Ouroboros and Phoenix

God made the world and then Adam and Eve fucked it up. Then God came again and the Romans killed him and he rose from the dead. People continue to fuck up the world, but somehow the world keeps revolving, around and around and around. In the midst of it all I am sad and I hurt because some kind of trauma happened to me. Poor me. Every now and then I rise above the sickness and feel joy. Every now and then something cool happens in the world, like a man walks on the moon or a man walks across the Himalayans to honor his commitment to non-violence. But mostly there are earthquakes that kill tens of thousands of people (innocent and evil), or a handful of soldiers die in a battle, or someone gets raped, or a kid doesn’t share his cookie with his buddy. The world is an Ouroboros, revolving around itself, eating its own shit and needing nothing beyond what it produces. The world is a Phoenix, continually arising from ashes of destruction, bold and beautiful and free. I am an Ouroboros, trapped in a pre-ego state because I split off from myself before I could differentiate myself from “other.” I am alone and unable to connect with anyone but myself. I revolve around myself, meeting my own needs, eating my own tail. Likewise, I am the phoenix, survivor of trauma, child of the Earth, child of Love. I rise from the ashes of my grief, over and over again, a testament to the healing power of time and the healing power of mind and the joy that is Life. While I eat my tail and rise from the ashes, faceless masses starve, nameless children are abused, and the human race turns on itself and kills for land or power or oil. While I orbit myself in autistic self-absorption, someone kisses their lover, a company funds research for a cure for cancer, nameless and faceless masses sing songs to their dead/risen God, deep and soulfull eyes gaze on the beauty of a mountain/river/tree/butterfly.

Bring it home, to what really matters. As trapped as I am in the cycle of the Ouroboros and Phoenix both, as drawn as I am to total withdrawal from life and total surrender to death and total one-ness with Earth and all that is Samsara and Nirvana and Resurrection, I still have a heart that beats about 70 times per minute. In that minute I feel emotions, think thoughts, and of my free will determine action. Like Adam and Eve I fuck up. Like Jesus I rise from the dead, eternally committing suicide and eternally choosing life. Like people everywhere I am selfish and self-less, giving and taking sometimes consciously sometimes impulsively. I kiss my lover. I laugh with my friend. I cut my arm. I lie to my mom. I say kind and then unkind words to children. I might as well have walked on the moon or killed an Iraqi soldier for all it matters. But it does matter, doesn’t it. It certainly mattered to me that I was traumatized, and loved. It matters to him that I choose to live, or bake him cookies, or touch his hand. Inside the Ouroboros eternally revolves and the Phoenix eternally rises, my heart beats. Externally I inhale and exhale, a timeless gate swinging open and shut on nothing. Yet it’s everything.

Book information: http://inandoutoficeglass.weebly.com/