Under the Auspices of Total Power & Utter Responsibility, Riffin’ On…

“One can understand Me as I am, as the Supreme Personality of Godhead, only by devotional service. And when one is in full consciousness of Me by such devotion, he can enter into the kingdom of God.” 18.55 Bhagavad Gita Conclusion- The Perfection of Renunciation

Some of these identity based notions that we have here in the West, or the world, really, from what I can gather, while predicated on very real hardware, are utterly absurd, founded deeply in the notion that our capacities are utterly ours, and are not, in fact, in an intimate and mysterious, utterly profound dialogue with the communal context at hand/the Now…

It’s as such that they they’re quick to turn into anxieties, or rather perpetual well-springs of across the vast expanses of days. For one, intelligence… it’s entirely socially derived, albeit there are disorders/conditions which clearly can impact one’s faculties…generally speaking, we don’t possess intelligence as independent beings. Intelligence is instead a facet of experiencing a social world, or existing in tandem with one, which seems to be the case in reality down to the creation and conditioning of our very bodily states across days. Our capacity for spontaneous insight changes drastically with our intent at any given moment, and if you’re the type of person to surrender your life to the larger flow of the cosmos conscientiously and seek it overtly in all things, you’ll clearly find your access to it increases.

It sounds space-age, but the natural trajectory of normative society forces this of adults, if you really get into the minutia of it. We’re all already doing this, at least unwittingly. As we turn further towards some sort of proper cosmological posturing, we’re turned outwards in service towards the community, and all of our gifts asked of us.

Another is beauty. It can’t be percolated down to characteristics when it’s present in individuals, even when their individual characteristics can be harped upon. Even when harping upon them…are these traits beautiful because they are conventional, or perhaps the opposite? Wouldn’t that mean they’re beautiful because they’re…beautiful?…if it can happen by either fire or ice, that is…

These things don’t happen independently. One grows beautiful as they grow intelligent… it’s usually in a rather deep realization of both their life as a product of a meaningful and comprehensive determinism as well as service to others/Universe as the path to be pathed through time moving forward, that one realizes that beauty is intelligence as intelligence is utter service to others as utter service to others/the others themselves actually is simply…self…who you actually are…beautiful and intelligent, and everything else, most of the time, with a capacity for the stupidity and homeliness and other stuff too like…a fragment of the time.

You don’t lose your face or anything, going this far with transcendental philosophy. You get placed, actually, instead, socially. But something else also embeds itself communally when these sorts of motif moments do come around; self-actualization manifests bliss personally, and a meaningful sense of the transcendent socially, in the public forum.

Eventually, far enough along, disease as an impersonal and random institution falls off. I speculate most nightmares introduced as we’re cultured do…they were all largely based on the overt assertion that we live in a cold, impersonal universe…and the tenets of such assertions were never actually argued in a thorough way (the sublime joke/joy of awakening). We can know the force…we can do the impossible…within us all live the capacities of the clairvoyants, the wild possibilities of everything mystical… and in the very conventions of the forms themselves I speculate there are clues to the larger “why” of it all… spontaneous challenges to the management mind engrained into us, predicated entirely on being bound to empirical processes with no notion of Infinity existing adjacent by which to temper its tenacity/clear lameness… we chase Aladdin’s lamp, the star-strewn Arabian nights themselves, even, like flies frenzied around the bulb, strengthened, even, hardened by Ford’s 40 hr work week, unconsciously demanding and motioning towards a head-on collision with the auspices of both total power and utter responsibility… awakening to our very God-hood, to Singularity in the name of compassion, socially…for the sake of culture… and every transpiring which ever transpired…

Time is the book-keeper, the story unfathomably perfect by our standards, and our sense of it while in the throes, even when optimistic, a laughable tragedy, clearly untenable, a monkey on skates…