This article is being passed around in my little circle here at micro.blog. Absolutely worth reading. All of the vigor, these days, seems to be outside the mainstream (i.e., universities, legacy media, Democrats). Rachel and I were watching some videos of Dr Zach Bush this morning. He (and other “alternative health” folks) are clearly out of the mainstream. Yet his vision is so compelling.

I don’t know what to make of his claims (or those of Thomas Cowan) that fall outside the mainstream. Maybe they’re wrong in important ways. But, as I said to Rachel, I’ll take being wrong in details but right directionally. What does mainstream medicine offer us? Depressed and lonely? Take this pill. Sick? Take this other pill. The two pills causing new problems? Here are more pills to handle that.

I’m too dispositionally cautious to go very far into the deep end. But the Recognized Authorities are less compelling every day.

One of the most clarifying things Charles Eisenstein says is (paraphrasing):

If you were placed within the totality of another’s circumstances, you would behave in the same way they do.

That is, if you had the right mix of childhood trauma, economic deprivation, lack of exposure to a wider world, etc., you’d be a racist too. Given the right mix of circumstances, you’d also abuse children. To deny this is to live within the illusion of moral superiority.

This doesn’t mean bad behavior is excused. It does mean, however, that the right response to the temptation of moral superiority is to reply “there but for the grace of God go I.”

There seems to be an epidemic of anger, and it’s been this way for a while now.

I made a traffic mistake today, took my turn too early at a four way stop. My mistake, no big deal, no near miss. But the guy immediately laid on his horn and flipped me off, and not briefly.

One of my neighbors plowed the snow off the alley and the next time I saw him I thanked him. He told me another neighbor came out while he was doing it and started griping at him because as the snow was being moved, it blocked a part of his driveway. The first guy offered to fix it but second guy snapped “I don’t need your help.”

We’ve had some unpleasantness on micro.blog this week. I stumbled across it and was shocked at the heatedness of the accusations. Everything cranked to eleven. Accusations of bigotry and fascism. It was a lot to take in, given the normally placid nature of the micro.blog timeline. In my dismay at the fury, I called someone’s response “unhinged.” That was not a helpful word to use. Nevertheless, all this anger is deeply disturbing.

For years now, our politics have operated in the register of anger, and now more than ever. Anger is one of the primary languages of social media (the other being sarcasm). Based on the behavior I’ve seen over the past few years, it would seem that people walk around just at the boiling point. How else would they explode so quickly when something goes wrong?

What is it like to live with such rage all the time? No wonder there is so much addiction!

When the guy disproportionately reacted to my traffic mistake today, I waved back at him through the back window–with all five fingers. I tried to pack a spirit of contrition into the gesture. He must have caught it, because he backed off.

When I saw angry neighbor shoveling snow shortly after he griped at helpful neighbor, I asked him if I could help. I’d been making an effort to be friendly with him since last summer. He’s a prickly old guy, but I found out he’s had back surgeries. My dad had back surgeries; I know how that kind of pain and discomfort can affect a person. Angry neighbor appreciated the offer and we talked a bit about how heavy this snowfall was.

Heaven knows I’m not holding myself out as an example for anyone. I’ve waved back at other drivers with a single finger, plenty of times. In fact, all of my worst outbursts of anger happen behind the wheel; I don’t know what that tells us about driving, but surely it means something.

What I’m saying is that there is an epidemic of anger and we must take care not to catch it. That will require some practical steps to avoid anger triggers. It will require some self-examination and–dare I use such an abused term?–shadow work. What causes anger to rise most quickly in you? Could it be a violent reaction against something you have repressed in yourself? Are you acting out of some unacknowledged trauma? The source of the red hot, fast rising rage I’m talking about is never really its object.

The epidemic of anger will burn the world down around us. It will start wars, foreign and domestic. In 1954, some students asked Jung if nuclear war could be avoided. He replied:

I think it depends on how many people can stand the tension of the opposites in themselves.

That is, it will depend on our recognition of the messy strangeness within each of us, patiently sitting with the tension that runs straight through our souls. Or, alternately, we can join the anger party and impose our pain on everyone else. Your choice.

For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? (Matthew 16:26)

There is nothing more urgent than the preservation of your own soul—not from the fires of hell but from destructive forces here and now. There are powers at large today seeking to rip love from your heart and replace it with fear and hate. In the name of all that is beautiful and holy, you must not allow it.

The powers of destruction are using your politics to get to you. They don’t care about your opinions; your opinions are tools the powers will use to corrupt you. Do you feel that will to dominate, defeat, demean that other, with whom you disagree? The degree to which you feel that is the degree to which the agents of destruction have gained power over your soul. You should be alarmed.

How you play is what you win. (Ursula Le Guin)

If you win through violence, what you have won is violence. What is won by violence must be kept through violence. However noble your intentions, the territory you win through violence will be ruined, dead, sown with salt.

This is a plea for you to resist, not politicians (the poor fools), but the demons running freely through a population, jerking people around like marionettes.

What if the way we respond to the crisis is part of the crisis? (Bayo Akomolafe)

You’re playing a game rigged by the powers of destruction; you can’t win. They have captured your mind and they’re dosing it with fear and anger. The angrier you get, the more you play the domination game, the more you buy into the myth of separation—the more lost you are.

