❤️ = ♾️
“Be with us, oh holy mystery of love, as we dream together.”
Throughout my life, I've had a shamanistic tendency. I can't just "do drugs" or have a "good time." There must be a sort of ritualistic accompaniment. For instance, with psilocybin mushrooms, I can't treat it like a party drug. I've tried in the past but it's always been a bad idea. The first time I ever used it, I sat in my car and watched a tree branch dance in the breeze. I don't know exactly what it was, but in that moment I realized that the tree was very much alive - just as I was - and it was moving. I had a revelation, that first time, that was not unlike the one had by Bill Hicks:
I came to the conclusion after a lot of experimentation that the best way to enjoy these substances - the best way to learn from them - was to be still, quiet, and always be outside. Don't go to a bar. Don't sit inside with friends and talk.
Be among the trees and the stars.
I try to do this every few years. It seems like a cleansing of the soul. A way to sort out the more nebulous, ineffable problems of life that you may not even be aware you have.
Ever since my dad died, I’ve been in a rut. A death in the family gives you a very concrete sense of mortality. It’s tangible - you can almost reach out and touch it. I find myself nervous and scatterbrained for no particular reason. I can’t focus on anything. I don’t enjoy anything.
So a few months ago, I went with a friend to a very remote corner of the woods, rented a yurt, and decided to commune. It had been over three years and the last one was not very good. It had been Freudian, confusing, obtuse. But I was determined to gain some insight this time.
I had three great takeaways.
The first was that this one particular tree really had things to say to me. It was as if the tree was 3D modeled and had an animated shader on it’s bark - only this was reality. It moved like cascading leopard skin. I would look away, at other trees that were normal, and back to this one tree and the effect would resume. I have no way to explain this. It’s like it was trying to get my attention.
The second was the stars. We were with some people and it was a very clear night. One of them was drawing on a notepad, completely immersed, when we told him to look up. The sense of awe on his face said it all. I’ve never really noticed the stars in quite the same way. If you follow this blog, you know I’m obsessed with the Moon and other space stuff, but this was different. We were way out in the woods of Talladega somewhere, far from any light pollution. Other than campfire, there was no light at all, yet it was so bright, lit by the faint blue of starlight.
The third was the true revelation.
Sometime before this trip, during the grief and chaos, I had this simple notion: hatred has a shelf life. If someone has done something horrible, something heinous and deserved of hate; I’ve found that you can only hold onto that hatred for so long. You can only ride in that dark groove briefly. Hatred will destroy the user - the one doing the hating - just as much as the one that deserves the ire. Religious works, particularly Christianity, teach this. The whole tenant of Forgiveness is thus.
More so, it’s hard to keep up that kind of raw emotion. It gets boring. People can be terrible, but you can often find simple reasons for it. Poverty, ignorance, bad parents… It’s not an excuse for bad behavior, but it’s an explanation most of the time. It does no good to hate people for such things, and if you meditate and reflect upon it, there’s rarely a reason to even be angered at all.
It’s the same with grief and sadness. Often you can look back at dark times in your life and wonder what the hell was so bad to begin with, despite knowing that at the time things felt abject and immutable. But you get over it. Time heals all wounds.
So all negative emotions are temporary, ultimately. What about the opposite?
After the Capitol Riot last year, I was pretty discouraged by the state of society. I really thought we had reached a nadir and perhaps would never come back from it. I’m not sure if that has exactly improved at all, but I do think there are signs of hope.
A lot was said of Amanda Gorman’s poem during the inauguration, just two weeks after the riot and in the exact same spot that it occurred. I don’t want to take anything away from that poem - it’s beautiful and she’s a national treasure - but I was more moved by what came before it: The Invocation.
I had started painting this shortly after the inaugural. Those words perfectly summarized this revelation that was slowly building in me. In the woods, sitting by campfire, under the glow of the stars, across a stream from a talkative psychedelic tree, the feeling crystalized.
Love is Infinite
You can never have enough of it.
There’s no such things as too much.
In places where hatred or sadness or grief might go, I’ve found that if you can fill it with love instead. There’s an endless supply. It is the basis of all things and everything else is illusory. This is no longer conceptual for me. It is one of the truest things I know.
Today is the Vernal Equinox Twenty Twenty Two.
FLOLAS itself is an acronym, and one of the L’s stands for Love.
Page 42 will begin the climax to the story.
If you’ve been following along, know that the point is about to be reached, and thank you for reading it 🙏
