Trimming myself into the world

From the point of view of neurology, as soon as the baby begins to acquire motor skills and focus their eyes, their brain begins to trim. There are neural connections that cut themselves off. In that cutting off, we begin to bring our attention into this world; to be able to perceive things as separate and distinguish shapes, heights, duration, space, color. Without that trimming, everything that the organism can perceive would be perceived and nothing will be distinguished. So, there is a trimming that happens there, and part of that trimming of our neural system is what culture does with language.

Then, over that language, many things are programmed: llike belief systems, like agreements of what is good and what is bad, what is acceptable and what is not. And then over that series of values we build identities: democrat, republican, Argentinian, Mexican. From those we define our personal identity: “This is me,” “That’s not my family,” “I am not like that,” “I am like this.” But we don’t realize the layers of soil that we use to build that sense of self.

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This language like a snakeskin

If I say “I am hungry,” the “I” which is hungry is a product of that language which differentiates between you and me. Isn’t it the case that when I say “I am hungry” that “I” in that context is different from the one that says “I am koyote” and from “I did not hear what you said”? Each I is a different entity, new each time it is uttered. Only the illusion of language supposes this I exists somewhere inside me and is saying and hearing things. The one that listens is also just a product of what is being said; what is being grasped. As the I who utters ceases, the I who listens ceases. Yet something remains. And what remains makes no distinction between the utterance and the listening and the reality, perhaps the difference exists only in the language which was discarded like a snakeskin.

Don’t kill all your monsters

If you play video games, you eventually find out that it’s not a good idea to kill all the monsters. You don’t have to kill everyone. For effective and elegant gaming, it’s better to kill what you need to kill then move on very quickly. That means, in practical terms: do not try to win every argument, do not try to solve all your problems. In fact, leave most of your problems alone. Do not resolve your conflicts, do not fix what’s broken. Leave most of it alone. Dedicate your time, your consciousness, only to what’s important. Let everything else fall as it may.

A work question

Philosophy in its true form is to utilize language the same way a mathematician utilizes numerical formulas. A mathematical problem contains its own solution. And in that same manner a philosophical question contains its own answer. To engage in a true philosophical question is to extract from it its own resolution, its own death. For in engaging with the question there is the death of the question. And in that sense philosophy becomes magick.

The Great Work is a work of heresy.

Our family takes care of giving us the assumptions, foundations, and principles that teach us how to navigate the world.

Eventually, society—our larger tribe—takes over and provides us with the stories and narratives that allow us to know what group to identify with, what beliefs to hold, how to behave with other people, and even how to behave when we are alone.

Then, religion takes over to tell us how to think about god, and how to behave in the face of the infinite.

The Great Work is a long deprogramming process. You begin by setting aside all the identities and assumptions that the social group has given you: all the identifications with race, nation, and religion. All identifications with a human group being to be set aside as programs that have invaded your system. A lot of these programs have kept you trapped in a form that is limited, and are not your real self.

The Great Work is, in a way, a work of heresy where you begin to discard what society and religion tells you.

Make the outer like the inner

This brain of yours is, right now, creating the world. It is, at the same time, forming scientific hypotheses about the universe. It is doing this not only at the social level, but also at the natural and even the spiritual level.

The process of awakening has to do with taking these processes of the brain and bring them to a conscious level. It is about becoming conscious of the assumptions that you are making when you are defining yourself, and the assumptions that you are making when you are face to face with the infinite.

The brain is doing all this in a mater that is unconscious to you. Automatic. Make them conscious, and voluntary.

I come from a “shit-hole”

I am not an American.

I was born in the continent known as “America”, yes. But somehow this United States has given itself the name of the entire continent.

Ronald Reagan demoted the rest of this magnificent continent to the mere “Backyard of America.”

That’s when I came here, to the “land of the free,” when Ronald Reagan sent billions of dollars to military dictators so they could use the money to rape, torture, and massacre my people. I didn’t want to come here. Oh, how I hated coming to this land so full of restrictions, prohibitions, and people kept so ignorant of their own history!

