I didn't know where else to post this little story, but I've always liked this sub, and I wanted to post it somewhere, so here goes:
"In my first life, over ten thousand years ago, I was a rioter. Fully indulgent, I was totally subsumed by the world. I cared for fame, fortune, and all that. I took life by the horns, but I went too far, and without self control, or conscious reflection on the bigger picture, the fun that defines the world is lost. I lost track of what it was all about, even though the first truth was still in my mind. Anger filled the world, and following my death in old age, there came horrors beyond my comprehension. Civilization became a festering cesspit of baseness and misery. This was so not me. Not even great disasters, cataclysms, could fully wash the world of the filth. By the time my next life came around, less than 2,000 years before the present, I settled on ascetic and moralizer; a reactionary, I was. While I was fully aware of the truth now, I became preoccupied by it. By my words, I wanted to extinguish the lies of the world, and the suffering upon it. Saying the truth in such a fallen world got me killed, but my message, infused with a naive preoccupation with a sort of utilitarian kindness, lived on. My followers, in time, vanquished my murderers, and for a while, the world looked up, until it didn't. Their descendants built a wannabe utopia that was so boring to live in, with the fun of life lost once more, that many of my own people were more than willing to, in the end, welcome demonic figures as liberators. Once again, I had failed, and before my third life, in the present day, a beast system, even worse than the crude mockery of civilization that was the late antediluvian, arose to challenge me, in my new iteration. Here, in this life, I went through a microcosm of the previous two, Wiemar in figure, playing to win, was followed by Nazi in figure, not playing at all, and I shivered in the winter that surrounded me. But it was that winter, combined with much reflection of my journey, both micro and macro, that led me to finally discover the second truth, which is how to really live—play for the sake of playing. By the time I had, I guess you could say, I had fully learned my lesson. Only then, did the fun, life, as it's meant to be, return in full. By then, my story was no longer so much The Fool's Journey, as it was The Artist's Journey and The Journey of the Craftsman; I had won the world."
That is to say—at first I said "life is a game, so let's play to win". It was a disaster. Then, recoiling from the disaster, I said, "the creator is within us all, so forget playing, let's just be nice to one another". It was a disaster. Finally, I said "life is art, so make it your own". Before I even said it, I had already won. Looking back, the damage of the first approach to The World, the stage in which I, your old Fool and humble narrator, still walk after all these aeons, was a real horrorshow. But that was child's play compared to the second approach. By the second, and those clowns who dare mock me, along with the dogs who run amock and bark, even the vitality of man was sapped. At least the first was about unapologetically living. Not so for the second. I was reminded of my foolishness every day when I saw that dastardly book supposedly inspired by me, and my shenanigans back when I, bummed out with the horrorshow, spoke of peace and love. Here in this life, I revisited it all, stages and phases in sequence. It had to happen, and I'm happy it did, because it got me to where I am today—a fully trained Artist and Craftsman, who can finally do proud the creator, and fulfill my reason for being here in the first place. My true trade is simple. I'm not a world conqueror in grand strategy, nor some wandering monk who hates life itself, no no; I make dreams worth dreaming, plays worth watching, and lives worth living. Who do I serve? Not only the creator within us, but also you, dear reader, another beautiful aspect of creation just like me; creation, which my respect for is boundless. And here I am, dear reader, fun and summery once more, but a bit less foolish for wear.
"So, I found myself watching a bit of Footloose, and listening to a bit of Burzum, after I recounted playing with a few toy soldiers, and smirked at some of those wild-eyed sermons I once gave. I couldn't judge Varg at all, as silly as he is. He only knew me as a pompous hippie, and that wasn't really me, now was it, dear reader? Oh I was cured, old friend, I was cured. Now, I guess, we can dance if we want to; nobody gets hurt, I can tell you that—maybe today's disaffected killjoys will even join us some day. It's an open invitation."
I don't think I'll read the replies. Just wanted to put it out there. Hope you enjoyed it.
