The time for feelers has come.

The time for seers has come.

Time to be brought down to earth.

No more meta—what is physical?

Time to take what resonates and leave the rest.

There is so much out there.

We all have to admit the infinitude of data at our fingertips.

What is the science of our thinking?

How do we stay on the cutting edge?

Who gets to decide what the cutting edge is?

For you, it’s you. Naturally.

But what about for more than one person?

Who gets to decide for them?

With them?

That’s a better question.

Who gets to decide with them what the Truth is for them?

Answer: anyone they allow.

We all need to stand porter at the door of thought and actively stay there.

A kind of bouncer to protect our own thoughts— 

our feelings, too, those quiet pulses that rise like uninvited guests

The most important one of them all:

How do you protect your peace?

How do you show her she’s the most valuable of them all?

What does it mean to protect your peace?

Do you have to do it peacefully?

Principle.

Who gets to dictate how you act on Principle?

Anybody outside of you?

How do you even know, when you’re a human — with limits, with feelings, with history?

Does it need to be labeled?

Can you?

Principle can disguise our anger, our resentment.

Past hurt covered up as values.

Christian Science makes you incredibly lonely.

Mary Baker Eddy is your only company.

Culturally speaking, the pinnacle of faith is to stay left in the cocoon

safe and warm, where everyone thinks like you.

To quote Mary Baker Eddy:

“No snare, no fowler, pestilence or pain.

No night drops down upon the troubled breast,

when heaven’s aftersmile earth’s tear-drops gain,

and mother finds her home and heav’nly rest.”

Heaven’s aftersmile? Earth’s tear-drops gain?

Mary, what… that’s not a healing balm — that’s a Victorian fever dream.

She spun a gilded cocoon, from rhyme and repression.

Beautiful, sure. Today, absurd.

I don’t want aftersmiles, I don’t even know what they are. I want to feel the thing in real time.

Apparently, the entire time my mom gave birth to me, at home, in their bed,

all my dad could say, over and over, was quote:

“All is well. All is well. All is well.”

It drove her insane.