Who will be the first to stop the old ways?
Will it be they, who, from the beast having turned over its back, are thrown from the existent order? If nothing else, yes, it will be this.
Will those who take themselves off of the animal of burden, voluntarily, will they be spared?
No, not unless they could reach the necessary height, meet the necessary escape velocity, and even then, they would have to make a life on the Moon, or Mars, or the equally incalculable inhospitable conditions of deep within the Earth, or in space, living within something like a tin can… and such a life would have to be of the overman;
Unlike our lives today, these which must merely be lived for the Ubermench, lives (ideally) lived in preparation for his, for their arrival (from within, not from without — though the overman might well be aliens of other worlds, to our own, he is native; he is the next man of humanity), those who live in the next home for man, these men (used in the sense of humanity, therefore, I absolutely mean all humans, irrespective of sex or gender) cannot be of the old ways, they must be wholly of the new way, the new way of Being, and being human.
For, to escape death, here, only to die elsewhere of the same terrible disease of the mind?
How terrible, how terrible and foolish, selfish.
Mmm, it is this terror, this greed, this ugliness that makes this place, presently, so defunct, so fucked, respectively.
Not fucked in the absolute sense, no. But, mmm, well, actually, yes, we might be in such a dire position as to say that our situation is totally fucked.
Where was I?
Oh yes, the most evolutionarily-advanced form of life has woken up, but, we’ve merely woken from a dream within a dream, and woke, we are not. As such, with our industry, our commerce, with our focus on the days of the life of existence, rather than existence writ large…
And so we poison the ocean… poison the air… mmm, worst of all, we poison our minds, the minds of one another.
Will God save us? Perhaps, perhaps not.
Of course, God walks among us, God is (among other / all things) Man, Himself.
For, in my view, God is Nature, and Nature God. Man? Man is nature, and nature God, and, therefore, God is man.
Yes, God is the trees, but the trees cannot speak but to grow, to die, to blossom, to give fruit, to give no fruit, to die.
It is God, it is Nature as Man that allows Nature, that allows God, the Cosmos to speak.
And what does He/She/They say?
Does Nature tell us to love? Does nature tell us to respect life, to preserve and cherish what we have been given, what we have found ourselves growing out of?
Sometimes, but, so too does this God say “fake news”, “not in my backyard”, and “fuck you, I’m here to get mine”.
Because He will speak and think and act as we do.
By poisoning our minds, by turning toward greed, shortsighted views, collectively, we have put these words and thoughts into our collective mind.
And, like an infection in the body, the illness moved to our collective mind, to our God, and he was made ill, too.
Love your fellow man, find kind paths to take, find difficult heights to ascend… persevere, work to make this place cleaner, healthier, and of love, a love that wants to fight, to fight to live for good and right, to fight to survive, to survive with meaning; to use mere subsistence when it must be so, and then to get back up, and to, again, to always seek The Good.
It is this allegiance to The Good, to knowledge thereof that will heal our collective, to right the mind of Nature, such that we may know one another as we can and ought, as family, as fingers upon the hand that keeps us, as leaves upon the tree that gives life.
God is the good that we give to one another.
Salvation will only ever come from the good thoughts, the noble actions of men like you and I.
Eventually, this animal on which we hoard our resources, on whose back we have wars, military operations, pipelines, hostile takeovers, value to shareholders over value proper… eventually we either have to get off the animal’s back, to help it recover, and to care for it, as well as ourselves, or, we just do as we are known to do… and we do so until the animal collapses, until Mother Earth, or our will to go on passes some threshold beyond which there is nothing but stars, rocks, gas, just thoughtless stuff, going on and on and on, until some of it can, for a time, struggle between the base, thoughtless lower nature… and the far more difficult, more useful, uniquely beautiful higher nature which brings me and my thoughts to stir, each and every morning.
And even in such a light, one must be hopeful in their conclusion that life just pops up, that the vastness of time and space are such that we can afford to let the ~13.7 billion monkeys writing on an equal number of typewriters lose their copy of the Magna Carta, of the works of Shakespeare… because, surely, the incalculable causal and random events and special conditions which brought everything to be, and, to be from nothing, oh, that it can and will just happen again, right?
That’s some guess.
It’s a hope.
It’s a hope born of fear. Fear, not of death, not of permanent cosmic annihilation, perhaps not even of the cessation of all known life, of civilization, and, as we understand it, possibility itself… no, the fear most high, most moving, most terrible… that is the fear that you know the wrong that you do, your culpability, the blood and Earth and history on your hands.
Out, out damn spot?
Leave your hands unwashed.
Let the sun, let the moon light your hands pf crimson.
Guilty are we all.
Precious is this all.
The only way through is by living, individually, collectively, as conscious of our crimes, our ugly desires, our complacency.
Life is precious. Life as you and I know it? God… I know of no sin greater than to let all of this be for naught.
Just daily thoughts, these.
Beautiful, all of it, everything, everyone.
If only we could love it all in the way that such beauty deserves.
We can. Some do. We will.
I have hope, hope and love.