THERE WILL BE NO EQUILIBRIUM
content warning for discussions of: death, depression, suicide, family trauma, and general vibes of apocalypse and destruction
prologue: chemicals can't be trusted
every day we fight an ongoing war of attrition being waged between mind and body. the mind's desire to be free and the body's need to be controlled by its circulatory systems of fluids and chemicals. either side in contention with the other causing the tethered threads between the two to wane. creating an antagonistic stalemate between physical corporeal necessities and the abstract yearnings of conscious thought.
and while it is true that the body keeps the score, when the interwoven stitching of our makeup is not in synchrony, neural pathways get carved into the roots of the brain that make the development of both sides uniquely centrifugal. creating disparities that go on to greatly affect our every day lives. when the digressions start, the balance can never fully be restored. all that's left in moving forward is to strategize how to level the playing field whenever possible.
finding stability in life is difficult. the longer our time on earth goes on, the more we are besieged by powers outside our control. trapping us into archaic response cycles that shield attacks from the unloving and immutable world around us. but it is not impossible to dig a path through that keeps our heads above water. one that gives us a vantage point to see beyond the trenches of dynamic warfare.
focused choices and changes will create fresh neural pathways with intention dug into them. paths that allow for more space to breathe, time to think, and energy to focus. finding out how and to what degree to get the neurons firing can cement progress in ways far more efficient than waging war on the self. and this disarming of that which is deployed deep within our psyche will expand our vision on which directions we wish to walk.
but there is always a homing beacon. a lighthouse guiding every fork in the road back to a collective, conclusive terminus. the distant glimmer shining towards that one being which we all eventually come to know. perhaps the only universality among man. waiting for the very moment our journey ends.
chapter one: she comes for us all
on january 2nd, 2002, my grandfather passed away. i'm told he went peacefully, but i was not there to witness it. being informed of his passing at age seven was my first memory of honest to goodness depression, not just sadness. it was also my first real encounter with death.
a few weeks prior, we visited grandpa in the hospital for christmas. my dad surprised him dressed up as santa claus and everything. i didn't know until many years later that he was initially hospitalized there after suffering a series of strokes. nor did i know that at the first hospital he was admitted to they gave him an irresponsibly strong dose of sedatives. sending him into a PTSD war flashback psychosis that permanently damaged his brain and nearly killed him on the spot.
but grandma's passing eleven years later was much more visible to me. after grandpa went, she had to be put in assisted living. succumbing to worsening dementia and monitored for 24 hours by overworked and underpaid nursing staff passing through the place like a revolving door. my dad would take the 6 hour roundtrip drive nearly every weekend to see her, talk to her, and just keep the gears in her head going as best he could while she still had time. but there wasn't much any of us could do to quell what we all knew was coming.
in 2013 she passed away. her slow descent into end of life twisted my world view of how cruel death can be. with grandpa the adults in my life kept his suffering less visible to us. but with grandma i had to witness the fun loving granny with sassy t-shirts who played checkers with me as a kid get mercilessly stripped away from illness year after year. and all i could see by the time it was over was the dying light of someone who i feel didn't deserve to lose their humanity. it was devastating.
"it comes for us all," they say. but death can hardly feel real until you see signs of her peering into your world. stealing your loved ones away for what surely feels like a trip to the other side unjustly taken. death can be cruel that way. but she's a harsh mistress with which we all flirt. throughout our lives we come to form a foundational bond together. i feel she is a misunderstood figure in the land of the living. her likeness, her specter, and the experience of leaving with her all separate facets that too often get lost in the dialogue of our conversations.
there's much to glean from how we connect with death. a deconstruction of our relationship casting a reflection back on what we are pouring our energies into. perhaps death needn't be scary, nebulous, nor all-encompassing. perhaps she can instead be: a friend. maybe there is more to discover by affording ourselves the opportunity to listen to what she has to say.
chapter two: we must destroy ourselves to save ourselves
to know death is to see her as an equal. to be in conversation with her is to accept her as part of our community. to grow beside her inviting the questioning of the vagaries constructing our confused existence. it's in this bond that we can come to define the self, understand our actions, and see the world we are cultivating.
as we develop in early life, we learn to perceive outside forces gradually. eventually landing on distinctions that make us unique from our environment; however facetious their definitions may actually be. it is in this process that the self takes shape, habitually forming an identity as we evolve. it is an inescapable part of the human experience.
but what shape ends up being created is entirely in the artist's hands. our clay has malleability and is molded out of the cumulative experiences of everything that crosses our path. each a fresh notch in our cosmic design. death's touch, one we "brush shoulders with" as they say, is a precious resource to be gained in this evolution. helping concoct an overall picture of ourselves that is fluid, yet nonetheless recognizable. a self that is distinct, but still entrenched in its surroundings.
