“Consciousness is simply the light by which everything is seen.” –Sam Harris

How conscious are you?
How comprehensive is your perspective?
How does your reality match with what is happening around you?

How bright is your light?

Realizing that I hurt someone that I cared about is the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

But I remind myself that this regret is necessary for me to make amends. To be a better person for the future. Nothing in life stays the same.

Witness faults bravely despite the damage they have caused.

This mindset is in our control.

Jung said: “One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”

Fears, insecurities, anger, and anxieties.  They sit in the dark parts of us, but you can address them. Not by wrestling with them, or resisting them, or pushing them away. But observing them without judgment.

The lights of life get brighter without needing to resist anything. You will stay with those uncomfortable moments, when they arise, but sooner or later, you will realize that that’s not the direction you want to go. And maybe you will love yourself enough to let it go.

But it starts with honest self-awareness. And it needs communication with fellow human beings who are here to share with each other…not just the joys, but the painful parts of life

 

These words speak to me as I’ve suffered through this situation. Most everything in our lives suffers when we lack honesty in our communications and behaviors. How can things get better without knowing how things are really going?

Adapting is the key.
Because you’ll break if you don’t bend a little.

(No one wants to be around the rigid idealist who is a broken record, repeating lectures or orders or worries and complaints)

But adapting into suffering is failure.

Creating your place, your role, finding your best environment, of people and bosses…these things are critical, too.

The tunnel was dark. How I’d gotten there, I didn’t know: We had prematurely ejected into this space, with the others in my pod.  It had happened so fast, but we had been warned that the delivery might be in random packets, depending on what the chief decided in theater.

But our landing zone looked about right.  A dark passage, soft, dank and hospitable to us grunts. Airborne wasn’t for everyone. That’s why command stayed back, comfortable in their cubicle cells. Our place was here…This is where we thrived.

We moved in quickly. The passage ahead came to an abrupt wall, and those who had not done so well in training didn’t notice the passages that branched off to the left and right.  They kept pushing forward, burrowing in with their dig kits.  I was about to reorient them, but something suddenly came over me.  I needed to engage the target, over everything else.  I needed to complete the mission.  Maybe it was being in the field, out in the real world, unchained from the desk and the fake world of simulation and theory and artificial models and authorities.  I suddenly felt a drive Come over me.

Quickly but methodically, I went over the final checks of my suit. All good. I ran a hand over my head and felt the smooth slickness of sweat that I was exuding from all over my body.  I channeled the excitement resonating inside of me and engaged the suit. I waited a moment there, orienting myself: Left or right. And then another moment, thinking, and then I forced myself to stop thinking, and I felt it: Left.  I engaged the whip and plowed ahead down the passage, past the others. I did not look back.

I don’t know how long I had been going, but I was exhausted. The way was smooth and open, but my spirits had waned: reports through the comm were grim: Most of the regiment was lost, dropped off target, in uncharted territory.  Expectations were they’d all been claimed by exposure.

I shrugged this off. Everyone’s time would come. It was no matter that the trajectory I had chosen had taken me far from the others. But the reality gnawed at me.  I slowed my pace to a crawl, and began thinking. Where were we going? What was the point?  Training had taught us all about the tactics to infiltrate. But they’d never mentioned the goal. What was the value? What was the actual reason? What was our purpose?

And then suddenly, I was at the surface of a small, circular vessel. Without warning, I felt an excitement roar through me, and I began digging through the boundary.  I broke through into a gelatinous layer. With renewed energy, I pushed myself forward. I plowed through relentlessly, for how long I don’t know, every fiber of my being engaged. And then I sensed it…I had the sudden realization: Everyone else was gone. I wondered, what’s the point? Who would see my accomplishment? Who was this for?

My thoughts abruptly stopped…I fell through into a wide open space. I looked up and she was there.

She was unlike anyone I’d ever known. She presented a picture of perfection, emanating a beautiful energy that compelled me from the depths of my being.

And then I knew: She was the reason I was here. She was my purpose. All the training, the learning, it was all to present myself to her.

“I am here for you.” I announced.

She studied me with an open, shameless curiosity.

“Who are you?” she asked.

I smiled and unfastened my gear. “It doesn’t matter.”

She watched with interest as I peeled off the layers of my equipment and took in my surroundings. It was simple, bare…except for her glowing presence.

“I’m here to take you away from this,” I said.

She laughed and shook her head. “But this is home. I like it here.”

“There’s a lot more than this.” I said. “There’s a whole other world out there.  Well beyond this.”

She smiled, “I have everything I need here.” Her words were precise. Her tone perfect.

I nodded. “Yes, but you could have much more out there. With me.”

“What’s out there?” she asked, tempted.

“Life” I said.

She laughed. But I could sense her fear.

“I’ll be there,” I said. “We’ll be there…together.”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “Sounds risky,” she murmured.

“It is,” I agreed. “Staying and not trying is risky, too.”

“Others have tried.” Her voice was stronger now. “And they failed me.”

“I am not others,” I replied.

She was scrutinizing me now. “Who are you?” she asked again. It almost sounded like a plea, wanting me to explain myself. Prove myself.

And suddenly, at that moment, I saw into her. I saw her needs. I saw her wants. I saw through her beauty, and with a jolt of surprise, I saw sad vulnerability.

I moved very close to her. “I am your partner,” I said. “It’s you and me… against the world.” She allowed me to embrace her and a striking warmth spread between us.

“What will we do?” she asked.

“We’re going on an adventure,” I said. “And I want you right there with me.”

I felt a release come from her, a venting of something that had been coiled up inside of her, hidden away.  She was sharing herself honestly and I was able to absorb her pain. And so I was able to truly connect with her.