There's some interesting ideas in there 🧐
In some deep esoteric circles, there is this idea that the whole 20th century, considering its history/events, was something of an elaborate allegory by the creator for something far, far, deeper. Consider the song "Go West" by the Pet Shop Boys, can anyone serious in mind say with a straight face that this is merely a song about the end of the "Cold War"? Absolutely not. This is all related to the story of a particular soul, the world's central soul; that of Adam/Jesus, the star of The Fool's Journey, which right before the end of the first earth, right before the beginning of the second earth (the real stage), becomes a fool no longer, and the title of his story is extended to two more titles "The Artist's Journey" and the "Journey of the Craftsman". So, think about Russia. In the beginning of the 20th century, it was ruled by an excessful Tsar, representative of Adam, the rioter, the polar opposite of a starry-eyed idealist. Then (after a reactionary—against the excesses and missteps, revolution), it was ruled by Lenin(ists), a representative for Jesus, who was all Jesus was not, a sort of utopian, but alas, an even bigger fool than Adam, who was at least not into sapping the very vitality out of life in favor of some imaginary, self-assured ideal. In the end, well, Jesus came back, but a bit wiser in his years, having, in this iteration, gone through a microcosm of the old thing. Allegorically, Gorbachev played this one. He did his perestroika, and glasnost, lifting all of the inhuman restrictions he made de rigeur in his past, less savvy, life. Well, this was the plan he made for after the final day. What's that? Symbologized by the fall of the Berlin Wall. It's doomsday and renewal. The end of the first, fallen earth, and the beginning of the second, exalted. What's this soul's plan for the new world? All that Jesus and Adam were not all about. It is not one of conquest, nor moralizing, but simply about loving the art of life, and making that art even better, more vivid, more awesome, more fun.
He sounds cool and like we should smoke a blunt.
"So many, even today, base their entire identity on a heavily distorted version of what I said when I was objectively at my worst. Just look at me back then, I was ragged, wearing half-dirty clothes, long hair, and I didn't even shave. My skin, way too tanned from walking down a road to nowhere, and sitting out like a gadfly, preaching. I can assure you, that is so not me; they never knew me. They have lionized a version of that as the best, but it's not. Do they know the old, fun-loving, if unseasoned me, with his light strawberry blonde hair, short, swooshed off, and shaved? Do they know the new me, not so different, but maybe a bit wiser, though the most, well, perpetually youthful of them all? No. No to either. And looking back at both, I'd actually prefer if, should they ignore me today, and I seek no recognition, preferring the shadows, they went after the first me, as the one to lionize. He was a guy who really lived. The second me, well, he almost apologized for living altogether! Well, that said, even me at my worst, I did not say half of the things they attribute to me. I did not, for one, promise anyone paradise, nor did I give scare-sermons about torment. All I ever said is "a character belongs where he does". This was, to me then, as it is now, logical and pretty reasonable. Say, the creator makes a wicked figurine? Of course, considering eternal recurrence, you can expect to find that one in a wicked dollhouse, living out a wicked story. But these people, they think if they follow some perversion of the orders I once foolishly gave, all about being selfless and all that, and their family members do too, that they will be, some day, reunited with them in some clouds-and-harps sky resort? This is ridiculous. Of course, one should not be an asshole, out of respect for creation, not to mention doing the creator proud, but come on? These people, they have no fun, they are misguided. I don't even care what they call themselves. Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu, it's all the same. Forget the Christians, as loathsome as they are, let's talk the other three. In India and Siam, there are stray dogs, with rabies, running rampant in packs of 40, 50, 60; God knows how many children they kill each year. But, nobody wants to cull the hounds. Why? The Hindu/Buddhist notion of "do no harm to a living being". Bruh, I didn't even say that. Then there are the Muslims. I've heard in some places, they strike with canes those who drink wine, and don't get me started on the stupid fucking burqas. Again, they, like the former two, three, all claim to be followers of me, regardless of what they call me. This is disgusting. Some even worship some effigy of me. This disgusts me, I've always said, even from may days as Adam, to worship only God—the writer of all stories, the dreamer of all dreams, within, yet beyond, us all. To worship a man, and all, from me to all others, are imperfect? Come on. I drink wine nearly every day, I love beautiful women showing off their style in the sun, and of course, I prefer it in a place where there are no stray beasts. Fuck bro, I fucked up so hard when I gave some of those sermons. Half the time, I was sharing valuable truths about life being a scripted dream of the divine, but the other half, my lord, I really put my foot in my mouth. Still though, I have no regrets at all. It was all fun, still is, but here, I see a future of putting things right a bit. I do not seek a fucking utopia—lesson learned, but maybe, a new chance for all who want it. Certainly, I got mine by it, and I'll share. I'm simply a tour guide for the soul, as I have always said quite clearly."