I have been having trouble putting pen to paper for a while now. I disciplined myself to sit and write, because I knew if I stopped, it would end. It’s so important for me to develop this skill further, because I now understand that it is the natural inclination of my personality to express myself this way.
This last week, I’ve been writing like crazy. From out of nowhere came a piece of writing that became a succinct autobiography of my life into my twenties. It was an interesting experience that flowed from my pen with ease. I could see a theme of my childhood that recurs in my thoughts and I put it into words as quickly as I could.
I’ve always enjoyed ‘playing God’. I guess it’s no surprise really, but now I’m thinking more deeply about it. I’ve been reading a lot of Jung lately, so that fits in perfectly with a conception of the Divine Child archetype. I can see in my minds eye, the inflated ego of the Divine Child pushing out to inhabit the space of limitless possibility and power. I can see how I began to explore that space and learn what was real and what was imagination. I played many games of make believe, where I simulated a mostly benevolent rule over my own little creations. I created gardens inhabited by insects and other garden inhabitants. I created landscapes and mountain ranges from the blankets on my bed and inhabited them with little plastic animal figures. They all interacted, cooperated and struggled or thrived within the environment I had created for them. As I grew older this idea of playing God never passed away. I became a dungeon master in the days of Dungeons and Dragons. When computer games arrived I played Populous, the Sims, Sims 2, Sims 3, all the variations of command, conquer and conquest games. I have always loved playing God.
What can I do with this information? That’s the subject for further writing. Much of what I have written privately, is of a deeply personal nature, and not something I’m open to sharing. I do feel that this little snippet is worth sharing for the sake of marking another turning point in my life. The writing has come alive again.
Late in the month of May, 2016, my father passed away at the age of 79. The passing of a parent is a dramatic moment in anyones life. It’s time for me to try to write something, about the passing of my father.
My Dad was a unique and interesting man. We did not always agree, or see eye to eye, in my younger years. In fact, for many years, I played a confused game trying to please him as I failed to imitate his achievements and following in his footsteps. Our journeys were never meant to be the same. It was an uncomfortable and disappointing time.
Eventually, I came to comprehend the man that dwelt within me, and we stopped playing that game. He grew more tolerant and I grew more decisive. In the middle there, somewhere, we came together and found our balance. I had come to appreciate all that he had done for me, and was able to express that to him. He likewise had grown more patient and understanding. A mellowing philosophy had taken off some of his hard edges. We had come to understand each others perspectives.
That was a precious gift in our relationship. In the month prior to his passing we had spoken on the phone for many hours. We had talked of how satisfying it was to appreciate each other and have the common understanding. I talked to him about how, in recent years, all that he had planted within me in those early years was just being discovered anew. His values of old, were becoming my new values. His positivity, his solution thinking, his will to impact upon the lives of others and his inherent sense of what it meant to be a man, were now coming alive in me. Through a long and circuitous route, I had discovered how to assimilate my father into the myself and still remain me. We were both enjoying this conversation immensely.
My father was a man who loved knowledge. A voracious reader. A lover of history. An informed man. I used to marvel at his ability to see the big picture in any subject. He always saw things from every angle and was able to put things in clear perspective and scale. I couldn’t even begin to fathom how much reading he must have done to acquire this uncanny sense, of his place, in time and space. It was a gift he encouraged in me. He ignited my passion for knowledge and history. He taught me to dig deep into a subject and look at things from all sides. He showed me how knowing our context, was a doorway to clear perception and awareness. Everything had a context from which it was derived.
Fundamental to his contextualization of his life was his passion for our ancestry. He needed to understand where we had come from. What was the substance of our being? What tests had our ancestors faced? How had we fared in trial and tribulation? He sought the answers to these questions in the lives of our ancestors. In doing so he added an invaluable treasure to our understanding of who we are, as a family, what made us this way, and how we came to be in the places we inhabit.
While he could be so serious and studied, he was also a larrakin and a joker. He had a smutty sense of humour and would laugh uproariously when he was able to inject his shock humour into a conversation. He loved to talk! For all his salesmen wiles about the value of listening, he could not stop himself from talking once his passion for a subject had been ignited. His passion ran deep too. With forceful emotion he would plead for people’s understanding. He desperately needed to impart the strength of meaning to his sometimes captive audience. I listened a lot and most of the time, I am glad I did. He had many good things to share.
That is probably one of the things I am going to miss the most. My father was a story teller. I would listen attentively for many hours, as he shared the myriad of stories he had both created himself, and derived from others. He had mastered all the elements of the story. He knew how to guide everyone gently to the climax and expound upon it’s themes and greater meaning. No doubt he is in heaven now, telling God and the angels stories, and insisting upon their unwavering attention. Encouraging the saints to seize the day. Or perhaps he is reclined in a dark smoky room with his likewise departed friends. Once more sharing wine, laughter and stories. Nick would be eagerly awaiting his arrival so they could recall some long forgotten conquest of their youth or laugh, wide eyed in amazement, at the temerity of some foolhardy endeavour.
