January 7th, 2006

professor

Mungday Sermon

Friends, Discordians, Swarms of Bees, lend me your beers. Well, "lend" isn't quite the right word; I shant be giving them back.





I write this on the sunset of Mungday, which the Unwashed Masses know as January 5th. Mungday, the Orange Holyday, is the fifth day (right at the beginning) of the season of Chaos, the messy-Bessy morass at the beginning of things.



Lo, the Greeks tell the story starting with Chaos as well. In the beginning, there was a swelling sea where there was not yet light or darkness or even the GREATER POOP. This was the same sea that Shopenhauer talks about -- you might be able to personally identify with one of the little crests or eddies, but it's just a little dip on a swell, which itself is a tiny fraction of the whole ocean. The individual is engulfed by this sea, following his nature "to rise out of darkness" (as Carl Jung put it, sneering at Sigmund Freud as he blew another line of pure cocaine).



All sorts of crazy crap gets started in Chaos. Chaos is the state of things before they get begin. Chaos is the state of a house of cards when it's still a well-shuffled deck, sitting motionless, eternal, on your shelf. Chaos is the period right BEFORE you realize the liquor store is closing in five minutes and it's ass-scramble o'clock.



By the end of the next cycle, you'll look back on the factors in play during Chaos. With Hindsight (aka Ass Goggles), you'll be able to pick out the patterns which formed from the arbitrary nonsense of now. Don't be fooled by linear causality - nothing happens for only one reason.




For example - what was the "cause" of my decision, this morning, to purchase a sesame bagel rather than my usual egg bagel?

  • Was it because I got up a little bit earlier this morning and my body was tuned differently?

  • Was it because of some intangible psychic boredom in my life?

  • Was I feeding off the dream-archetypes which are dancing wildfire in the mid-east?

  • Was it because I made my own coffee this morning rather than buying it from the Bagel place?

  • Some unconscious desire for Change reflected in my taste buds?

  • Was my body craving the vitamins it knows are in sesame seeds moreso than the egg bagels?

  • Is there no fnording reason at all?


  • If there's no reason for something, what does that imply about ______?




It's all of the above and it's none of the above. Fate and Random Chance dance a tight tango, and the harder you stare at them, spinning, dipping each other, having a grand old time, the more difficult it is to distinguish the two. They're in love, you know. Sometimes its a kind of love like that poor cat loves her level 5 French Skunk Stalker-Molester. Twu Wove.



Chaos can be too much to bear sometimes. Like when you're bored - that's when the Chaos is the worst. It's the opposite of feeling trapped - it's having energy but no motion. And then, in the leafy-kryptonite cabage-hood later, no energy left at all. When the inertia of day-to-day life starts to overwhelm me, I have a little excersize that helps me rise out of that unstringed Chaos. There's a light that synchronicity makes, and you have to listen hard to smell it. Pick the five cognitive objects that are at the top of your consciousness right now. (For me it's *gin, *Father Squire I Don't Know (my roomate), *batteries, *my cat Flapjack, *duct tape) Write them down and keep them in your pocket. For the next day, take notice of EVERYTHING that connects, somehow, to one of these objects, no matter how arcane and obscure. These fnords are everywhere!




And as you contemplate this, think about how these things are connected, aside from through you. It doesn't matter if you need to invent seemingly arbitrary reasons to connect them. The "obvious" "common sense" connections between things are equally fictional, equally arbitrary, equally pistachio push, equally mulberry bush.



To me, it's like the magic bullet explanation. In this version of the film, I'm seated in an dark theater, handcuffed to my body. Reality is a series of lawyers and FBI agents, (wearing uniforms that mimic the senses and T-shirts colored like memes, in some dreams) presenting me reels of information about "what's really going on". It's reality, a synthesis of all these fictions into a mouth-breathing "middle ground". It's an anecdotal anagram amalgym with facts in 3-D, and a chinese-finger trap apostrophe.



And cut, cut, cut cut CUT - the Editor MAKES the reality through the soundtrack, the angles, the microphone dangles. Before the camera's rolling, THAT'S primal chaos, cats. THAT's holy chao.




And it's January 5th and THAT's right now.







HAIL ERIS