reas’ning but to err;
Alike in ignorance, his [Continue reading...]
What is meditation?
When I stare into nowhere
Sometimes
Something shifts
And I see all things
As Maya’s veil
(two-dimensional embroidery).
And sometimes
Something seems
To gently drag a finger
Across this cloth
(of which I am a part).
Is this meditation?
Or do I just need new contacts?
Setting the Stage
If you couldn’t tell from my fixation with government and it’s roles, I’m very fascinated with the idea of social contracts. Naturally, I’m used to examining this topic from a customary angle (read – political philosophy). However, I also enjoy the less well-known iterations of social contracts, both where they are being instituted (classrooms, RPGs) and where they’re breaking down (capitalism).
Well, last weekend I encountered an unexpected example of a social contract: the comedy club.
Take a second and consider the [Continue reading...]
