Power
Tomorrow’s events:
Stoic Breath w/ Steve Beattie. Every Wednesday @ 7:00 AM ET. RSVP here.
Broadcasting in the Sensemaking Web: An Un-Masterclass w/ David Fuller. December 9th, 16th, 23rd, and 30th. 12:00 PM ET. RSVP here. 75 mins.
Social Design Club w/ Freyja and Joe Edelman. Every Wednesday @ 1:30 PM ET. RSVP here. Join the club here. 90 mins.
***
December 29th, 2020
Arielle mentioned that my recent journals are having a “supervillain” vibe about them, and last week somebody told me they heard me being referred to as the “Tyler Durden of the noosphere.” My current big beard with slicked-back hair look does accentuate my resting barbarian face quite nicely, and is giving me that villainous look.
There does seem to be edgier energy here, bubbling up. What is this? Power is the thing that is coming to mind, along with the desire to get into the right relationship with it.
A few recent moves of mine, such as declaring the potential end of The Stoa, deleting the associated Discord server, and clearly demarcating this place as my artistic expression, has made explicit what was always the case: the guy who holds the power here is me.
There are people, especially in spiritually inclined spaces, who have an allergy to power, which probably includes their own power. Thanks to my recent moves, these types of people—some of whom found their way to The Stoa—could be having an allergic reaction to me right now. I sense some of them are.
Have I demonstrated enough for them, to allow them to process their reaction in a way that does not become reactionary? Was me bleeding real with my words, over all of these months, enough for them to trust me? Or maybe all the events I have provided for free, or all the connections I helped foster, will give them a forgiving heart for what they see as my wrong-doings?
I do not know, and I am not here to defend myself, because nothing needs defending. Things are not lurking in the dark now, under the cover of throw-away words like “community,” or fashionable phrases like “collective intelligence.”
I am not power-hungry, despite what my current starkness might encourage you to think. You should not listen to me though, you should listen to Machiavelli instead. Judge my motives from what I do, and not what I say. I trust those with good discernment to do this, and those with good discernment will reveal themselves.
I do not have much power, beyond being a spiritual bouncer of a little digital campfire. I own a website, a Zoom account, a mailing list with a couple thousand subscribers, and I am decent at netplaying. That is pretty much all there is. It is your move now to get into the right relationship with this.
Last month at Arran’s and Alyssa’s shadow series at The Stoa, we did an “active imagination” exercise, where we were prompted with a question and an initial visualization, and then we let our minds wander. My mind did wander …
I was naked, kneeling in front of Camille, who was appearing before me as the divine feminine. We were in an oasis, but it felt like a fake oasis, and it had a barren feeling to it. No people were in sight. A ladder towards the sky appeared, and I was called to climb it.
The ladder led me to a heavenly place, and the opening that brought me here closed up. I was all alone, until the heavenly clouds parted and an old king appeared, sitting on his throne. He was a giant, and I was staring at him in awe. He gestured towards the armor beside me, which I put on. He knighted me with his giant sword, which made me grow to his size.
I was standing right in front of him, and he gave me his sword. While holding it in my hand I had the strong urge to chop his head off, which I resisted at first. The urge got the better of me, and I chopped his head off. His body fell to the floor, and hundreds of tiny people came to carry his body away. I put his crown on my head, and sat on his throne. I felt powerful.
A weird feeling started to overcome me, and my third eye started to open up, in such a way that it was peeling back my skin, until I was completely shed of it. I became a translucent king, and felt very pure. I still felt powerful, but the power was very different. The spot on the ground where I came from opened up, and I was called to climb back down to the barren oasis.
When I reached the ground I was me again, and Camille came rushing to me. She hugged me with so much love. We kissed, which seemed to spark something. Life started to emerge around us. People started to appear, homes and shops started to pop up, and an actual community started to form.
This reminded me of an earlier entry back in April ...
I am feeling a little badass at the moment, a little raw, with a little of that fuck it just say it energy. Say what? What wants to be said. Bonnitta Roy sent me a poem, about what she senses my golden shadow is: it is about a boy waiting for his crown.
An older gentleman who follows my journals basically told me to stop with the navel-gazing, after he failed to read my last entry. He said it was showtime. I am feeling that. As the general Jordan Hall said at yesterday’s session: it is time to skillfully fucking play. I am feeling sovereign these days, and this translucent king is sitting on his throne, ready to skillfully fucking play.
That active imagination exercise did not end with all of us hanging out in a blissful oasis …
In the midst of what seemed like bliss, a dark cloud appeared in the sky from a distance. It was swirling around in an ominous way, and then suddenly a black beam from it shot to the ground. The other men in the community, who seemed to be good and strong men, pulled out their swords alongside me. Underneath us, black tentacles came from the ground, attacking us. We were chopping them down, defending our oasis, and felt purposeful doing so.
The thing I love about writing these journals is the random advice I receive from complete strangers. Here is a recent one that hit the spot … I feel the need to advise you to talk to ‘someone’. Someone not your wife or yourself or I guess your usual go to people. Whoever is closest to the ideal Brother?
I have been feeling a “brother hunger” for a while now, and as Ria also advised me: I need a group to help me hold things, as I am holding a lot of things by myself. I know who I can turn to. It is time for me to take a break from public journaling. A lot of what I am writing here can be processed privately with others.
I might check in now and again though. I do have a feeling that the next few months at The Stoa are going to be powerful. I hope you enjoy them.
***
patreon.com/the_stoa