Beautiful day today, warm and sunny, lovely. Good life to be truthful, back door open, fan on, blue sky, diverse things getting done, but really enjoying a long, late Summer, for as long as it lasts.
I still find myself coming across the odd writing by someone involved in occultism or similar fields, that gives the impression that there is a way, a program, a course you go through, and there you are, eventually, mystically cooked, or self mastered, or whatever. Whether shining and independent, or contritely qualified, it’s so very well paved, so defensively certain, so very much in the head, so very, very young.
There are of course many things that can be achieved by systematic, schematic work, and there is without doubt a need for consistent work and practices, and for some degree of self-discipline. But the majority of that is doing work on repairing and tuning the car, and then familiarizing yourself with other people’s maps, and travel tales. None of that is going to get you anywhere in itself. That is why people with no intention whatsoever of following any kind of spiritual or mystical paths actually get to cross the territory, even if with the accumulation of some scars, while professional spiritual students can get to be just the social furniture of a school or philosophy. That’s why art sometimes works better than mysticism, and why no one actually really knows shit about anyone else when it comes to it.
There are lots of things you can pick up, lots of things that prove useful and insightful, but study never got anyone a real experience. It can help get you skills, knowledge, opinions, and loads of mental stuff that can help or hinder, and more rarely it can communicate something from a very unusual person that actually changes something for you, or fills in a part of the puzzle.
But someone just walking down the road is actually walking, while a car enthusiast is becoming a more experienced car enthusiast. And no one actually has the answer, just an answer that worked for them. That should be really obvious, in a world as brilliantly fucked up as ours.
To really live is something.