precious few choose to make bedfellows with death in this life. so rarely building settlement for her to be our familiars in. most wish to deny her touch. creating a shadow over their journey that becomes perniciously warped with time. it is here where we are introduced to her specter. the cloak of a ghost cast wide and immune to even the strongest resistance. we cannot truly know death if we are stuck in the shadow of this rejection.
for millennia our species has painted death's portrait in as many ways as we've depicted images of christ. hoping to understand her in the same way we seek to know the holiness of the lord. and to paint an image of death, there must confer a meaning onto what she represents. there must be a desire to categorize her; to create myth. but in so doing she has become less understood as a corporeal form made manifest by the visions of the inspired, and more the tortured reflections of the painters behind the canvas.
our sympathy for death's plight relies on the freedom of radical acceptance. to understand ourselves as a partner in her dance, not her adversary. but the crosses we bear too often act as karmic debts throwing us into paths of least resistance. away from this freeing embrace and into the very concepts of shame and judgement that blind us. from here death can only remain a shadowed figure. her abstraction granting her omniscience; lest she run afoul the perceptions of fallibility. this veil of mystery primarily representative of our fears of the unknown more than anything she speaks into the wild.
we need not be occupied by the questions of what lies beyond our grasp. we must trust what is present and within reach. death is trying to help us. she may not have the most deft hand, but she still makes statements. her words seeking to create balance where there has been great disparity. and we can choose in these moments to see her as a punishing deity or as a force for great dynamic change, for equalization. one who helps us comes to grips with what we are and how we act. in this acceptance we can come to know her more intimately. it is here, where we can begin to call her our friend.
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our lives are built on fractions of time. a bevy of mistakes and embarrassments that grant us humanity. in the transparency of playing the fool we can find something meaningful nested in those blurs that make the world spin. the qualities of life that keep our momentum, a rhythm bringing tranquility to an existence that is dizzying. one that is painfully unknowable, chaotically entangled with every other soul on earth, but one that is no less poetic in its interconnectivity.
life's limited scope is what gives it meaning. we can feel emotions more intensely when they are small enough to be personal. to most, abstraction is necessary to manufacture comfort. there will never be enough time to know every soul. we cannot build universes of knowledge in our brains as complete as ancient libraries, and we shouldn't try to. but a shared dialectic of what is ours and what is outside our scope helps us grapple with the trials at a more comprehensible scale. we simply must settle in with life's confusing limitations and understand them as worthy of appreciation, of love. to believe anything less discards notions that any of it is worth experiencing at all.
we cannot build homes in the darkness. each light we carry casts definition onto our character and shadow. there is no need to wear a mask. we are always going to be what we are. no matter how much change comes about. to exist is to be seen. to be alive is to be known. and we cannot nurture ourselves without seeing each other. we must endure the torture of recognition. we must brace the trials of being naked. we must know the shame of being human. only in this open display can we make any sort of connection at all.
it is all too prescient that we take these lessons with us as we go. to surrender our pride, individualism, and resistance to liberation in the face of a dying world. there is still hope out there, found in the uplifting spirit of untold numbers working in harmony to create a brighter vision. a better world for all. it's imperative that we interlock arms with these bandied masses and push back against the great flames fanning the atmosphere. because god, you and i both know, those flames are very, very tall.
chapter three: apocalypse is inevitable
when i was younger, i sketched an idea for the perfect performance of ritualistic suicide. conceptualizing the peak of an idealized enlightenment and inner peace that granted me the opportunity to exit this earth on my own terms. beginning the cycle of death and rebirth by walking directly into the sea at sunset, like godzilla retreating homeward bound, alone and in synchronous harmony with death and mother earth all at once.
but tantalizing as it may be to fantasize of total bliss in death, these days that dream has lost its desirability to me. i have seen too much to know that this sensation of complete balance will never come. my understanding of death's presence now more a reaction to her hand taking those around me and showing them her kingdom than an opaque desire to be her most trusted ally. instead, i choose to be linked to the world death is constantly eyeing. my voice just another in the cacophony of pained cries vibrating through the airwaves, but one i still hope is heard by the others screaming in harmony.
is there really room to find peace in this noise?
i think shifting focus to a pastoral understanding affords a broader perspective, sure. we cannot save our world alone. nor can we feel connected to it if we don't consider the others who occupy it. but in the tangible here and now it is paramount that we also consider the worst possible outcome: our own annihilation. complete and total destruction of everything and everyone around us happening as we speak. no future for the generations being born right now. what are we to do then, when the ground we walk on gets burned and the shores swallowed by the ocean? how exactly do we fan those flames?
