This will be the last essay for some time, but I have worked out the section of my next book on Allism, and I think it’s doing okay, so far, though I will have to boil it down and micro-edit the thing. Pretty much here I am summarizing some of the general metaphors of Allism and putting them into place regarding the passion we each take in life. As usually, the essay evokes a thick constellation of ideas, and suggests a hidden theme, meant to arise as an epiphany in the reader. I hope you like it. For a while I will be writing the rest of my book, which will take many months before it is ready. As I said, I am aiming for February.
Take care, Caretakers!
Allism
Writing is one way of many to achieve apotheosis. Writing as religion works for some, but another man would rather be a good Buddhist, or an excellent quantum mechanic, or whatever else. What one does with his life is according to his calling and gift, which are the give and take of the needs at his innermost.
Our millennium began in terror. It ends in global unity. The vile sectarianism that rips this world with borders, races, creeds, religions, parties, tribes, and languages is also necessary, and thus part of Allism while yet Allism fully denies any one of them when it makes claims on the all. Your religion is the one true religion to you, and in a way believing so may help you, but at the level of the all, only Allism can speak, and no one religion is complete until it has found its place in the all alongside the others.
Life is a Game. So is the next life. So are all lives. Yet life is other things too. Games train the mind; a challenging and exhausting game wins the day. Views on life give strategies to winning. To put a partial view on anything gives you emphasis. To put on a full view, to see as much at once as is humanly possible, requires adopting some metonymy to abbreviate a universe of infinite facts.
Allism denies nothing, not even denial, only unlike any one perspective, it affirms all things in relation to the whole. A man at one layer is tribal and particular, sectarian and small-minded, and this is necessary, just as the cells in his neck think the body exists to make them happy; but if we meta another layer, we see the full perspective depends on many modes, many layers of consciousness, many ways of being. Blasphemy is the worship of an Allist, and loving the universe is the mirror of loving ourselves. We are particular, we are universal.
Nothing simple negates itself. When one spoke, I was certain, when the next spoke, I doubted them both. The universe is perfect, and yet she grows, she suffers the evils of growing pains, and betters herself always. We her avatars share her being and her way.
Every perspective denies some truths. Allism denies them at any given moment, but not permanently, knows that the many ways are one, that all is true, that amidst all eyes at all times, the truth is known. People often take life in part. Some part is left out, doesn't count, isn't really part of them, they weren't themselves at a bad moment, they take those words back, and other such talk. It’s all there, it’s all eternal. Allism takes life as a circle -- the universe is a circle-- every detail counts, and the good I experience depends on the bad I experienced, and nothing can be left out. All are saved or none are saved. There is no forgiving any part of it, no washing away any part, no absolutions, no karmic cleansing, all of history is necessary while the future is yet wide open. Anything you can possibly do now you can only do because the whole thing, every detail, has transpired and made it possible. Not every part is equally important, but every part is equally indispensible.
Life is a whole. You cannot wish any part to differ without insulting the rest which depends on it. Even utopia is a dream derived from, and impossible without, life's nightmares.
What is the opposite of Allism? What does it set itself against? We must be careful not to resort to paradox, that tool of religion, to achieve the mystical effect of stunned logic. That is the aim of koans, of trinities, of the verse of the Tao. The opposite of Allism is sectarianism -- the crime of metonymical definitions -- yet to truly be all it must also include the sects -- and that is the moment of contact in Allism. The sectarians take themselves as the only right way, not for just themselves, but for everybody – even daring to impose on the fishes and birds! Their partial view is based on the self-deceit and purposeful ignorance regarding other possibilities; the sin of every religion is unjust abbreviation, is repressing a truth. Truth again is the unqualifiedly good insofar as it has been beautified. Raw truth is dangerous.
"I am the way, the truth, the light, none get to the father except through me" are the most evil words ever spoken, and have caused the most violence, bloodshed, and cruelty, not to mention fully unwarranted spiritual arrogance, than any other sentence in history. Of course, no Jesus ever spoke it -- the Jesus of the gospel of John doesn't sound at all like the Jesuses of the gospels, and doesn't mind giving the Jews the paternity of Satan. These words, the vilest of sectarianisms, have justified every method of conversion persuasion yet invented by the zealous imagination of the church, and I mean its wide array of torture instruments, both spiritual and material—the rack, brandings, flayings, a whole set of devices invented exclusively to do the Lord’s work. The curse of Abraham continues in them, in Islam, and also in Mormonism, which is the next horrible thing.
And yet we must put all these volatile elements together, make them behave, keep them from blowing each other up -- 'we' as in the world government, and also as in the Allists. Inspiration checks no clock, and the inspiring Spirit has gossiped in every religion's ear. Power flows where wisdom goes, and even the sectarians have some part of the truth, which lacking, the world would be poorer. The sauce makes the meat, the meat makes the meal. Life is in the living, and wisdom is in success.