Once I came here, almost no one I met knew where my country was. They all assumed I was Mexican. Except for Mexicans. They knew where I was from, and knew they couldn’t trust me because if was from where I was, I had to be a drunk, a rapist, a criminal, a thief, and a repulsive human being. Few others ever knew where I was from.

After Reagan was done paying for the killings and tortures of 100,000 of my people, I was able to settle in this bastion of democracy–where I had to prove at every turn that I had the right be here, that I had the right to work, and that someone like me, too, could be educated.

Donald Trump gave the label of rapists and criminals to Mexicans, right when he announces his candidacy; so as to signal to his people that he will make this country great again by getting rid of all the human shit that is now stinking up the place with their Spanish and their colored skin and their desire for freedom.

However, that doesn’t remove the labels from me. After all, if he ever met me he would think I am Mexican.

The truth is that it is hard for me to say what I am. I was born in El Salvador, and its land and people are synonyms with love and freedom in my heart. But the country itself is an invention of an invader from another continent. Its language, its religion, its traditions all were imposed by the invaders, burned into us with fire and cauldrons. Our 500 year old resistance has left its mark in a perennial PTSD so ingrained in our bones that we don’t even know any other way of feeling is possible.

I am Salvadoran, even if the term was imposed by Spain. I am American, even if the US thinks they own the name. I am güanaco, even if you think it’s an insult.

I am not Mexican. Mexicans call me “cerote”–a piece of turd.

Today, Trump agreed with them. Today, he said he didn’t understand why liberals want to bring people from those shit-hole countries.

I am a piece of turd from a shit-hole country in the backyard of Ronald Reagan.

Yet, I am here. And I come from the Land of the Jewel, Cuzcatlan, the last bastion of resistance.

I am here to stay, and to change this land, this entire continent, into what it truly is: the mother land in the process of awakening.

You may see in me a turd from a shit-hole country, but I see in you and me and all the true silver light of the empty mind, the freedom from the past, the glory of the New Sun that heralds the coming of the True Human Being. I am here to share that future with you, my reader, without hatred in my heart, without resentment, and without any names to hurl back at you.

Before creation

The Absolute, to know itself, has to divide itself. But by definition, the Ab-solute is indivisible. It cannot be divided, but it can observe itself. This act of knowing necessitates two polarities. It necessitates the knower and the known. The observer and the observed. But how is the void to do this if it has nothing but itself? It is that first act of observation, of self reflection, when the first act of creation begins. It all starts with that triad, when there’s no universe yet. It’s all done before there is any thought, any language. It’s just a pre-mathematical computational seed.

The city awakens

I talked to doves coming down to nest from the dormant volcano of my youth. Sometimes, I walked up the volcano and sit at the summit to watch the city before sunrise. Silence reigns at this time, yet the noises of the creatures of the jungle were there accentuating the silence: some crickets, a few barking dogs, and sometimes noises that I cannot describe. With the Sun came the calls of the proud roosters, the humming of the factories, and the cars going to work. Someone screams in the distance, and someone laughs farther away. A few isolated movements appeared. Then, the sounds began to copulate and mount one another. Suddenly, the cacophony of sound and movement begin to become two, three pitches, two sounds, until only one sound remained. The sound resultant was the humming of the beginning of creation, and with eyes closed then I became one with the humming of a city that was awakening.

Soap bubbles, these worlds

When I dream, I like to see these worlds grow like tiny bubbles of soap. I like to see them color up and take on the shimmering lights and tentacles, to then explode into unnamable sentiments and feelings that I could almost name–if only I could remember the language of all.

I see the ones that are still here scramble away from me, swimming through the currents of air that flow into them. I try to touch them with my hands and I cannot. When I get close to one, it vanishes into the nothingness of illusion and memory. I know that just a few seconds before I was seeing those tiny universes made up of flimsy shells of dream stuff.

I can only remember them when I am asleep. I know that when I fully awake, they will give way to a shared reality in a solid world. Or in something that pretends to be a solid world but contains within it millions of little creatures and worlds that scramble away into remembrance and lost memories as I bring my hand close to the light and touch them.