if you trace the paths of those who have become swallowed by death's specter you will find settlements built in the thickest of glass houses. fortresses for our species' most spineless and cruel. those who abandoned their souls to nurture fortified structures of power and caste. hierarchical systems that have damned the very soil we walk on and cast pestilence into the very air our screams get caught up in. there is more that is terrifying in our current moment than in the mystery of a ponderous future. more worrying and apocalyptic in the traditions and hegemonies of man's own selfish wrought that exist right in front of us.
we know it's here and we've known it's coming. our species' great evangelism for industrialization expediently propelling us toward collective genocide. the capitalists have stripped our home of everything that makes her whole. choosing to dredge up the sludge and bones buried deep within her bounds and count them like coins. funneling every last morsel back into the slaughterhouses that churn endless bodies to dust over decades of unvalued labor. catastrophe is here. the result of this harrowed ritualistic sacrifice for the false gods of capital. the fallout of pushing the very concept of "civilization" to its extremes. they have thrust the anthropocene upon us, and so our hand is forced in the process.
our mother earth has no preoccupations with tradition. she ebbs and flows in response to the planets outside her. in community with that which is greater than her. without our presence she knows the passage of time as only the erosion of the rocks and shifting of the tides. mother earth exists as we were meant to. free from systems and the rigid calculus of pattern recognition. if we all listened to her, we would live for hundreds of thousands more years in lockstep with her ongoing transformations.
but man, in his hubris, has made manifest horrors beyond mother earth's conception. terrors that death could not even hope to conjure by herself. this myth of the "great man," a callous framework for justifying destruction heretofore unfathomable. for centuries now, we've been the occupiers. we've colonized that which is supposed to move with us. creating grounds stillborn for other thieves, rent-seekers and sooners to tear apart and paint over ad nauseam.
now much of our home is no more trees and desert than it is brick and cement. we've broken the agreement to dance in step with mother earth. choosing instead to conquer her. placing down roots and forcing out life we see as unworthy of settling beside us. filling the air with methane and salting the earth with toxins. it never had to be this way, but the exiling of the people who sought to listen to the land has turned what's left into occupied territory.
there will be no equilibrium to keep our world from being sullied by those who wish to plunder it, and none can be found from within while the earth is being killed. the desire to maximize creature comfort over human connection for the sake of profit has turned us into bitter beings. the powerful hierarchies forged to keep man in his place doing little to balance a craving for blood, nor to satiate the tortured masses. the myth of the individual is what haunts this planet, not death. dooming a great many to a fate they had no hand in earning.
there is blood in the fields, blood in the factories, blood in the trucks, blood in the air and the water and the mangled manufactured harvest of that which is entirely unnatural; unholy. we're not supposed to live like this. we're not made to fulfill the pipe dreams of autocratic fools. the ugly and cruel ideals of soulless demagogues who wish for a world where the strawberries never go out of season. a world where it doesn't snow. a world where the trees burn so that we are forced not to lay under them. there is no happiness left to be found in their world. only a warm gun.
i fear our species is reaching its Great Dying. a self-inflicted wound of capital and colonization that paved the way for desolation. a great bleeding out of a population poised to reach closer to the sun than any other has come, only to meet the same fate as icarus. the sky is falling and none of us have arms big enough to catch it, much less put it back in its natural place. there is no lord that can forgive us in this wake, for we knew exactly what we were doing. and yet, we just did not care.
when we reach the kingdom of heaven, will we be judged on our role in this destruction of god's creation? are we as a people to blame for the hubris of the few? why must we be sacrificed for the dreams of those with blood in their eyes and rage in their hearts? surely, there is room for something else before it all comes crashing down. something equitable and agreeable that could be better, while there’s still precious time. there must be something in the collective that can at least make the bombs raining down feel less painful. i'd hope that in dying times, death more than anyone, could be our friend.
chapter four: god doesn't build bombs
it can be tempting to become antagonistic in the face of total darkness. to want to form an equally great armament for mutual destruction as a counterattack. a crimson wave come to cleanse the earth of her colonizers. there is something comforting in the idea of being pulled into abyss to give mother earth a clean slate.
but if you are willing to breed annihilation, where will you hide when there are no trees left? when no tall blades of grass can obscure the faces of those who soiled the earth, will you feel any different than they who built the tanks and pipelines? will you find peace when the reckoning comes? will you give yourself up to be swept in mother earth's call to reset?
nihilism is purely theoretical in our world. entirely inactionable in a space where existing alone grants itself purpose. you can break the code of your identity, but you can never escape from it. martyrdom not historically faring much better. what we should never be beneath this crushing boot is complacent. giving up autonomy in service of a moral high ground will get you nowhere. gods and pharaohs will do nothing to hasten the apotheosis of our extinction. they serve only to fall back into the very myth of individual that got us here in the first place. you cannot claim to be outside the radius of the bombs. you're in the warpath just as much as the rest of us.
