A Madman’s Guide Vol. 2 Issue 3: The Monkey Dreams a Dream
Am I the only one here who thinks the concepts of burden of proof and evidence based beliefs are a control mechanism? Are we not at liberty to experience erroneousness? “Errors are portals to discovery”, probably said someone who is very wise. I wish to grant the entire spectrum of the human experience the dignity it has lost. By extension I wish you the liberty of erroneousness. I have made no ceremony about my approach to belief. I believe things, ultimately because I want to. My mind is not your lab. It’s mine if anyone’s.
Scientism is the (a?) new church. We are told by a scientific authority (hint a bachelor’s degree isn’t that hard to come by) who go on TV and tell us that our grandmother is crazy because she says she saw your Grandpa’s ghost. Doesn’t matter that Science-Guy doesn’t know anything about you or her, he’s wearing a bowtie and is on TV so stop thinking for yourself. “Science Rules!”, sure, or else! It rules in much the same way the church did. Church’s are most fun when overthrown or occasionally burnt. Bring on the apocalypse.
I’ll just throw this out there, this whole science vs. a non-empirical movement through the world has something to do with sex. Actually I mean, in some way I can’t figure out let alone put into language, it is about sex and shame and repression.
Indefinability aside. This is not the kind of world I live in. Where questioning the prevailing viewpoint is met with derision. What is this where the people closest to you ought to be suspected of delusion when they commit the simple act of confirming 30 000 years (at minimum) of anecdotal evidence? Haven’t you had enough of this? I feel like I’m taking crazy pills over here!
If I was the kind of person willing to roll up his sleeves and fight fire with fire I’d write about the actual large body of evidence for PSI effects, OBE, NDE, Spirit contact and so forth. But you have access to all of that in your pocket (or probably in your hand right now). You could download origin of species to your phone and read it it all in one week’s commute to and from work. You could do the same with Plato’s works in a few months. You could also start reading scientific studies about scientific studies. Such as this one quite clearly pointing at a serious deficiency in scientific academia.
And you have Alex Tsakiris and Gordon White and Rupert Sheldrake and Graham Hancock And John Anthony West – add to the list in the comments below – rogue researchers more experienced and knowledgeable than I. Proud iconoclasts, dignified reeds jutting from the murk gracefully breaking the torrential current.
My point is you don’t need my help.
You are already processing the repercussions following the fact that materialism is on it’s last leg and is running out of places to hide. You chuckle at the fiction that is the multiple worlds interpretation and string theory. You shake your head at how it has zero evidence supporting them after decades of getting kicked around at the highest echelons of the scientific magisterium. You observe how the materialist hijack of the atheist and skeptic movements has resulted in nothing but condescension and arrogance. You have rejected Neil deGrasse Tyson as your Pope. You actively rebel against the edict that your are a biological robot without free will. You have grown tired of the absurdity.
I noticed this oppressive masculine, empirical archon even at the Seattle Esoteric Book Conference. Of all the places to be liberated from intellectual oppression, this is the place. I am abundantly grateful for the work of these adventurers. Richard Gavin, Louis Sahagan, Pam Grossman, Jason Louv, Brian Cotnoir, Daniel Schulke, Benjamin Vierling, Joseph Uccello, John Eric Graham. These people are brilliant and deserve to be listed. That said, it seems that at a certain level, in the business of launching ideas into the ether one must necessarily encounter the spirit of ridicule. Graham Hancock went on record saying he started writing fiction out of exhaustion. The process of armouring every single one of his findings with multiple footnotes knowing that the so-called “skeptics” would simply move the goal posts again and again; it’s got to wear you down.
I admire and respect those of us who choose to engage with the intellectually dishonest minions of materialism. I pledge them my support and to a significant degree, my loyalty. But it is not my calling
This is probably the reason why music is occupying an increasingly larger piece of my mental real estate. Language is a trap. Music is so immediate an experience of the strange and under some circumstances, it is the closest I’ve come to communing with God (call it the Other if you prefer). Music and probably all non-linguistic arts sit at the centre of direct being and forced apprehension. It is what happens when Dionysus fucks Appollo. And who wouldn’t want to be the third in that threesome?
Chords are my grimmoire. Melody is my incantation. Rhythm is my discipline. To be in the loudness is divine madness. It’s risking one’s sanity in an alchemical process. Soul being the shit from which golden riffs are extracted. The cow corpse from whence the golem is risen. In art, one can not demand evidence without encountering the maniacal mockery of the goddess. You will be disciplined! The empiricist dies at the ticket window. There is no denying dread and derangement after they’ve touched you with their own hands. I recommend Richard Gavin’s perspective on this:
“Reducing the issue to fundamental principles, one may say that civilization is the product of masculine consciousness, the child of the left brain. It is the paragon of daylight and logic, of tidy order and the observable cause-and-effect phenomena that provide evidence for the physical sciences. In esoteric lore, the right hand is the active one. This is the current of solar-phallic activity, calculating and often utilitarian, which fostered the Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, economics, and politics. Whenever one hears a person (wether their physical gender is male or female is irrelevant) boasting about how they only believe in what they can see and touch, one is encountering an expression of masculine consicousness, the type that recognizes only the dayside of existence.
But alongside this there exists, of course, the required “opposite polarity” the feminine conscioussness. This is the realm of intuition, receptivity, and mythic dreaming; of night spirit, and the subconscious. This is the true wilderness where manifestation is spontaneous, the realm of the left (or “sinister”) hand, the great Darkness that is the source of the greatest of all energies: the mysterious.”
Dream is a good home for the individual choosing to darkly move through life. Dreamtime will dignify you (see paragraph 1). Embracing uncertainty will humanize you (see Madman’s Guide Vol. 1 Issue 2).
So in the spirit of dignity I humbly offer a dream I dreamed:
You see a thunderous vista through the windshield of the white 1988 Buick Century that you bought from your Dad. You park the car on the side of the road and do not bring the keys with you. You step out walking towards the hill’s crest. The heavens are alive and scream divinity as the bolts hit the earth with martial immediacy. A new constellation is birthed for your witnessing.
You are an awakened monkey reaching for his iphone. “I have to instagram this!” With the raising of your tricorder the day breaks and the world dissolves into mediocrity. The alarm rings, coffee, shower, shave, job.
You are not on call in dream. May you dream of freedom and never waken.
This concludes Madman’s Guide Vol. 2. Subsequent volumes and issues will be published sporadically as I focus on my musical endeavours and another writing project which you may hear about later in 2017. To keep in touch with me, find me on twitter: @ulyssesnewcomb.