Game over

On my way to Earth

“Let go of all hope, all ye who enter here.”
Those were the lines I read before I burst from my mother’s womb. Later I forgot, trying to be loveable, hoping to be loved…

My brothers and sisters all over the planet hope… hope to restore dignity to societies run by intelligent but deeply disturbed people. Is that mad? Or is that as naive as most of us normally are?
Religion, spirituality, godesses and mantra singing, meditating on the sound of one hand clapping as we hear the sound of Starfighters, Harriers and drones, Cruise Missiles overhead, while the rebels march bravely forward wrenching the last cities, so they hope, from the hand of the psycho-terror master and his militia.

For the first time in history greedy men, and a few greedy women, hold states for ransom to bail out banks and their Champagne toting, Porsche driving, loft inhabitants raking in a recompense for socializing losses and privatizing profits. (The Grand Lie worthy of Goebbels: “You have to pay interest because we are taking a risk…”)
Mimicking, they are, CEO’s jumping with golden parachutes from crashing company planes —  the looters of London, real amateurs, going for some Nike runners and Adidas pants still have a lot to learn from the scientifically informed, professional looters of the people’s wealth. Looting the financial markets, looting the savings of hundreds of millions of not so innocent petit bourgoise sheep. Grandpa’s savings for old age. Insurances, mutual funds. Millions of people’s homes. Shearing sheep. People dreaming the next reality-show will reveal who did it with whom, voting for the next Superstar whose heart-moving voice will bring tears to any feeling person on the planet. People whose crime is ignoring when their neighbor, the rain forest, turns to timber for the houses in foreclosure. Criminally sheepish defending their shepherd with religious zeal as he drives them to the butcher.

The Holy River Ganges

I’d love to say I’m done with this world, done with a humanity inviting its slavers, destroyers, abusers and saviors to take another chunk of the pie, dancing to the loony tune of short term memory, of ignorance, of overwhelm, of “this ain’t my problem, ’cause I’m in love.” I’d want to say, I’m through with this. But I can’t lie.
I’d love to dramatically despair of this mad, mad world; I’d love to turn off the light, now the music’s over, and all that goes on is plunder and rape of our Fair Sister. What have they done to the Earth?! I’m gonna scream like a butterfly as I hear the One Hand clapping on the cheeks and buttocks of the spiritual crew, my deep-hearted brothers and sisters turning to me, asking, “How come you do not see this all originates with you? You are them and they are us and we are all together! We’re One, don’t you know?”
And as my one hand is clapping here & there & everywhere, I want to sing, “I’m crying! The madness jumps at me from every corner!” But the hands of the obscene rich around my throat only let me whisper…

Yes, I’m sick of it, probably beyond remedy. I may even oppose healing attempts, saying, “If you’re not sickened by humanity’s collective lunatics and its joy in torturing the weak, its trampling of the down-trodden, its stealing from the poor and putting them and their children in slavery of state deficits… If you’re not sick, you cannot be my friend! You are an alien to Earth and its beings!”
Yes, the aliens have walked in to humanity’s leadership, have eaten them from the inside, looking down through their eyes on the human cattle with utter contempt. And my fellow humans sucking up to them, or demanding better leadership, wanting a holistic shearing.

I admit. Rather then looking squarely into humanity’s cabinet of horrors I tally in social networks, processing information, knowledge, understandings – crowdsourcing myself. I’ve created such a sweet stream, I thought, of world-change agents, good people, brilliant people often, having empathy and sympathy and a wide horizon, thinking systemically and integrally, trying to do good every day. But surely, the madness I wanted to keep at bay creeps through the cracks everywhere. Spiritual leaders prey on their followers, or predate by proxy, letting the sharks swim among the carps, going all transcendent about the bloody consquences.

