One of my favorite books is The Art of Living by Epictetus, a first century Greek slave. The premise is that within the mind we have the power to liberate ourselves from how we have learned to think and behave. I love this book for so many reasons, perhaps most of all for the insight that the human condition never fuckinn changes. We. Are. Not. Gonna. Evolve. (as a species, that is, but we can as individuals over the course of our lives).

Why. Oh why. This is what I need to know. Not even seek. My seeking is too deep. It burns in my core more than anything else. So here’s my theory :: it’s all about the left hemisphere of the brain where language is constructed and where it is we play this game.

Only man has the distinction of having two sides, which is the most beautiful metaphor for the human condition I could ever imagine. Whereas all other animals are whole, without division of the brain. They are fully in sync with Nature, both their purpose in life as well as in full acceptance of, dare I say surrender to, their place in the grand design. Creation and Destruction and Re-Creation is the way of the Universe.

But man, ohh Man, we have this blessing and this curse and it is the split of the brain and from it gave birth… The Word.

The Word. The Word. Mistaken as God. But me, no, I revere God and I revere the Word and I see the Word as this thing that we have been given for reasons I know not. Because the Word is The Way we have both subjugated Nature and Ourselves at the same time.

The crux of it is :: the Word is not the thing itself. The Word is but a hollow echo of the ineffable. And I don’t (yet) know why but our brains hunger to believe that the Word is an acceptable proxy for the thing itself. But the Word will keep me searching for that answer so long as I draw breath.


This is what I have come here to do.

Here’s where it gets dicey. When we (mis)take the Word for the thing, we are doomed to play its game and its very nature echoes the division of the brain. Duality is the greatest illusion of all and yet we fall into its trap and ohhh how we love to fall.

Sweet pain and pleasure, and pleasure in pain. The Word is such. The Word keeps us trapped by letting us think we are liberated. Ha Ha Ha. The Word is the ultimate Fool, yet all the same, as Epictetus shows us—with the Word itself—we are and shall always be Kings and Queens of our fate.

Freedom is knowing you are master of your destiny. I discover these words written by Black Medici this morning. And then I remember in a dream, I was told Destiny is the handshake between God and Man. I have been thinking of freedom and destiny for so long that it appears everywhere I look. Because I want (damn want) so much more than Death is Freedom to be My Truth.

So I am thinking freedom is a state of flux, just like everything else. Thing is my flux is so intense, so extreme. I’ve been smiling at people on the street like, Ohh I bet they have no idea. Not that I will eva know, either, how it is for them. Perhaps the tradeoff for not feeling this thang is to lie in a shallow grave perfectly content. Who is to say what is best? Or that best even exists. Perhaps what is best is just… acceptance of what you get and taking your own power to make the most of it.

Still I admire the possibility that such thing exists, a calm teetertottering and not this rollercoaster ride. And still, all the same, I accept that this is me and this is how I be. And that despite this blazing conflagration of irony, I use the Word to investigate like a detective or an archaeologist or someone who digs deep, to speak the ineffable in search of the unseen.

But, you see, this is a trick. This is the ultimate trick. The more I use the Word the more I am trapped in its grip.

I love it! I hate it!
This is Me.

Yesterday I wrote I didn’t want to admit the Word is my master. But today, I believe.


Admission is acceptance. Acceptance is peace. Surrender is release. Release is freedom. Until the next breath…