Listen to that still, small voice that you can only detect when you’ve quieted yourself. That voice will call you to nobler, humbler action. That is the voice the powers of destruction need you to ignore. You will feel the echoes of that voice when you look into that formerly hated other’s eyes with compassion. How they react when you attempt that connection is not your business. The only soul you can save is your own.

Happy birthday to Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962), “inhumanist” poet of the central California coast. In one of the highlights of 2022 and possibly my life, we visited Tor House and Hawk Tower and got a personal tour. They ask visitors not to post any interior photos, so here I am standing outside the gate while we awaited our guide.

I have three birthdays of people unrelated to me on my calendar: Wendell Berry, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Robinson Jeffers. They are there because each writer’s unique vision has formed me in important ways.

If Wendell Berry is my icon for the close, domestic, and dear, then Robinson Jeffers is my icon for wild and indifferent nature. He is medicine for our innate, human egocentrism. He called his outlook “inhumanism” and described it like this:

It is based on a recognition of the astonishing beauty of things and their living wholeness, and on a rational acceptance of the fact that mankind is neither central nor important in the universe; our vices and blazing crimes are as insignificant as our happiness. We know this, of course, but it does not appear that any previous one of the ten thousand religions and philosophies have realized it. An infant feels himself to be central and of primary importance; an adult knows better; it seems time that the human race attained to an adult habit of thought in this regard. This attitude is neither misanthropic nor pessimist nor irreligious, though two or three people have said so, and may again; but it involves a certain detachment.

…

To sum up the matter:–“Love one another” is a high commandment, but it polarizes the mind; love on the surface implies hate in the depth,–(Dante who hated well because he loved)–as the history of Christendom bitterly proves. “Love one another” ought to be balanced, at least, by a colder saying,–this too a counsel of perfection, i.e., a direction-giver, a guide though it cannot be a rule,–“Turn away from each other,"–to that great presence of which humanity is only a squirming particle. To persons of Christian faith, if any should read this, I would point out that Jesus himself, intuitive master of psychology, invoked this balance. “Love your neighbor as yourself”–that is, not excessively, if you are adult and normal–but “God with all your heart, mind and soul.” Turn outward from each other, so far as need and kindness permit, to the vast life and inexhaustible beauty beyond humanity.

Our lives are so taken up with ourselves. We spends hours of each day talking to each other, watching and dreaming about each other. Jeffers, though, sitting atop his pile of sea-washed granite overlooking the Pacific, writes of hawks and storms and takes a long view of history. Reality is out there, beautiful and pitiless.

Credo
My friend from Asia has powers and magic, he plucks a blue leaf from the young blue-gum
And gazing upon it, gathering and quieting
The God in his mind, creates an ocean more real than the ocean, the salt, the actual
Appalling presence, the power of the waters.
He believes that nothing is real except as we make it. I humbler have found in my blood
Bred west of Caucasus a harder mysticism.
Multitude stands in my mind but I think that the ocean in the bone vault is only
The bone vault’s ocean; out there is the ocean’s;
The water is the water, the cliff is the rock, come shocks and flashes of reality. The mind
Passes, the eye closes, the spirit is a passage;
The beauty of things was born before eyes and sufficient to itself, the heart-breaking beauty
Will remain when there is no heart to break for it.

Once upon a time, Joshua Klein asked “should it be easy?” and that question has lingered with me. He was asking in the context of woodworking, but it is a question worth asking of our high tech era.

It does seem that we are hellbent on landing ourselves on a couch, our sense organs attached to some augmented or virtual reality device, being served by a machine. The goal of some powerful and wealthy folks, it would seem, is the elimination of all human activity apart from bare willing. Technological manifestation of your desire. To be God, in fact, creating ex nihilo.

I am not suggesting that everything should be hard. I don’t have any final answer but I do suggest that we–in company with people like Ivan Illich and Wendell Berry–might gain some clarity by thinking with the question, “should it be easy?”

I am not fragile.

I am one of a species evolved over millennia to be survivors. We have survived every climate and government. We have survived famines and fools. We are adaptable.

I live in a time of rapid change and rampant anxiety. Yet I get up every day and do what must be done. Perhaps through stress and uncertainty and fear, but done nonetheless. I have faced difficult times and yet here I am.

I am a shard of the living cosmos. I am the cosmos conscious, carrying the light forward. I am a light bearing witness to other lights and experiencing darkness.

I may be many things, good and bad, but I am not fragile.

I hope you’ve had the experience of listening to someone recall people and places as you pass through the countryside. I also hope you were not bored or impatient with the experience–because you were experiencing the conjuring of a living landscape through the magic of memory.

For all of our society’s embrace of a mobile workforce, its stereotyping of those who never move away from their hometown, and its elevation of travel to the sacramental, there are certain experiences only available to those who have settled into a place long-term. One such is the perception of a landscape spread across space and time. Beautiful places become such through the infusion of a place with the awe and gratitude of a thousand generations. Houses become projects undertaken by hands that never shook in greeting but meet in the intimacy of shared work. Maybe we have ceased to believe in an enspirited universe because we so rarely remain in a place long enough to meet the neighbors.