Words to open the third door of perception to how our persistence of vision weaves a blurred veil between metabolisms that fills the void of minute atomic galaxies with light trails of motion so rapid as to be mistaken for flesh and makes any flesh of planetary galaxies invisibly thin and too slow to see, as we reside always in the exact center supposing in all directions. It is to laugh — this irony of intending to find the origin of our purpose in life when our true, natural origin emerges only when intention no longer originates to shade our view, and enables us to bear fair witness to just what it is that merely being does.
All the rest of one’s life is a painting of that perception — with audience and critics less or more in mind. Leaving in our happy mistakes allows our being to appear through a hole in our doing despite the barrage of rotten tomatoes from the sideshow of society. While the art of being may leave artifacts, only artifice begs interpretation or deserves judgment. As Magritte wrote upon his painting, “This is not a pipe,” knowing how society can view civilization and believe it is observing nature. Civilization is the crude portrait of humanity as painted by a committee — brilliant splashes of color by individual heretics being engulfed by the gray smog of moral compromise for the protection, control and shearing of the largest possible number of the lowest common denominator for the profit, security and convenience of the smallest possible number for the highest common dominator.
It is a game one must play if not born among humans living as naturally as the rest of the animals. Ignoring the game requires expending the energy of intentional blindness. One may move away from the grid, but the relief will always flavor the wilderness. Since we can only become feral . . . never truly wild again . . . we could steal some of the goodies and start our own version of the game in the wilderness, if we could actually come to understand what symbiotic respect for the health of our habitat involves instead of being the spearhead of trendy population migration back to roots we promptly tear out, trunk and all. Although there are ample reminders around the planet that great civilizations’ seeds have taken root in an idea good for a tribe or a clan, grown to concretely popular ideology, blossomed into its own golden age, aged with the rigors of the latest rendition of prideful tradition and surrendered in their turn as compost for the tendrils of the rain forests or under the bowels of lava bowls, shifting sands of deserts or depths of the cleansing seas, there is little evidence that any one culture grew to the proportions of the present amalgamation international banks, corporations and trade organizations are forging to stream line the shear line in the name of a search for the golden fleece shepherded by word twisting spin doctors, lawyers, politicians, and stock brokers just as dark age peasants were led by latin spouting, guilt tripping priests on the way to salvation for a tithe. Sure the suits attend church as long as it prohibits measures to limit the global population explosion of new sheep to produce forty pairs of shoes in a day for a wage that affords one pair of shoes every year even if they never saw shoes before the factory came — it’s efficient economics — for the suits.
Come to think of it, perhaps running to the wilderness is like appeasing the lion hoping it’ll eat you last. God knows no wilderness is sacred these days. Looks like we’ve got to change our relationship to the lion in such a way that we aren’t so appetizing to it and not so dependent upon it. Fortunately, our dependence upon it is precisely the sauce that makes us so nutritious to it. We could sever all ties and, therefore, threats if we could just shake our addiction; that unwitting, unwilling support we contribute and by which we are being consumed alive. Beware of indispensable servants, they are your potential running down your leg. Take back your personal responsibility for your welfare, health, education, morality and actions and let the lawyers, doctors, statesmen, priests, news/propaganda anchors, admen and brokers service themselves to effete oblivion.