People the world over are trying to make sense of our time on Earth. The most knowledgeable among them seek to solve the mystery of time itself. Yet following the technological optimism that saw a man land on the moon and a personal computer in every home, a creeping despair has set in over the Western world. We’re beginning to wonder what all we left behind as we impulsively took our great leap forward.
Armed with all these new toys, we set out to reaffirm our individuality. No longer bound by geography, culture became viral, fueling our American Dreams. As that wore off, we pivoted toward aesthetics and personal development. We looked to the wellness practices and imaginative ephemera of cultures past, all in an effort to fill an ever growing void – the chasm born out of a life lived increasingly in virtual space. We see what we are becoming and, in a faint attempt to escape, we grasp onto the railing of ancient history’s spiral staircase.
Materialism has reached a dead end – Just ask the people at CERN. In a vain attempt to save the old world order, some truly horrifying ideas are being put forth by trans-humanists. Yet despite all this, now has never been a more exciting time for cognitive science and research into human consciousness. The singularity feels near. It’s as if the moment we rediscover our innate power has humans, the nuclear bombs will detonate. On nukes, a wise sage once said, “We have dreamed this as an escape from the contemplation of our individual deaths.” My advice: Get with your gods and make peace with the inevitable – you could just be saving the world.
Millenarianism is a diseased and ego-maniacal notion we inherited from our brutal christian colonization. When we lived in earth-based communities we carried no such weight on our shoulders. We understood every ending was a new beginning, just like the cycle of the year. Yet we diverged from epistemology to eschatology when we embraced the dogma of positivism and linear time – a great illusion. What’s more, we internalized the messiah complex and projected it onto everything and everyone in Western culture; straddling us with paralyzing guilt that glorifies senseless martyrdom whilst diminishing the agency of other peoples and cultures.
In Serbian author Milorad Pavic’s Dictionary of the Khazars there is an “eyeless fish” deep in the Black Sea that swims in a circle – the timekeeper of the aeons. What happens when we catch this fish – Who blinks? Scaled to the modern world, perhaps that eyeless fish is swimming somewhere deep down in the black sea of our digital devices? What awesome power do we
not know we hold? Could we not work Slavic traditional witchcraft using this as our bowl of living water?
We sense the imminence of history and the transcendence of tomorrow dancing upon the eye of a weaving woman’s needle. Far from any cybernetic form of magic, try spinning thread from pure wool; if you can, using a spindle and distaff. Then weave that thread into a garment for someone you love. More than mere textile, this craft once altered fates and tipped the balance of power in war. From wikipedia…
Many aristocratic Viking women wanted to serve Freyja and represent her in Midgard. They married Viking warlords who had Odin as a role model, and they settled in great halls that were earthly representations of Valhalla. In these halls there were magnificent feasts with ritualized meals, and the visiting chieftains can be likened with the einherjar, the fallen warriors who fought bravely and were served drinks by Valkyries. However, the duties of the mistresses were not limited to serving mead to visiting guests, but they were also expected to take part in warfare by manipulating weaving tools magically when their spouses were out in battle. Scholars no longer believe that these women waited passively at home, and there is evidence for their magic activities both in archaeological finds and in Old Norse sources, such as the Darraðarljóð.
The fate of war is won with swords and axes insofar as man is only a material being. Yet man is more than just meat and bones. The women who weave know that the fabric of time and space plays an equal role. If you frequent the likes of this heathen boudoir, you no doubt experienced the weird and nebulous nature of non-ordinary space/time; whether through the medium of ritual, magic or entheogenic substance. Perhaps our bodies are equally nebulous. Indeed, when compared to other mammals, we are but frail babes in the arms of our arachnid mother. The one who is also a mother cow – nurturing us with the milk of ancestral memory before sending us off into the forest to meet our grandmother [Baba Yaga] who feeds on the bloodletting of forgetfulness.
Now Consider that it wasn’t always this way. Perhaps there was a time where we never forgot who we were – OR – alternatively, never needed to remember. Today the masses, deprived of their birthright, grovel in ignorance, slaves of spiritual impostors. After three thousand years of colonization, we are charting our return to the first principles of our pagan heritage. No longer will we be slaves to Babylonian sorcerers and priestly Manichaeisms. Remember, the weaver’s three fingers dance with the threads of time itself, not with the hands of clockmakers.
