Quantum Shaman: I Rant In Your General Direction

I've toyed with the idea of creating a blog that would be totally truthful - not just with regard to this path but with regard to life, death, the universe and everything in between. Problem is - nobody is really interested in The Truth According to Me. Nobody is interested in much of anything, it seems. We no longer live in a world of curiosity and imagination, but a world of technological entitlement and instant gratification. Maybe some would consider that a forward step in evolution, but I don't see it that way.

As a child growing up in a rural environment, we had a little black and white tv that got 3 channels if somebody wanted to stand behind the box and hold the rabbit ears just-so, while simultaneously tap-dancing on one foot and praying to the weather gods to send a storm, because for some strange reason, reception was always better when it was raining. Go figure. It was a simpler time - when kids had no alternative but to use their imagination if they wanted to entertain themselves. So we read books and told made-up stories to our stuffed animals or baby dolls or teddy bears, or whatever we had that passed for friends to a kid growing up in the middle of bumphuk, geographical center of nowhere. In hindsight, even then we were summoning the twin (the shaman's double, the dreaming body, the higher self) - telling him or her who and what to be, filling them with all our wonder and inspiration and love of the unknown.

I honestly believe it was imagination and a longing for something outside myself (a reflection, a companion, a friend - even if invisible) that sparked my interest in the things that can't be found in an x-box or an app or a smart phone. We were forced to use our minds rather than just our organic brains. We were forced to create some manner of reality (even if "fantasy") - perhaps as a matter of simple emotional/spiritual/intellectual survival. Otherwise, life was an endless stream of dayshine demands - rattled out of bed at 7:05, dress for school, attend class where most of the other kids were already mouth-breathing little zombies absorbed by the clutches of religions or their parents' beliefs, a hearty school lunch at noon (gold star if you don't throw up), time in the yard at one, back to the confining cement block walls a bit later, then onto the vomit-scented yellow bus, home again home again jiggity jig, then supper and bed and do it all over again.

Whether school or job or simply the drudgery in any human life, makes little difference. Unless we use our imagination to break out of the prison, we are nothing more than nasty little turds stuck in the constipated asshole of The Machine. The Matrix. The Consensual Reality. Whatever you call it - we are its keepers and its slaves for as long as we agree to the agreement that holds us captive to our own self-limiting beliefs and practices.

Nothing here that I haven't said a thousand times before. My friends (if I have any left) would say that I'm preaching to the choir or jerking off to the same old porno mag, which is just an ugly reflection of all the things we pretend to desire, or even believe we desire, but which are nothing more than hollow placebos shoved down our throats by a society that worships YouTube and beautiful people and Facebook and shitty rap music and violence and hatred and drugs (whether street-grade or prescription makes no difference) and The Almighty Dick or The Sacred Pussy... and all of it is nothing more than the scribblings of the brute with the scythe, written on our headstones while we're jabbering and hammering our high and mighty worthless opinion to some total stranger on some social networking site, daring to think for a moment that any of it makes one iota of difference.

It doesn't. Never has. Never will. Just the background noise we hum to ourselves while waiting for It. What is "It?" Death, of course. The End. Cue the minor-keyed fanfare and release the hounds of hell. The problem is - "It" has been shoved under the rug and conveniently kept out of sight for so long that most humans in the west seldom if ever see "It" until "It" is staring them in the face. And yet, I ask myself if it would make any difference if they did see "It"... and the answer is always a resounding, "Nope! Are you kidding? We don't want to look at Death when we can be looking at celebrity foibles and who's fucking whom in the White House, and speculate as to what the final outcome of Breaking Bad will be. I mean - Walt White isn't really dead - can't be! - because I need my fucking fix just like all those blue meth junkies need their stuff, so somebody needs to get off their lily white ass and get me what I need and I mean right fucking now!"

But of course, all that is only the tip of the diseased dick. Let's talk about why I'm really in a rotten mood right now. And, yes, for the record, I know perfectly well that none of this matters, nobody is really listening, and if they are listening out of sheer boredom, nobody gives a rat's fried ass, and that is exactly as it should be. I'm not looking for answers or even helpful suggestions. I am already well-aware that this is a solitary journey, and that the journey will eventually cost the seeker everything. That, boys and girls, is a truth that is too true - and if you think it won't happen to you, you need to rethink your faulty thinking.

The reason this path costs you everything is because once you really see through all the bullshit, all the overlays and transparencies, and you actually see the world as it is, you alternate between laughing and crying and throwing fragile things against the walls of your cell (the one which is all around you, but has no bars or windows) just to see if you can break something sharp enough to use as a blade to cut your miserable wrists. But on the heels of that absurd notion comes the counterpoint, which makes you scoop up a stray kitten, clutch it to your chest, and weep with joy until your eyes bleed, because it is the most perfect and most vulnerable lifeform on the planet. It's just a creature struggling to get through its day (just like you), and if you disrespect that lifeform or its journey, then you are no better than a green shit floating on the putrid surface of the River Styx.

The other thing is this: once you really see through it all, nothing has any value anymore. There is nothing in the material world left to want, because it is all just heaps of garbage with one single mission – to distract you from whatever may exist that does have some meaning. And, of course, finding that is the quest for the holy grail. It's right in front of us, but we don't see it because we don't know how to look, or we're still locked into some belief system of what we think we're looking for, and so we fail to see that what we are craving with a crack addict's ferocity is love.

If you rolled your eyes or you mumbled to yourself, "Love doesn't exist," then you are in the wrong place. It's appalling to me that a lot of the current generation doesn't believe in love. They don't "make love." They "hook up." They don't "fall in love." They "get serious." They don't make loving commitments. They sign marriage contracts.

And then they wonder why they live in a world of hollow-eyed zombies who trample one another for a flat screen tv on Black Friday. They wonder why they have no real sense of happiness or even human contentment, but must live vicariously through their children. Dance lessons. Piano lessons. Soccer practice. Little League. Girl Scouts. Boy Scouts. Church camps and smores and all the trappings of a normal life... but there is nothing normal about it because it isn't real.

Both the child and the parents lose all sense of imagination because there is nothing left to imagine, and all the participants have been reduced to the lowest common denominator of humanform existence, which might be best described as a living death. Where there is no love, where there is no passion, there is no Life.

So what the path really ends up costing the seeker is any illusion of meaning – which is perhaps more easily recognized during the holidays, when all the little 2-legged animals are rushing about, going through the motions of happiness, yet completely oblivious to the fact that they died a long time ago, when they bought into the dominant paradigm and sold their soul to the dayshine world and went back to the matrix for nothing more than that juicy steak.

There is no purpose to this rant. It exists only because I chose to call it into being – for my own satisfaction, an attempt to scratch that impossible itch which every seeker knows all too well. It's only the tip of that fatal iceberg, scrawled in blood on the surface of the ocean, quickly disappearing and altogether insignificant.

So, knowing all of this, why would the seeker want to live forever?

The answer is simple – for those who choose to see it. I could tell you, but I'm going to leave it to your imagination.

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