And all my wonderful acquaintances, called friends these days, who work, often day and night, with all their heart, rallying around this banner and that, around high values, enlightenments, good soul-food… good, good people, having my heart’s yes, YES! I feel you, I feel with you. I weep with you. I’d tear out my hair with you if it’d help — like the people in Kyoto of old, cutting off their long hair to make strong ropes to build the temples.

It may be time to be silent. It may be time to give up. It may be time to acknowledge failure.  I can’t do this anymore. No more plasters. No more medicine that prolongs the mad spasms. I’ll wait. May be a Great Embrace will take me off stage.

Oh, and just so you know. Just because it pains me, I’m not going to suffer while I cry! This ain’t about Poor Me! It’s about the Mad Beast and facing it flinchingly – not unflinching; my heroics are done.

Robert Pepperell-Paradox

This is beyond despair: Reality, and no more hope that any of us humans, including myself, or all of us together will get ourselves aligned, together or whatever. If anything will change this mad, sad state of planetary affairs, it’s not going to be any of us. It may include us, but it aint us, for sure.

This is no swan song; rather a squawk by a duckling born on an asylum-planet for lunatics.

Game over.

8 Replies to “Game over”

  1. Hey, Mushin, I’m called Matthew. I’m writing to just acknowledge you really. It seems like, well, the most I can do.

    Much love.

  2. Thank you, Mushin. I took the risk of speaking my version of this in spiritual circle recently and was rewarded by people trying to fix me, telling me how I need to stay with the Light. (And talking from theory, rather than sharing from their direct experience — which was disappointing in its own right.)

    There is a mystery in radical acceptance, which requires the recognition of perfection while continuing to recognize the total legitimacy of struggle, grieving, and even giving up.

    1. Thank you for sharing. Yes, it is the mystery that reveals itself in real whole-hearted acceptance that is secretly included in what I’ve written.

  3. I feel much the same way. Whilst the world is dictated by shallow political gamesmanship, which precludes the intrinsic depth and dynamic of life by pre-definition, there’s not much that ONE ALONE can do to change things. Perhaps the ‘Twogetherness’ of ‘natural inclusionality’ can help? But not if there’s only one of us talking about it.

    1. Alan, I really appreciate your work and hope that many people ‘get’ what you mean by Inclusionality. Next to John Heron’s Participatory Spirituality it has been an eye opener to me when I left the ‘vertical model’ of spirituality. And yet, this ‘place beyond healing’ that I’m presently moving in, which I neither well understand nor have a proper model of, feels intrinsically good. It’s a little bit how I imagine a blessed death to be – feeling with, maybe even having some compassion for the ones who need to go on, and at peace with leaving.
      Hope this doesn’t sound to morbid, because it doesn’t feel so to me. Rather, it is beautiful… Love, Mushin

      1. Yes, it is good, cathartic, and useful to embrace/engage the
        dis/shadow/nihilism/hypocrisy denied, that has gotten us to that place
        lamented; but not so good, cathartic, nor useful if such is merely no more
        than merely more of that dis-info schtick of such hypocrisy denied that has
        gotten us to this place so otherwise lamented

        Why so insistent to continue to censor out the solution / functionality
        otherwise pretending to pine for?

        Why be what one is lamenting / complaining about?

        video – Sorrow Passion Beauty

        Accountability Breeds Response-Ability

        Accountability Breeds Hope!


      2. Interesting take you have on this happening.
        “Why so insistent to continue to censor out the solution / functionality otherwise pretending to pine for?”
        The keywords in your question, “insistent, censor, pretending, pine” seem self-explanatory and not really part of a question, don’t you think? And they fit pretty well with the keyword of your second question, “lamenting, complaining”. That makes it so that these questions cannot really be answered.
        If ever you would have experienced crying without suffering or coming to the end of your rope and acknowledging it without recourse to such judgements as express themselves in your “questions”, you’d know what this is about. Healing, non-healing, getting out, solving would reveal themselves to you for what the are – the fetters that bind you to the level you’re on.

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