A place for a


A seminar on interpersonal relationships

I just woke up from a dream that seemed very meaningful and important to me. It happens a lot recently. Here goes:

I was visiting a seminar on interpersonal relationships and I immediately got a bad vibe about it. The people on stage were young people of the scientific type.

So I sat there. A block and pencil on the desk in front of me. And one of them opened her or his mouth and said: Alright, so, ummh. There are three types of relationsh…

This was unacceptable. I had had enough of that shit in my life. Enough of that dead, lifeless, detached-from-everything-real bullshit.

I raised my hand.

Nobody noticed me.

I spoke up and interrupted the speaker. I said loudly, so that everyone could hear me: Excuse me, but before you start, please tell me who you are to teach me about relationships?

One of the apparent students on stage replied emptily, like a programmed recording: Well, sir, we just finished our introductory degree on …

I became furious. I shouted: No! I mean, who are you to be teaching me about relationships?

Clearly, the young intellectual acolytes were confused and looked at me as if I was crazy. They started replying, but their voice didn’t carry that confusion. It carried coldness and was detached from the person it belonged to: I don’t understand what you are getting at, sir.

I said: What I mean, is, do you lead successful relationships? Are you a master enough to be teaching me?

The mechanical voice replied: Sir, I don’t see how that is of any relevance. These are recognized scientific models for …

Fuck you!, I screamed with dread and in angry despair. I wanted to learn, but nobody was there to teach me. I wanted to learn to lead good relationships. I did not want to learn how to fucking categorize them. You braindead morons! Oh, my sorrow, I can’t take it! Is there nobody in this world who understands? I am an alive being who wants to live! I am not a brain that wants to analyze living!

It was a nightmare of sorts. I felt I was in a world full of fear and uncertainty. And the only guidance in this world of fear came from dead words that nobody understood, but everybody clang to desperately. Techniques for living that everybody used because they were right. Since nobody understood life, everybody clang to those words and slogans and mottos as if that was their life. It was a place of incomprehensible darkness. I felt like I was drowning in the ocean trying to survive on the scientific denotation of oxygen. On a word.

I woke up and realized what it was about, of course. It was about the way I had been forced to learn all my life. Not through living life, but through learning words and techniques to deal with life. Through learning to be emotionally detached from everything and then force those mantras on every situation that triggers their pattern recognition.

Through learning to be dead. An automaton. And being proud of that, proud of having a fucking answer to everything. Instead of letting my self be the answer. And when I stumbled upon somebody who had some aliveness left? I saw filth. I saw filth and degeneracy and irrationality and I did my best to kill their pitiful sentiments by asserting my dead truths upon them.

My life was all about the words, not about the things the words point to. That’s what school is. You do not learn about the world. You learn words and blindly trust that they have something to do with the world. You run around throwing those words around, without really understanding what they mean. They are not connected to anything alive.

These words make you believe that gravity is nothing but a mathematical equation. That fire is nothing but the word oxidization. That love is nothing but the word hormones. These words make you believe that when you have a technique and theoretical explanation to deal with a situation, that is all that there is to that moment.

And consciousness? An illusion of information systems. Of course. What else can you expect from such a worldview? Real answers? But isn’t that the irony? It is a reversed reality. Everything that is an illusion is seen as real. And everything that is real is seen as an illusion.

No wonder nobody is ever satisfied or fulfilled by anything. When all they are doing is performing. Babies imitating adult people instead of being adult people. Teachers quoting masters instead of being masters. They understand nothing, but they know the words. But the words are meaningless. The presence of the master, on the other hand, is everything.

Words are supposed to be carriers of knowledge. Not the knowledge in itself.

Anyway. That dream made me fucking angry. I just thought to myself and to all those idiots out there: Stop teaching when you understand nothing. Stop writing when your writing is nothing more than the words you use for it. Stop showing me another pie chart, statistic or technique about relationships. Teach me something real or leave the stage.

And I think that this is what people mean by putting your soul into something. Maybe it is true that two independent people can write the same words, but you as the reader can distinguish which of the two is being truly authentic. Because possibly, the words carry with them something deeper. A vibe, if you will. Something that must seem incomprehensible to any of those materialistic science students who think that there is nothing but the words, because there is no scientific evidence of anything else being transmitted through the cable. And if they do feel something? That’s just hormones, totally without meaning.

