The real jacked up produces silence. Somebody really do you wrong and you get spiritual. You try to decide, which part of the story you wanna tell. The first impulse is to tell all your wrongs, especially if you are half honest. The dirty deeds, the secrets. The jacked up makes you wander in your mind through every "sin" you have ever committed. The good in you makes you want to apologize for things you never did. You want to adjust yourself to some morality that most likely stands outside of the real reasons. You want to atone. You want to remember whatever it is that you have forgotten. You imagine there is some solace in blaming yourself for your pain. You search through the religious books and look for scripture that will save a sinner like you.
This is the land ruled by a binary of the black and white, this or that, good and evil of illusion. We believe in the stark contrast between good and evil. We imagine they are simply separate. We make our religious duty, the elimination of evil within ourselves. But when somebody really does you wrong, the light cast on your imperfections is shadow. They didn't do what they did because you are flawed and human. They did it because they could. They did it because they were blind and could not see you. To them you were haunt and haint. To them you were shadow. Imagine yourself just waking up and trying to accustom your eyes to the light in the room. Imagine living in that morning haze forever. Imagine that that is the way that they see the world.
To them you are simply a darkened figure moving across the screen of their lives.
But here's the other thing, the blues for the bottom binary takes away agency. Our ballad in the binary of the strong is that there is only the strong.
We contemplate if one is not strong what really are we? Our tasks become simple-to be strong again.
Yeah, there are a few places in the Bible that make reference to the weak and the meek, but truth is nobody wants to be that here. We view the lower position as essence, intrinsic, fundamental and reflective of some skewed morality. All over the empire of language and the land of the binary, we imagine that the weak are in their position because of some intrinsic flaw.
We imagine they are we are they are at, because they refuse to work harder. We imagine that they lack some skill that could ward off all evil, all challenges. And the other thing, we imagine is that the strong have no blood on their hands. It is possible to be strong without violence and cunning, without brutality and harshness; but our binary seems to suggest that these casualties are swallowed up by the inherent good in the superior position. Mofo's do what they gotta do. Better to get that ass than hesitate. Better to do the deadly deed than have it done unto you. It is a rather shallow spirituality, though it fits well with the things of this world. To be human is to be caught in the bang and clash of opposing wills and ideas. Our lives seem to demand action to ward off attacks, and in the bang and clash we bruise and our bruised. We are hurt and we hurt.
We are human and capable of right of wrong. We are imperfect. We struggle with principalities, patterns, and haints. We can be saint or demon; but even in this there is illusion.
Breath, gravity, physics, and the laws of the universe apply to sinner and saint alike.
In other words God is good all day everyday.
I understand the social media diatribes, the long winded speech, and the cries for war. I understand the look this is what you have done to me. I understand the somebody must pay. But to paraphrase the Tao, I fear now being the executioner. It is a dirty job. It is so easy to cut ones own hand when one plays that role.
But for the poor, the weak, and those inhabiting the inferior position, the binary of thought convinces us that we must aspire to be like the strong, that we must change and transform our position through sheer force of will and superior force. That we must get somewhere else besides where we are at. That we must improve our lot. That we must obtain some focus and force to counteract the forces which move against us.
And it may be that is what the jacked up teaches us. It teaches us about perception. It teaches us about the spinning world and the rise and fall of things. It teaches us to absorb the energy the universe sends us as gift. It teaches us to survive. The sight of trauma, the ever wandering blues, teaches us that trauma, pain and suffering are part and parcel of the world; and that we cannot protect ourselves from what will happen. Things will happen, and when they do are ways of producing higher levels of understanding. What happens is the world and only if we were God could we know and expect exactly how things go down.
What happens are ways of challenging our sense of will and ideas about agency. From them we learn that the true agency belongs with the world itself.
World gonna do what it is gonna do. World gonna teach you.
To be human is to endure.
But what about the thief? What about the murderer? What about the one who seems to be the agent of pain and suffering?
How do they sleep at night? What do they remember and what do they forget?
The universe is mind. The whole universe is mind. We can imagine that we are separate, but dare we investigate how we are like those who cause us trauma or where we have caused trauma?
Being what they call black is opportunity to contemplate the jacket up shit in the world. It is our conceptual predicament. A ghetto of ideas, a fascinating riddle.
Those of us who study it, move towards it, contemplate it, and engage in the knowledge of the black travel the path of the sage unknowingly, imagining we are trying to make America better; but in reality we are contemplate the codes of humanity. Our conceptual predicament as the other, the lower, the naturally weak, is a confrontation with the portions of humanity locked out of the code by the binary. Our struggle in that way is towards humanity. Towards a greater understanding of how light and dark are intertwined as sure as night and day present themselves in eternal cycle.