the pre-apocalypse blues

The sun is shining, and even though there’s still an underlying chill in the air it finally feels like one of the first days of spring. Yet in my heart I feel the icy fingers of another case of the pre-apocalypse blues. Maybe it’s all the recent killings, the lack of restful sleep, all the talk of danger on Key23, or the flocks of crows (who will ever be an omen for me of secret and fearsome worlds to come). But I again feel the pull of that hyperliminal headspace where every event seems portentous, and the world seems fraught with a sense of immediacy and peril that needs to be addressed before everything goes up in flames. I suppose the biggest factor right now might actually be all the work I’ve been doing recently to gain access to the deeps of the subconscious, a technique best framed in light of Castaneda’s idea of the assemblage point. In "The Art of Dreaming" the fictional shaman Don Juan tells Castaneda that our perception of reality is a fixed position of the assemblage point, that part of our etheric body where the chaos of experiences gets interpreted into a functional reality. The magical use is in recognizing that our "normalized" view of reality is only one position among infinite interpretations, and that one can learn to shift the assemblage point to interpret a host of other realities where the magician can access powers and insights unavailable or unknown in the normal position.

I haven’t been so interested (yet) in accessing other realities as in the first step of breaking the fixed position of the assemblage point to experience the flow of world itself unfiltered by any analytical interpretation (a technique Castaneda calls Stopping the World, and claims is necessary before creating any new magical world-view). The result of this is a pandemonium of impressions and influences, a flux of potentially meaningful connections unhampered by any previous subjective placement, the metafilter of consciousness stripped bare to reveal the inchoate host of movements that underlie everything. The lines of the world, as they say. The subconscious is not a personal phenomenon but the collective medium for experience, accessing it dips the veil of individuality into the sea of the total, so it comes up dripping with meanings, images, and insights that the individual could not have assembled alone. Little bits of other people’s lives, hints of other realities of time and space clinging like shipwrecked children to the only sturdy piece of flotsam for miles around.

In doing this I have found much of beauty; ideas and dreams full of wonder and mystery and hope that I am still trying to express (through poetry, art, music, spells, and long chaotic ramblings) in order to inspire others and turn them in to the magic and power of this erisian dream-realm. But I have also encountered ontological horrors, fears both personal and collective, glimpses of possible dystopic futures that I for one would not like to see become "real", if they are not already becoming so. Most predominately the threat of global annihilation that seems eminent even in the most lucid of waking states. If you have eyes to see and a heart to feel it is near impossible to not be aware of the coming breakdown of the western mono-civilization and its potential to bring down the rest of the world with it. All it would take is one nuke… or just a continued neglect of the environment that sustains us and makes life on Earth possible.

Over the fall and early winter I was feeling the pre-apocalypse blues something fierce, to the point of nearly falling into abject apophenic madness. I had not yet since my ontological shipwreck and existential reawakening of the summer found solid ground, or the right strokes to swim through the awesome chaos I had opened myself into. Who would have thought total connection to all beings could be such a terrifying thing? One could drown in the waves of implication without the cybernetic steering wheel of a clear-cut metaphysical assemblage (world-view), and I had none. And in the flungness of that confusion where everything is prophetic, my age-old nemesis, the Prophecy of Armageddon, reared its ugly head, forcing me to take some stand. I’ve been studying cultural tales of "the end of the world" since I learned to read, and as long as that future remains a possibility I have to stay sane enough to work towards a brighter future, regardless if the task is mine or if I have the power to change anything. Where there is fear, there is an opportunity for hope.

Recently I read Starhawk’s "The Fifth Sacred Thing," which is itself a prophetic vision of a future of total state control and a small but hopeful group of people who use magic and the joy of interconnectivity to overcome it (incidentally, though this book was recently published it fails to recognize the impact modern technology is already having on the direction of the future, something I feel any realistic prophecy or future-fiction needs to take into account; but that’s another story all-together). Although this story steers away from that of a nuclear apocalypse, it does raise several good points about the nature of prophecy, which while self-fulfilling is still an extension of our hopes and fears. And is thus intentionally directable. Starhawk’s characters talk often about keeping themselves in the "Good Reality," that head space of positive thinking where no matter what terrors you’re facing if you expect the Universe to respond with goodwill it will, and the smallest of positive events feeds back on itself and brings more positive events into being. Hope as a self-fulfilling prophecy. The inverse is obviously the "Bad Reality" where, like Murphy’s Law, anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and will continue to do so in a spiral of disaster until death begins to look like a better option than waiting for whatever tragedy will happen next.

Of course in "real life" the karmic implications of this are much subtler and intertwined, and one person’s hopes and fears get expressed all mixed up with everyone else’s so it’s hard to tell just where one prophecy leaves off and the next begins. But every little bit helps, a single moment of joy shifts the whole tide of the subconscious just a bit in that direction. So now whenever I feel my imagination seduced by the fears of the dystopic nightmare and I start prophesying the apocalypse, I remind myself to stay in the "Good Reality" and go out and spread positive actions and ideas of hope in whatever small way I can.