I recently had a very intense trip on LSA. It was terrible. I felt that I was getting down to the core of reality. I arrived at some primordial place of physical particles. I felt that I was being torn apart by random chemical and electrical reactions. I tried to visualize light or love, but this vision immediately tore it apart. I was so desperate I called for Jesus to save me, but nothing happened. I cried terribly. I was in existential pain, amplified to a scale where it was impossible to drown with entertainment, food or porn. Was this reality reflecting my own cruel beliefs back to me? Have I learned my lesson now?

Yesterday, I read an article about shamanism that brings it to the point maybe better than I can:

In Western shamanism today the emphasis, when talking about shamanism and death,  has been much more on the role of the shaman as conductor of souls, or psychopomp, as it is sometimes called.  I’m really tired of this word psychopomp because it has nothing to do with human beings or shamanic practise. It’s an academic word.  I’d say the escort or conductor of souls.  But for me, in our culture, a new and challenging role for the shaman – in connection with death – is to help people to learn to face death. Nowadays people go on a workshop, learn some techniques, go home on Sunday night thinking they can work with people who are dying, people who are dead, but if they haven’t started to work with their own relationship to death, and really gotten into it, then they are going to bring that lack of depth, and perhaps deep fear of death, to the work they do for others, and that can be a disaster. I remember a few years ago there was a woman on the death course who assured the circle that she was all clear with death. Quite frankly, because of my observations of her during the past two years, I didn’t believe her. Apart of me felt like saying to her, “And what if you get home and find your nine month old son is dead?” No, I didn’t do it, but one day she’ll find out she has more work to do with death, just as I do, just as you do. We never finish learning. Shamanic work, like any spiritual work,  is more than techniques.

In the beginning of 2015, I set out on a journey to understand language. It was something I felt was necessary after my Ayahuasca ceremony, where words were floating around me. Now I think I am coming to learn that the only thing I need to understand about language is that it is limited. Devastatingly so. There were so many things I thought I needed to understand … but all I was after was to collect more words. More words to cleverly spout at opportune occasions. More words to feel safe, to always have an answer. To never have to accept or show my true nature.

But no matter what they describe, words will always just be words. Without the connection to something real, they mean nothing. You can memorize meaningless words, but memorizing them does not make them more meaningful. It just makes you more arrogant. What is arrogance? I think it is that terribly insecure student speaking with a scary, lifeless, robotic voice.

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  • Good insight.

    I sometimes call people out when they use words that I find meaningless. Words like respect, meaning, purpose, love, reason, discipline, and a few others. These words get thrown around a lot, but I do not think most people have a clear idea of what they actually represent.

    Even when you say something like “connection to something real.” What is connection? What is real? This could be a week long conversation.

    • What is real? I can only speak for myself, of course. In this context, I would make this kind of example: When you eat an apple, the “real” is the whole experience of eating the apple without thinking about it. It includes taste, energy, joy, and more. And while it includes all of that, it is in itself much more than the sum of all these intellectual categories. It just is. You could of course make the same analogy about fucking a girl or something else. Or just generally about living.

      • Real is a self made construct. I have read this in variety of places, but I will summarize it here.

        As human beings, we need a narrative, or we go fucking bananas. That is why people who do not dream go fucking crazy. That is why when people become oxygen deprived, whether through suffocation, or blood rushing from their heads from high g-force training, they start “hallucinating.” Except that it is not really hallucinating, it is doing what we already do every day, keeping the narrative going. Except that when the brain does not have what it needs to function, oxygen, it starts making up the craziest of crazy shit just to keep the story going.

        Remember that post I made a while back about truth not really existing? It ties in with that. I am fully aware that what I think is just part of my narrative. The reason I think I am closer to the truth than others, is I have done a decent job of removing my ego from the equation, and being conscious of the narrative bias.

        That is why those words like love, and meaning have no value. They are just ways to describe the narrative that people NEED to build.

        Side note. You have been putting out a lot of good content. I am glad you are finding so much inspiration.

        • Is that so? Do we need narratives or do our egos need that? Do we follow PUA advice because it is the truth or because it justifies having confidence in a positive outcome? Because it gives us a narrative on why it suddenly is okay for us to get pussay?

          Did you not yourself advocate going with the gut and instinct and being in the moment instead of overthinking? That is what I mean by real.

          As for love, I would not overthink it. It seems to be almost synonymous with full acceptance of the moment. It has nothing to do with that romantic slave-follows-cultural-idea-of-monogamy-and-heroism bullshit.

          As for meaning, my newer posts should make it clear that I agree with you.


  • Micah Geni
    • Two days ago I was reading something about Shamanism. Now you send me a video about Shamanism. Gotta love those synchronicities.