we don't live in an imagined past where theory can overcome ideology without praxis. maybe in times of antiquity war could be romantic. there could be nobility in sacrificing one's self for a perceived greater good. but the power funneled into creating that placation mechanism for generations was merely a facade to mask the bloodshed. we know too much now. claiming ignorance is no longer an option. we've seen how the jokers at the top play with us like toy soldiers. and we cannot unsee their naked displays of greed. we can't opt out of apocalypse.
in times of hardship, only those with the ability to form bonds can survive. we humans are pro-social. it's the only reason we've lasted long enough to have this dialogue. so we must answer the ever daunting call to organize in order to continue on. to forge coalition for peoples who need the utmost protection. we have to be vulnerable, we have to be honest, and we have to see beyond the masks. we need strength in numbers. enough of us in a greek phalanx who will fend off the cataclysm of the few that wish to tear us apart. and we need to push and shove until the line moves and the bastards topple from their thrones.
this means slipping and falling and getting back up again. it means making mistakes. it means admitting failures. it means taking accountability. it means trusting our fellow fighter. learning and unlearning and going back to the drawing board many times over. creating this line of defense will be uncomfortable and new. but we must not shy away. we must poke and prod at each other until we have something cohesive. something consistent and able to stand on its own. but also something transient, ever-evolving. we cannot move through this fog without our high beams on. so we must be ready to adapt and change for any circumstance that arrives. be malleable.
you won't get anywhere lying to yourself or keeping things from others. sure, you need not be an open book to be accepted. but you should be able to find out which people and in what situations you can share your emotions with. find the safe spaces where you can yell and cry and be completely unfiltered when you need it. create something sacred out of the fractured pieces that we all carry with us. use your skills to strengthen your bonds and you will never feel truly alone. because we all deserve to find our home. we are all empathetic creatures who understand nuance and can hold dialectics. there should always be space to find a home within each other.
we have to be ready to show up when the going gets tough. lend our bodies and our spirits to heal the wounds when the time comes. everyone has something to offer. maybe you can drive, cook, sew, provide shelter, or tell a good story. no displays of kindness will go unnoticed. you have to pitch in and be vulnerable. be willing to connect with strangers. be willing to do tasks for others. be willing to inconvenience yourself to support your people. it's only in our reciprocity of love and care that we can grow alongside each other. be a security blanket and the winters will seem less cold.
and yes, we must fight. everything that is precious and worth holding close is in constant danger of being destroyed. we must strategize how and when to lob crushing blows at our oppressors. they need to be stripped of their power, deplatformed from their influence, held at trial and fed back into the very death machines they built to be torn limb from limb when all is said and done. nobody should govern above the people. they should be buried beneath them if they even try. we must be tactical in how we send this message. because the earth is crying out every day for someone to speak up and save her. choose to be her ally, not theirs.
but be weary in your methodology. understand each move as just one piece in your arsenal for fighting back. no singular outlet will make change happen on its own. many have tried and failed in your wake. don't be the fool that plays the hero. commit yourself to being part of something greater. that is the only way we can bring down the towers, by working hand in hand. the most effective ways to dethrone power rely on working together, not going rogue. so remember, a death drive will always arrive at the same terminus. have fun staring god in the face if that's what you wish, but god's seen more than you have.
chapter five: let yourself have it
everything you do will be imperfect. there will be no overarching standard of singularity to the self you craft. a consistency will be built over years of radically diverse experiences. the great balancing act one that you take on, finding whatever ballast you need to keep yourself moving forward. let yourself be what you already are. be broken and bruised and scarred and let it all shape the face you wear every day. because the world will keep on spinning anyway. give yourself some grace and be true to what you have inside. nurture your inner child and make peace with your mortality. you cannot connect with the world without connecting with yourself.
you don't have to have all the answers. nobody does. not even death, not even god. but you should keep asking questions. find the threads woven tightly within your psyche and learn when it is valuable to pull on them. challenge what you know, why you think what you think, and what you may be projecting onto others. the world is friendlier than you may have thought. your people will be more accepting of you if you are accepting of yourself and of them.
you are allowed to have it. you are allowed to be loved. you are allowed to be who you really are, at your worst, at your lowest, and still find peace. you can do it. i believe in you. no matter who you are or what you're going through. i believe that you can make it out of this hell. in a storm of bullets or walking like godzilla into the sunset. you will find a life worth living in this twisted cavalcade of madness that we all slog through. it will never feel complete and many days will still feel unconquerable, but you will move through them all the same.
so keep going. for yourself, for your community, for your world, keep on fighting the good fight. your efforts will not go unnoticed. mother earth, death, they will watch as the days roll on. you are in good company if you look back upon them. if you embrace your time in this life then you will go peacefully into the next. and they will bury you with flowers in the end. take care, take time, and take one for the team when you can. we will all be better for having known each other when the war is over. so embrace the darkness, and let it guide you toward the light.