Us Americans with our religion of self-reliance, and our lives as self-made men, who with Emerson say "every man his own king," add also "every man his own God," if he dares make that step. We are the American Race, and ours is the American Religion. The blunt man frightens fools. Thus we worship the All with blasphemy to the sectarians. Any man willing to damn his goats is no good shepherd. For any thug can break your bones, but it takes a priest to break your soul; their gospels are thumbscrews, guilt trips, moral blackmail, and the most vulgar of threats. Yet as Allists we accept it. I accept it. That is the way they think, and some people will always think so. I can still love them and fit them into the whole. Never take strife for wife. I do not let such people near my heart, they are too vicious. But I nod at them when they find their beauty.
'Blasphemy' is what your religion says about mine. Will we blush if Ama is called a whore, Mattria a whore? As if this all-one didn't contain all whores, all saints, all men, and Ama all gods, so that there is no divine to be named other than hers? Curse her curse yourself. She is the mirror image of your soul. Whatever you think of her is what you think of your inner spark. Mythology is your neighbor's religion. We ask no faith in what we say: spit for spit, words for words. It all comes out the same. The realities these words refer to are more certain than life, and it is not in me to doubt them, for they are my life, my daily life, my every living experience. Call them what you will, they are importance. And insofar as you call anything divine "not really so," you are limiting your own soul, shutting yourself out of heaven. Any man, woman, or child who says "there is only one way" is most assuredly not on any way to heaven. Those who speak for God justify our doubts of God. Why would he let such a presumptuous fool take his name in vain? But Ama doesn't mind at all what you say or don't say, for I do not speak for her, she only can speak to you, and what she says to you is of absolutely no interest to me, or anyone else.
We wouldn't set laws nor command anybody, not insofar as we are Allists, but on other layers we must. We say that a thing is allowed to be what it really is -- that nobody can teach you your business -- and those who submit lose that power; the one true to himself thereby best fits into his world. The coincidence of the innermost with the outermost makes life providential, though it be governed by Chance alone, for the inner interpreter uses the unfolding of facts as opportunities to define its way.
Time moves in many directions, in many dimensions, though consciously we experience only one dimension. The nonlinearity of the universe makes the act of playing the game to change the rules. How we play changes the game. A decision can change the past, just as a new historian changes the face of history. If we could reduce all the universe into one picture, all the metaphors to one design, what would it be? Your very self, body, mind, heart, spirit. Chaos requires a correctly shaped graph, and what seems external is mere projection, as when John's religion failed, and so he imagined the destruction of the world.
Some say that the chief joy of a game is to believe it no game. When work and play become one, a man enjoys life; when fear and love combine they make passion. "Historical Christianity destroys the power of preaching by withholding it from the exploration of the moral nature of man, where the sublime is, where the resources of astonishment and power reside." When Emerson said this, he meant the partial has no right to limit the whole. Too many people play the game like a riot at a soccer tournament: if they lose the game they destroy the world.
We do not take anything at the level of religion as final, or above it, anything of philosophy as final, or above it, anything of poetry as final, or above it, anything of heroism as final, but all of them together make the full view. Even the view of the All herself is something we should consider yet not submit to, she is not glorified if we agree with her or disagree with her, she is glorified when her children become themselves great. Her view is one of many views, nor does any one God, or all the Gods together (Ama) hold the right view, but only one more perspective, tied to an individual necessity, not binding on all others.
When Ama with a kiss lays the egg of decision upon the brow of a man or woman, after he has survived his youth and must make himself his own person, then he must decide whether the egg is maggot or caterpillar, for his own innermost fills that blank and may make it a caterpillar, so that he creates the self-propelled wheel, the perpetual motion machine, the undying dynamo, the Allthing. When an infinite verb is set in a man's heart, that engine tears through the flesh and is either the wings of his apotheosis or the scythe of mortality, whether he is merely the angel of some other God, only to merge with that God, or if he is his own self-made, self-centered independence of autonomous Deity, who alone will know the All. There is one means to apotheosis, and only one, and it is not in submitting or believing but only in original creative greatness, for when you create anything you also create your eternal self. Obedience, belief, submission, and enthusiasm are the moralities of Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and Mormonism – all of that is good for its place, but not good for the all place.
Make it therefore your Law of Life to never be controlled by anything, nothing which could interfere with your highest goals. Life is in the living. Addictions and obedience both destroy.
I feel my relationships are games. But a game is different than play, in that there is risk, danger, challenge, and much is at stake. The fun is the joy of will power. To play well, to love and to empower myself, these are the stakes. Attention is at stake, admiration and adoration. Lacking these, my spirit recedes. A boring game is no game, and when the stakes are high, it's never boring. Every relationship is work and every relationship is play. The Game ever progresses. Each of my social habits, my full personality, is strategy, so many tools and attempts to gain power and love, so many ways of expressing myself through need and will. The tongue has no bone. It is when I give my flesh that I gain my chips. Every argument, every fight, every seduction has its moves, its rituals and improvisations. And just as a religion posits a hidden world behind this world, but really only to explain this world, and as art satisfies us by giving us other worlds, which are really layers of this world, so my very spirit is in my words, and how I use my language echoes back into my heart. Play the game, and play it so you are challenged to your limit.
