After passing through an area where fiery talons reached down from the boughs and tried to snatch me upward, I came to a kind of misty clearing where I saw in the distance what seemed to be a large serpent slithering away into the deep entanglement. I spotted a many-colored waterfall on its back, where aurora water gushed from its bowels onto the forest floor.
On this high holy day of American nationalism, I wonder what lies ahead for us. I am not, by nature, a pessimist. But what I’ve been witnessing in America the past 10 years leads me to think we are on the precipice of disaster, at least in exoteric terms.
Since 2008, we have seen one of the greatest transfers of wealth the world has ever known, from the lower and middle classes into the hands of the very wealthy. Where will it end? How much is enough? All of this wealth could be used to provide good lives for all human beings, but, instead, it is horded by those bent on egoism.
No, I’m not feeling very patriotic today. I suppose I’m feeling a little ill. I’m tired of seeing the rich get their way at the expense of the rest of us. I’m tired of seeing politicians enabling the greed of the wealthy. I’m tired of the lies, the broken promises, the twisted facts. I am finished with placing my hope in politicians. They will fail every time.
There isn’t really anything we can do exoterically., except to come to terms with the world as it is. What we are seeing is the nature of society. Our social structure has been constructed over several thousand years and will not change anytime soon. The only way out is the way in.
If enough of us turn inward and unite, the world can be changed. We must learn about the inner planes and meet each other there. World changes always come within before they manifest without.
Sitting here at my desk, trying to write something, not necessarily for you, dear reader, but for me. I find that the act of writing is illuminating. I receive insight into myself as thoughts come into consciousness and are typed onto this page. I close my eyes and listen to what might come next.
I think of stream-of-consciousness writing, which I have attempted before. It’s a good practice because it emanates directly from the unconscious mind. I can read it as symbolic communication from my deep inner self. I can attempt to understand it, but that’s not always important. The feelings I have when the images arise take precedence. In the same way art moves the soul, so do images painted by the unconscious.
To me, images are the key to understanding both ourselves and the universe in general. But, understanding is not a good word for it because it carries the implication of thorough and exact meaning, as in science. I am not of the opinion that such knowledge can be attained concerning the psyche. Not ultimately, anyway. I see knowledge being gleaned through more of a phenomenological approach.