Yet the thread itself is NOT where the magic lies. It is the space between strands – in the quantum vacuum – which holds the most awesome of all natural power. Perhaps it is the same form of power that captured the imagination of Nikola Tesla – the idea of zero point energy. Getting back to the science of first principles is a winding road filed with permutations and the reflective nature required to make that journey isn’t going to be easy. We have limited ourselves to one half of the laws of physics. So the process of return is akin to rewriting the DNA of European civilization. It is from here, that ambiguous idea of Fate can be observed. It is deterministic in its rhythms, yet subject to the cadence of intention. Let’s try to make our intention as beautiful as we can make it given the current level of uncertainty.
I posit that Fate is in our DNA. Fate has an organ. It is a transmitter; a Tesla coil working in a gift economy of phosphates, sugars and nitrogens – the Three Sisters. Despite decades of reckless experimentation by the biotech corporations altering the genetic code of plants and animals – like Dr Moreau splicing here and recombining there – the science of epigenetics (changes in an organism caused by modification of genetic expression / as opposed to alterations in code) might be Mother Nature’s greatest coup.
Now consider that the bifurcation that has been pulling apart East from West for over a thousand years since the Great Schism and First Crusade, is, by the grace of our pagan hearts, being reconfigured following a process similar in scope to the one that underwrites and overwrites DNA during replication and transcription. Until now, the Western and Byzantine worlds have been moving in opposite directions. This created a knotting tension that has caused the balance of European civilization to turn in on itself. Now, with globalization there is no where else to go. We are forced to look back at one another. This is fake news calling fake news fake. It is the hypocrite staring itself in the mirror. It is the rise of the entertainment industrial complex – of pantomime culture. It is the unchained prisoner of history walking through the fire, and out of Plato’s Cave. It explains how an internet meme killed Socrates.
The enzyme topoisomerase is interesting here because it participates in the untangling of DNA – It suggests that nature has a built-in mechanism to solve these messy situations. In other words, what is happening now might be the tough, yet necessary, medicine needed to solve the planet’s most pressing problems.
The Slavic people have a unique role to play in events to come. If you think 2016 was just an anomaly, I suggest you watch this for greater context. Be sure to watch until the end though, or else you’ll miss the part detailing how the Slavonic ontological worldview comes into play. Here I am reminded of the words of another sage: “It’s all in your head – you just have no idea how big your head is.” Perhaps we are seeing the emergence of the Sobornost? One can only hope – the alternative means yet another episode of mysticism vs dualism; ie endless conflict.
Finally, if you are having trouble understanding where all this is coming from, I leave you again with this Croatian folktale that helped form my identity and was the impetus for me starting this blog over three years ago. Even if you don’t agree with how I interpret recent developments between the Old Country and the West, perhaps you might continue to empathize nevertheless. After all, you are the ones who helped free me.
THERE was an enchanted mill, so that no one could stay there, because a she-wolf always haunted it. A soldier went once into the mill to sleep. He made a fire in the parlour, went up into the garret above, bored a hole with an auger in the floor, and peeped down into the parlour. A she-wolf came in and looked about the mill to see whether she could find anything to eat. She found nothing, and then went to the fire, and said: ‘Skin down! skin down! skin down!’ She raised herself upon her hind-legs, and her skin fell down. She took the skin, and hung it on a peg, and out of the wolf came a damsel. The damsel went to the fire, and fell asleep there. He came down from the garret, took the skin, nailed it fast to the mill-wheel, then came into the mill, shouted over her, and said: ‘Good-morning, damsel! how do you do?’ She began to scream: ‘Skin on me! skin on me! skin on me!’ But the skin could not come down, for it was fast nailed. The pair married, and had two children. As soon as the elder son got to know that his mother was a wolf, he said to her: ‘Mamma! mamma! I have heard that you are a wolf.’ His mother replied: ‘What nonsense you are talking! How can you say that I am a wolf?’ The father of the two children went one day into the field to plough, and his son said: ‘Papa, let me, too, go with you.’ His father said: ‘Come.’ When they had come to the field, the son asked his father: ‘Papa, is it true that our mother is a wolf?’ His father said: ‘It is.’ The son inquired: ‘And where is her skin?’ His father said: ‘There it is, on the mill-wheel.’ No sooner had the son got home, than he said at once to his mother: ‘Mamma! mamma! you are a wolf! I know where your skin is.’ His mother asked him: ‘Where is my skin?’ He said: ‘There, on the mill-wheel.’ His mother said to him: ‘Thank you, sonny, for rescuing me.’ Then she went away, and was never heard of more.
Peace and Blessings in 2017.