GUA 12 · PI

Things just begin to feel and go wrong. Already a cluster of citizens know it, but it isn’t the old and wise ones: it’s mostly young sprouts, and a handful of older artists and poets. The network begins underground, to counter the culture. As if informed by some hidden connections, they begin to uproot and then to transplant themselves. The fabric of things connected already makes up in microcosm a new, little culture and seed for the mulch of the past. Radical means from the root, and so it is true that this group gets carried away before wisdom has come to full bloom. But what they leave behind is in an advanced decay and away is where they should go, a homeless band of refugees, not yet wise to tactics and stratagems, yet mature enough to get out from under a failing system. The tribe they now belong to is far, far older than this.

The decadent civilization makes up a world all its own. Its principles and its truths will define themselves into existence and just hang there with nothing to stand on, with only a little past and a little less future, in some void between heaven and earth. Its laws are its order and its coin its religion. A sage will lose most of his family, and mature human beings will question their own mental health. The people are sold on their sins and then get sold on salvation. And whoever holds praise and forgiveness is master. Want some roundabout power? Establish your place in a victimized class, then come forth to claim special privilege. The system is rigged, there is no way to get free here. So how do you win with self-rule forbidden, when you prize a clear conscience above the rules of the game? You do a great job choosing your battles.

We all have heard some story of a man who loses his life while saving a dog or a chicken. Society does this too when it loses sight of objectives and tries to move past selection. They will scold: Don’t be judgmental, or ask: Why be so negative? All things are relatives to all other things, in the interest of fairness, all things are just being equal. Buried under this hooey is a primate’s cortex that begs them to stop and look to first needs first. But the lowest common denominator does not want to hurt its brain, so looters and leaders weigh the same, principles go unchallenged, excellence is perversely rejected and authority cannot even question itself. Simply existing has the same value as working a lifetime on merit. Sometimes there is a great weakness in numbers. You must have a value to say that this is not worth it.

There are higher laws than the kingdom’s, higher mandates and purposes than kings either give or follow. There may never be social pressure to step up or reach up and grasp these. Almost all the rewards are given for being some bland kind of normal, so praise and support will not be pouring in. But deep inside the mammalian brain, a mind wants its social support. Not selling out has a steep price as well. The person of conscience, the one who is able to give or withdraw consent, who claims the right to civilly disobey, who looks more often to the next generations than to the next appointment, is not overwhelmed with rewards. The transformation of humankind is called the great work and not the big fun. But higher purpose is not about gain, it is that you must give and can’t stop. Happiness will measure things elsewhere.

The end of a difficult time is approaching. What has rotted and decayed begins to be known as compost and mulch. Now the small things that are growing are the young and their hopes for a better tomorrow. As each full set of seasons will bring its own lessons to bear, and several bring history’s teachings, the flexible young one is now given learnings to lean on, about what went wrong in the past. Against the ill winds that we now know are out there, we stake our hopes for a future. Mulberry seedlings might pass in a couple of ways, but we want them to outgrow the need for the stakes and this means living and breathing, provisional plans, a healthy mix of the firm and the flexible. Later a grove of strong trees might even change the climate. For today through twenty years hence, life is reconstitution: the roots are fed well enough now.

The wheel of fortune has come back around, spun off a new group of bright-eyed young sages, carried away an old load of dimwits, with their baggage of hope and despair, their little deaths and rebirths. Neither will joy last forever, although from what it has just undergone it can learn to last a bit longer, assuming some lessons in expectation and gratitude. The good and the true will not hold themselves erect. A higher order is endless work, as life is work against heat-death and falling apart. Have we learned yet why up and down are so oft interchanged? To look first for the longer trend and a larger arrangement? And above all, why do we seek our security in things that we don’t think will change? Change is so foreign and scary to people they would choose endless boredom, or endless damnation, if only these be eternal.