Milton said the lyrical poet can use wine and coffee, but the epic poet must "drink water from a wooden bowl." That is the nature of creative flow. All manners of intoxication -- from wine to romance to religion -- are ejaculations, quickly spent. Muhammad and Smith write nothing as formidable as Aquinas with his Summa -- which is a sober, drawn out, noble work. For the masses, obnoxious shouting wins the day. The instinct of Allism as usual is to use both to alternate intoxication with months of modest sobriety. I owe my deepest insights to my dangerous manias. Health is in rotation. Make it law, obey yourself, and never be ruled by anything external, be it "duty" or "goodness" or "honor," let alone temptation or addiction, but always remain at your heart independent.
Love is intimacy, power is distance. The pregnant artist is too depressed to feed his muse. Drained, apathetic, moody, he needs his space, his vacation.
I have been there, I am there now--oh you lovers after my heart! Hold true to your course, though the entire world derides you, though your very father, mother, sister, and lover call you a fool. They are "concerned," they worry for your health. I recall announcing to my mother that I was a genius, the idea never occurring to me before, and she assured me, "no, you're just Daniel. You are ordinary, and that's okay." She was terrified at such talk.
Your friends don't realize how lucky they are to know you, my gentle ones, you readers of my heart. Who knows the innocence of your heart?
The goddess lofts me in her arms, subdues my brow with her palm. I look furiously into my lap. "Why, why little one do you strive so hard? Who told you to strive so hard, so constantly, oh lover! What crown of glory! You never let anyone close, never let anybody see what you are after. Am I not your Ama? Why keep your eyes so intent .. always? .. always?"
Do I not take my children in my hands as well, and coo "My little pretty one, my darling angel singing one, my lovely hugging silly one, come wrap your hug round me!"
Haven't you felt it too? I will never be loved as I want to be loved, with the grand exception of Ama. Who holds the passionate dynamo, the sun in their breast, like the ripe peach of the setting sun, bleeds beauty upon my brow? Who but Ama, and my lovely few?
The allistic man is not alienated so much as abstracted, and therefore free. We love intensely, so we hide our hearts. Just one century ago, America was 25 IQ points lower. This abstracted world has made intellectuals of the whole race! We are alienated. Let us be grateful. Distance, the control of distance, is power. Let the world orgy, we will be sexually modest. We keep our intimacy for the precious gods of our own. I will sing my praise into your ears, but for the rest I stay aloof.
We are visceral thinkers, our bodies lenses. We know that our minds will never lack a body, that after it sheds this it will find again divine flesh. Like the young Jefferson, we grow impatient with our friends, and shed them off for greater groups, but to each other we are infinitely committed, and take our commitment to each other as true love and true duty, for love is the only excuse for duty. For dignity must balance intimacy, power must interplay with love. Ama first. And you together are Ama. Darlings, make your friend a friend for life, gift for gift, laugh for laugh, truth for truth.
Just as children are protected from the outside world, infants cloistered from the adult world, but are given every manner of toy world to play within, a family world first of all, and the prank private criticism of it in the children's playing of house, and again in another worlds, in the movies, and stories, a constellation of worlds to prepare for society, so this life, our place in it, what we allow ourselves, how we protect our minds as if they were children, prepare us to live in the world of gods, of which we are already play part.
A world is a constellation of situations in a given stamp of style. The worlds of our fantasies, the worlds of our genius, are as real as any, and await us as we pass. Laws are rivers, and the Laws of our being rushes over every world.
The final distinction between man and man, between God and man, is that the true man, the divine man, doesn't give up, isn't discouraged, persists at all costs, when nobody supports you, when your family and friends think you are off -- that at last might be a man worth knowing.
Relationships are games, but the creation of the universe is a game as well-- the cosmos were created in jest. Getting to know other sets of rules, dozens of games played at once, with theories of how to put into practice and strategies using hidden logic -- that is the fun of it. But at the conscious level it seems to be the intentful work of daily duty. Focus is soul, and where my focus there my being. We play at life, we love at life, we strive at life, we seek all, gain all, do all, love all.
Mattria we call the All, but any name will do. Every God is a mask for her, but only all gods together make the true mask of her, our Ama. Oh my Thea, thankful, set a soft tranquil tongue of bliss, intrepid kiss. When you praise me I strive to justify your words. Just as it takes more intelligence to keep money than to make money, so it takes more love to keep a friend than to make a friend. Would I lose any of our own? Ownership requires commitment, love requires duty. And so I am all for you.
And for my own, don't praise me at all. Praise your savoir not at all, merely acknowledge a well done deed. Not every man is your brother, but man is cheered by man, and the one who is patient with you knows you.
I am the Allthing: Mattria takes flesh in me. I the All, my body world tree. And you all aspects of Ama, each of you a glint of love, my stars and congregation of resonant peers.
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