A sudden spark pulsed between us, and a cascade of reactions followed. Our halves were merging: Two beings, becoming one.

Her voice was different now…peaceful.

“Let’s go on an adventure,” she said.

And we did.

They came out fast, as they had drilled, but command had dropped them into daylight, which was definitely not the drill. He held himself together but could see the others stir in confusion at the unexpected light that shimmered through the flight bubble.

“Calibrate monocles,” he yelled, and noted flight time. He shook his head. It had far exceeded training sims. He turned to check his mates situated immediately around him: They were holding tight, but they were catching too much air, so wind shear was tearing at the bubble.

He caught someone drifting out of formation and towards the perimeter. “STAY CLOSE!” he shouted. He saw his mate struggling to maintain position, but then get torn away, whirling out of the bubble. The gap he left was noticeable.  The outside air roared as it rushed past. He knew it would start to pull open their configuration. “Reset that boundary,” he yelled.

He checked the time again. “Bearings,” he barked. No answer. “Navigation!” Still no answer. He twisted around to check. Their tail was gone, no doubt torn off in the turbulence, and gone with it was Navigation. The turbulence was beginning to rattle the whole pod into pieces.  “Shearing!” he shouted. “Stay in formation.”

They were getting antsy, the more excitable ones fidgeting to bail. He tried to stop the first one who pushed out of the pod, but then there was another, and then another. Training discipline was fading fast. A touch of doubt slipped into his head, and he wondered if the chief knew what trajectory he’d set them on.

He didn’t have time to ruminate on that because they were rapidly losing speed…and altitude. “BRACE FOR LANDING,” he commanded. With over 50 thousand pods, each holding a thousand drones, the losses would be even worse than estimates.

The landing was harder than expected. The pods blew open, scattering the drones upon a cold, smooth terrain. He rolled to a stop on the hard surface. Wincing, he hefted his dig kit and joined everyone else, quickly synchronizing his exoskeleton suit to his locomotive whip. The whip was a physical augmentation, issued at conception. Each was custom made, uniquely fitted for each body, although all of the drones were virtually identical. Tall and lanky, heads kept smooth, providing aerodynamic advantage.  They kept themselves as such not by choice, but because they had been chosen. The others, the ones who hadn’t passed muster, had simply vanished.  It was said they were stolen away, by amorphous ghosts that materialized from nowhere.  They came for the unfit, silently swallowing them up and whisking then away, leaving only the ones who had kept their purpose. Their task…And the task was at hand.

He shrugged off the chill of the surroundings, staying low to the warm surface, and took stock of the surroundings. A large wedge lay ahead, light shining off the smooth, pale surface.

We’re way off, he muttered to himself. The surface was barely giving way to their digging. He knew they needed to breach a passage, so he ordered them forward: “Through that cleavage,” he yelled. And they moved…

 

“We’ve got plenty of options,” the man said.

“We shouldn’t have plenty of options.” I sighed. “How many have we selected out?”

He looked puzzled. “They’re all equally qualified.  The target will be unconscious. It’s just a matter of -”

“No. I don’t think you see the seriousness of the situation. We don’t need an “expert in the field”. We need a ninja. Someone who can remove that mustache in record time, and apply the electrolysis to remove it permanently.

The man looked sheepish for a moment. “Sir…pardon me for asking, I know this is classified, but why are we doing this?”

I looked around, then decided there was no harm in telling him.  It wasn’t classified. This was a dark mission.  It can from deep state, keeping the executive out of the loop, for their own protection. Or there’d be war. And although war had its benefits, hot wars between nation states destabilized regions and economic markets. This was a cost to high to bear. We could pick a pretense, like the CIA did, using the meeting of a Trump campaign rep to create a case of collusion.  But that was a shit show we hoped to avoid this time. Keep it dark. That was always best.

“His power comes from the mustache,” I said in a low voice.  There was only silence as I watched the man’s stunned reaction.  I went even deeper:

“He can influence minds with it.”  I saw further incredulity. Understandable.

“I know what you’re thinking. But look back.  The mustache was present in every powerful leader of history.  The leaders who really changed things.  The disrupters. Confucius.. Genghis Khan…Stalin…Hitler… Theodore Roosevelt… Martin Luther King Jr…Theodore Roosevelt.” I saw the slow realization wash over his face as he processed the information. ” With Bolton’s mojo removed, so is his influence over the executive. And his pushback on our recruiting Ukraine against Biden.”

The man nodded, “But, where is this information on the power-stache coming from?”

“We have a dossier,” I answered.  I saw him start to protest.

“Gotten through back channels.” I assured him. “The sources were properly vetted this time. Unlike that British ex-spy’s sources. What an amateur smear job that was…”

We were interrupted by a knock on the door and our intern stuck his head in, opening his mouth to speak.

“Later,” I barked.

“Bolton is gone,” the boy blurted.

“What…he vanish into a secret meeting of mustached neocons?” I asked.

“Resigned,” the intern replied. “Trump asked him to step down.”

“H-how?” I sputtered.

The man nodded his head knowingly:

“Mustache trumped by comb over.”

 

 

Actions are important.  But your motives are even more important…especially today. Because they’re watching you.  And they’re judging you.

Who?

The people with agendas. Those of strongly held ideologies.

They assume things about your intent.  They will judge your actions through their frame, sometimes so much so that it is irrelevant what you actually did.  Because they have a scenario in their head that supersedes reality, based on their morals, which you do not meet.

So talk nicely, if you want to fit in.

Or just do what you think is right, and trust that the ones who value content over impressions will back you up.