Holy Man

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In every culture there is a religious thread. However this spiritual conception is expressed it acknowledges that finite humanity is incompetent to intellectually encompass the full breadth and depth of reality. Certainly particular individuals fail to grasp their incapacity, from euphoric atheists to infidel-slaughtering acolytes of every religion, but more enlightened majorities of societies humbly note their limitations.

Given this fact, every tradition conceives of a path of righteousness that is not based on understanding, but on karma, grace, or wisdom. Carlos Castaneda wrote that a man of knowledge chooses his folly, presumably to keep it out of the way of pressing affairs, and allowing inspiration to inform his actions.

Whatever our cultural roots, we aspire to such a path, intuited or divinely inspired to progress towards our sacred destiny. Regardless of the dross and chaff others appear to be, each of us seeks to effect life per our conception of perfection, righteousness, or inerrancy. None of us is immune to denial, and all of us lapse into conceit when confronted with hurdles we impede our way with, though not knowing we do.

Joseph Campbell, in 'Transformations of Myth Through Time', discusses the Hero's Journey, the cycle of immaculate heroic sacrifice that is woven into the fabric of every society, and we individually relate per our context to ourselves. We are all the hero of our own story.

Neither do I exclude our fellow species from this heroism, as I have often noted sacrificial purpose in the conduct of their lives, from the undeniable ferocity of mother bears, to the gifting of their very lives to their mates and offspring of many creatures. I have heard convincing exegeses that deny the existence of altruism, yet the reverse is equally true, that every action is utterly selfless and ultimately dedicated to the progress of life.

Every conceptualization of life stems from the creation of the first living thing and proceeds to ourselves via an unbroken living sequence. Death has not intervened between that first corpuscle from which our line began and ourselves. Spore, gamete, and clone have carried that living spark unquenched from the initiation of life, and we shine that light into what comes without interruption.

All life is one continuous tapestry woven of that one original thread. Every warp and weft that has become part of the design, every fringe and border, cascade, or eruption grew from that beginning and extended it, though the designs have terminations. That continuous thread has passed into them, and wherever it continues it has passed through them.

That spiritual path is contained not in any one pattern of the the weave, but necessarily thoughout the textile. You, nor another, can be holy, righteous, or inspired unless all that fabric woven of the same thread is also. No Messiah, All-Father, or Mother of God is discrete from the whole: all life is woven of the same thread and stems from that original creation.

So, when I use the term holy man, I do not conceive of some guy in sandals preaching, but the ultimate destiny of life across the universe, where each of our strivings will inevitably contribute to that expression. My lips are made of mud, and I cannot coin a word for the Omnissiah of which we all are a part. There is no whole without every part, neither has any part relevance except holistically.

Of late I have waxed lamentous, decrying the despolation of men, and the foul feminization eradicating the nobility of their agency. I point to the enemies of freedom that would transform our species into servile drones in outrage at the cannibalization of our very spirit, and despair at the prospect of their victory. But, there can be no defeat.

All of life is effecting it's destiny, and no particle eating another can redirect that purpose of which it is but a part. As momentous as the savage sexual alteration of our species undertaken by psychopaths seems to me, it is as much a part of the tapestry as the seventy thousand sexes that arose in the Cambrian Radiation. Ultimately, the designs but add color and pleasing texture to the whole. They do not change it's purpose.

My aspiration for my people and, indeed, for life itself, is to prevent such dark designs from eventuating. I have conceived of a means to do so, to concatenate means of capturing endocrine disrupting weapons, decentralizing power by dispersing means of production to individuals, and exponentially speed the development of technology that will export life across the scattered stars. But, in truth, whether this design becomes woven into the fabric of reality isn't my geas.

It doesn't matter if I succeed in these developments or not, because life will attain to it's ultimate destiny regardless of what I think, or think I do. The continuous spark will continue. The eternal light will shine eternally. A gestalt I cannot conceive, a whole my perceptions cannot encompass, ineluctably proceeds, as it must.

I have conceived of holy man as the ejaculation of life into the galactic wombs fervidly yearning to conceive, verdant, fecund, as if the universe ovulates anticipating our procreative explosion with insatiable lust. At that scale not even millenia of brutal slavery of humanity, of the savage exploitation and rapine abuse of hyperfeminized slaves, are more than a bit of intricate detail in the overall exquisite tapestry. While I seek a route in mere decades and centuries to that inseminal commencement, when we share our delight a billion aeons ahead, whether decades, millenia, or epochs were incorporated into the tapestry to extend it to that happy day, though that history stygian and impenetrably black, it will but enable the brilliant light of joyous color to shine in contrast.

Succeed or fail, ditch dipped in a pool of sick, or dazzled damsel dallying in delight, what we perceive with the limited processors provided in this preface to the novel tale written by the particles and forces in the vast voids of reality, the days we effect, are but strands woven amongst all the threads making up reality. We cannot even holistically conceive of our own little thread, so cannot grasp how it is twined into the line.

In a sense, this is the meaning of grace and karma, of the sorcerer's impeccability of Don Juan. The ineffable future must spring surprises mortals cannot reckon on the fly, yet the design of the universe will be expressed to bless every fiber in the tapestry. We can't cause it to fail and are necessary bits that must comprise it. What is holy cannot be profaned. Eternity cannot end.

Pain, if I have learned the lessons patiently taught by decades of chronic education, is not suffering. Our immediacy blinds us to eternity, but in the fullness of the plot but layers and enhances the novel tale. What we know today is what we do, but we do not put an end to the ongoing eventuation of existence, and our understanding will fully blossom when the seeds of our blessings are ready to fruit.

We each write feverishly our lines as we develop our plot. Securing the humanity of our behaviour and attaining to the blessings of prosperity that stem from our native freedom are that sacred ritual I see unfolding today. As we step today across the threshold into the unknown future, celebrating a new year and a new decade, I wish for you all to know that certainty of the faithful of paradise.

Your fiber of the cloth is utterly integral, intrinsic to the tale of the tapestry. We cannot conceive of our eventual perspective, but when it is woven in it's entirety, each of us will naturally contribute, and encompass withal the whole. There is only one thread. Life has slavered insatiably since it's inception, barbarians sack civilizations, profanity sacrifices all that is good and holy, but these ephemera are merely embellishments on an inviolable fact.

There is no hope. There is no doubt. There is only the fact, and just because we don't know it doesn't cast any shade on it's certain light. There is only one living thing, one life. We are it.

Happy New Year.