“Once again, we have fallen into one of those eras that ask philosophers, not to explain or to transform the world, but solely to build refuges against the harshness of the weather.” - Nicolás Gómez Dávila
Collective Journaling ends today. Together, we journal for the last time in silence for 90 minutes, starting at 8 AM. The “we” of these sessions was always in flux, protean-like, as with any good communal practice that lasts for years. It started in Spring 2021 and ends on the last day of Spring 2024.
While reflecting on the past three years of Collective Journaling, much has happened in the world. For some reason, this is the moment that comes to mind:
The month the session started, May 2021, the United States announced they would be fully withdrawing troops from Afghanistan. Three months later, the Taliban were sitting in the presidential palace in Kabul after then-President Ashraf Ghani fled the country. Just like that, after nearly 20 years of war, with a total of 176,218 people dead and $2.313 trillion spent by the American government, the Taliban were back in power.
The war’s conclusion: the photo above, showing the Taliban sitting like badasses back in the presidential palace. I was blown away by the optics. With a weak presidential figurehead who can barely speak, the mightiest country in the world couldn't prevent these ragged-looking men with AK-47s from having a menacingly victorious photo op. The American hegemon symbolically broke with this moment, and a multipolar world order is on the horizon, if not already here.
Meanwhile, while we journalled, more events unfolded. Here in Canada, the COVID moment was heating up to a crescendo in a civil liberty-breaking pressure cooker, which led to the Freedom Convoy, the Emergency Act being declared, and soon afterward, all restrictions being dropped. Then, without giving a moment to process, the unthinkable occurred: Russia invaded Ukraine, and as
says, “history restarted.” It did, and something popped.The collective focus shifted from COVID to the Russia-Ukraine conflict, but then Elon Musk purchased Twitter, ending the memetic reign of “The Current Thing” and bringing a sense of the multipolar world to the internet. Things have felt different since—less fear of top-down narrative control and more fear of bottom-up chaos. This has resulted in a sense of dangerous freedom for those who are leaning into what’s unfolding.
Other salient occurrences during these three years included ongoing fears of supply chain collapse, worried excitement about AGI takeover from rationalists and accelerationists, and of course, the Hamas attack on Israel on October 7th, which tragically intensified the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. The commonality of all these events, through the lens of people overtly familiar with the word “meta,” is they are examples of the “meta-crisis,” the complex state where multiple interconnected crises across multiple domains amplify and exacerbate one another, creating a challenging and confusing global predicament.
During Collective Journaling, we rarely wrote about the events mentioned above. We were mostly sheltered from them, and, to use an abused woke term, we were “privileged,” consuming images in the spectacle from a comfortable place. Still, collectively, we felt the pressure and journalled about the meta-crisis of our lives: relationship issues, livelihood issues, what-is-this-all-about issues.
As the world undergoes reordering, we were reordering our philosophies—essentially our minds—allowing our bodies to experience the world anew. I relish the juxtaposition: the spectacle of an increasingly chaotic world and we, the “People of the Journal,”1 at our knife’s edge, silently journaling together, trying to keep it together while the world forever changes. It was such a beautiful practice, one I am compelled to leave behind.
I’ve been journaling for over 20 years and daily for the past three, surpassing any practical threshold of self-examination needed to live the good life. Now, it's time to reorder my practice space, embracing a new world in new ways. I still love journaling and cherished my time with the People of the Journal. Journaling in ways that don’t allow you to hide marries the word with the ever-flowing spirit.
The spirit lead some of our entries to be posted publically, but others just disappeared. I delete most of my entries, which disciplines me not to write for other eyes, even when I know others will see them. These words are for me, or better said, they are an offering to the spirit that animates me. Writing to oneself in this manner builds an “inner citadel,” fostering ownership of the mind and allowing the body to be fully felt, thereby opening a channel for the spirit to flow through.
We always began our Collective Journalling sessions with a quote. For today's final session, I chose my favorite aphorism by Nicolás Gómez Dávila, which opened this entry. Our collective words built refuges against the harshness of the weather. We avoided getting lost in abstract meta-theories to prematurely make sense of a reordering world—a disembodied endeavor, not suited for the philosophy needed today.
Instead, we always started with the body and, from there, silently, together, met the collective moment, philosophizing about what matters most.
Corollary
We were in Copenhagen, November 2021, because we escaped a country that was feeling unfree. Just two lovers, on an adventure, stumbling their way closer to what their relationship really means.
I could not host Collective Journalling during our months of travel, but it was still going strong, being hosted by
, our “Sensemaking Astrologer” at the time. So many interesting people show up to these sessions, a real international crew—Amsterdam, San José, Lagos. There was a gentleman from Buenos Aires named Flavio Cabobianco, who connected through his phone, and always talked with his nose right to the camera. I always admired that. He also had the strange proclivity to say “meow.”I found out later that he wrote a channeled book when he was 10 years old called I Come from the Sun, which was apparently a sensation in Argentina. He is also a brilliant musician and wrote a song for Collective Journaling, which is untitled, but we provisionally call it “The Thumos Song” because it contains the most brilliant lyrics in song history:
Thumos for the day
Thumos for the night
Thumos for the ones that I can't find
Whatttttt?! Where did these lyrics get channeled from?! I know, and Flavio knows I know, and that is why we had this strange relationship: meowing to one another on voice notes and sending videos on Telegram. Camille and I were staying at this coffee shop hotel in Copenhagen we discovered on Pinterest years prior. We were so drunk, eating the most glorious cheese, and listening to The Thumos Song together. I had to send Flavio a video:
The moment was perfect, full of joy, adventure, and love. We were connected through a strange medium, not preferable at all, but we have to make do with what we have. Moments like this reveal open secrets, naked to those who choose to see, and choice is what reminds us we are free.
I am writing this during the final moments of Collective Journaling. The presence is deep today. I love when we figure out how to make a jailbreak and escape the disembodying elements of the digital, finding new ways to remember what is always already here.