He was a good man. He was a great man. He was a man with faults and shortfalls. He loved, lived and had few regrets. He taught me to live a unique and satisfying life. I will always love him dearly. I miss him very much in his passing. He will never be far from my thoughts. Rest in peace, Dad. Thanks for being authentically you.
Time to contribute something more personal and valuable to my blog. I’ve been exploring the ideas of masculinity, hierarchy and self reliance.
I couldn’t tell you when I began these contemplations, but I can tell you how. I started reading The Red Pill subreddit and processing all the ideas that this represents. Ideas of masculinity and femininity and they points at which their goals digress and converge, as well as the influence of feminism as an ideology and it’s effect on society, relationships and sex. Fundamental to the Red Pill (RP) story is that men have bought into the ideology of feminism without regard to how it might effect the balance of power in gender relations and what constitutes the ideal sexual partner. While I don’t buy into everything that the RP movement is espousing, I can certainly integrate what has utility into my own pragmatic philosophical leanings. The RP movement revolves around sexuality, dominance and hierarchy, particularly in the context of the mating game. It’s a fascinating reaction to feminism. I’m a regular reader of the forum.
Since equality is in fact impossible, and since, despite all attempts at reducing everything to one level, the differences between one man and another cannot in practice be entirely suppressed, men have been brought, illogically enough, to invent false hierarchies, whose higher ranks claim to take the place of the only true elect; and these false hierarchies are built up exclusively on the basis of relative and contingent considerations, always of a purely material order. This is very obvious from the fact that the kind of social distinction which counts the most in the present state of things is that based on wealth, that is to say on a merely external superiority of an exclusively quantitative order, the only superiority, as a matter of fact, that is consistent with democracy, based as it is on the same point of view.
René Guénon, The Crisis of the Modern World (1927), p. 98
Several ideas have come together for me that have allowed me to develop a better framework for my life. One came from the idea explored by one contributor to the RP theory that idealized love only flows downward in the hierarchy. An imperfect, more conditional love flows upwards. In the hierarchy of God, man, woman and child. God loves man, man loves woman, woman loves children (and children love puppies). Underlying this idea is the notion that man is the true romantic. Men idealize their relationship, believing that women will love them despite their failings. This romanticism sets men up for tragedy. While the man might love the woman ideally, the woman loves the man only in as much as she can respect him as a person and respect the role he plays in her life. Similarly the woman idealizes her relationship with her child, believing that her child will always love her despite her faults. The reality is the child will only love the mother as much as the child can respect the mother.
This concept of downward flowing, idealized love, is not a waterproof, fully explored conceptualization. Holes can be found in it all over the place, but as a general idea it conveys something important. Man at the top of the hierarchy, cannot depend on the love of woman or child. Man is essentially alone in this world, except for the love of God. We can be thankful that God is dependable, but we can never depend on the love of a woman or even of a child, unconditionally. Men must go through life on relying upon themselves. Providentially, the more self reliant and independent a man is, the more attractive he becomes as a potential mate for a woman. As the apex of the hierarchical structure, the man must be strong for the structure to maintain itself.
It is a warning, of the folly of feminist ideology, undermining the inherent role of the masculine. It challenges men to take charge of aspects of our lives which we have renounced into the hands of women.
I now understand, more eloquently, why I need to take control of all aspects of my life. When I place the burden upon the feminine, I encourage the breakdown of the hierarchy because I am not demonstrating my strength to be a leader. I will either be marginalized and sidelined, or simply replaced by a better leader.
Whether the gods are inside or outside makes very little difference to whether there are gods. – Jordan Peterson
In addition to the street smarts of the RP movement, I’ve been listening to a series of lectures by Jordan Peterson which elaborate on the prevalence of dominance hierarchies in human existence and hints at it’s biological underpinnings. Peterson’s theories are fascinating in fact and his ideas about the symbolisms contained in religion and belief and their basis in understanding our existential state is illuminating.
Jordan Petersen has quite a number of excellent recordings of his lectures available on YouTube. Click here to check them out.
A good friend online, Nenad Djordjevic , posted this YouTube video (below) on his Facebook timeline. The artwork initially drew me in. I had never really been exposed to this genre of music. I’m not even sure what the genre might be called, but it seems to revolve around psychedelia and the journey of the soul. A sublimely beautiful song and video.
The dreamlike quality of the song, the reverberating vocals, give it a melancholy, introspective feel. The drum beats the slow and steady arduous climb through life, that builds to the jangling guitar, momentary epiphanies in the journey of the soul. The screaming, wailing guitar finale conveys a frustration, perhaps at that ‘all too human’ feeling. All too human now. All too human now. I listened and now I have become a fan, not only of the song and the band, but of the genre.
Dirty Blonde Asylum are a UK band from Shrewsbury. The title of the song, “Human, All Too Human” is a direct quote of Friedrich Nietzsche, commenting on the human condition, from the book, Human, All Too Human:The Book for Free Spirits