But onto the idea of reincarnation. One of the more common ideas, that of a soul manifesting through various lives, is more a child of Christianity than I think people in New Age-y spiritual paths realize. At times, it seems like they’ve taken the Christian idea of an eternal soul, thrown away the “one life and then heaven or hell” endgame, and substituted “you get many lives” instead. It may be true, or it may not, but it has very little to do with Buddhism (excluding Tibetan), which denies the existence of a soul. I believe Hinduism does as well, but I don’t know as much about that.

So how does reincarnation work without a soul?

According to Buddhism, there are five aggregates, or skandhas, which come together to form a person: our form, the sensations we experience, our power of perception, our minds, and our awareness. Like any system of thought, the philosophers have gotten hold of it and made it exceedingly complicated, but none of these aggregates is permanent or unchanging. Our sense of self, the forceful individuality which is commonly called “the ego” is a wrapper which grows around the skandhas. It thinks it holds them all together, but it really doesn’t.

When we die, the wrapper disintegrates and the skandhas separate. Some dissolve entirely into their parts, others join to create another human being, and some float around for a while.

As an example, let’s say we have skandhas A (form), B (sensations), C (power of perception), D (mental formations) and E (awareness). Together, the form a person named Jim DeSchuster, a.k.a. Lord James. He’s 41 years old, a stained-glass artisan who’s often seen at medieval faires, and loves bacon a little too much for his own good. He’s been divorced twice on account of his temper and has no kids. A particular embarrassing incident in high school involving shaving cream haunts him more than he’d like to admit.

And today, his love of bacon and other fatty foods catches up to him. He has a heart attack and, despite the best efforts of the paramedics, dies before he reaches the hospital. They are unable to resuscitate and, according to his wishes, his body is cremated. What happens?

Well, the skandhas which used to make up Jim DeSchuster go their separate ways. His physical form skandha, skandha A, turns to ashes and is scattered on the wind. It no longer exists.

Skandha B, the sensations of his life, without a form to attach to, wander around the ether for a while. Maybe they break up and join with other sensation skandhas, the source of past life memories. Maybe they don’t.

Skandha C, his power of perception, joins with four different skandhas and is reincarnated into an entirely new human being.

Skandha D, his mental formations and karma, has a turn of bad luck and is broken down for parts. These are used in the formation of other metal formation skandhas.

Skandha E, his awareness, can’t exist independent of a skandha grouping. It dissolves at death.

In essence, everything about Jim DeSchuster either ceases to exist or is parted out to make new human beings. There is a continuity, and parts of him are reincarnated as other people, but what made Jim his bacon-loving self is no longer around. That’s a bit too impersonal for most people–at the same level as “the atoms in your body are continually recycled.”

Krishnamurti talks about the unending stream of physical existence, making the comment that as long as we identify with the stream, there is no life after death. The stream never ends, but the sense of being an individual is just a byproduct of parts of the stream coming together for a short time. In other words, the parts of us that want to have a life after death, because of their attachment to physical existence, are the very parts which will not survive. It’s a big blow to the ego, and some egos might try to find a loophole by claiming not to want life after death, but that doesn’t work either.

On the other hand, there is something else, but to call it a soul is almost belittling. Many of the newer spiritual traditions hint at this. Even the chakras, aura and energy channels in the human body cease at death. The emotional body, astral body and dreaming body (among many others) are also not it. The eternal which survives is nothing we can personally lay claim to, but is part of us nonetheless. It’s a humbling thought.

I also met her wingman AB Grooms, who stashed my keys in my mother-in-law’s purse, where we almost didn’t look. She struck me as very squirrel-like, and though I lost my writing notebook, I don’t think she had a hand in it. That’s probably lost somewhere in downtown San Antonio. Of all the things St. Anthony helped us find this weekend — he even, with exemplary customer service, put Deb’s phone back on the charger in her hotel room — I doubt I’ll be seeing that one anytime soon. But that’s ok. The only sections I hadn’t ported to Word sucked and I’d have to rewrite them anyway now that I know what I’m supposed to be going for.

Pro tip: It’s not brontosauruses in top hats, because brontosauruses are no longer real dinosaurs.

I’m still tired, but flight delays both to and from San Anontio will do that to you. On the bright side, I had time to read through the New York Times, experience some existential angst, and nearly finish reading Can Humanity Change?: J. Krishnamurti in Dialogue with Buddhists. As the title and introduction suggest, it’s a bit dry and more of scholarly interest, but it did spark some thoughts. I’ll have to write about them later when I’m not so loopy.

I’m also not sure why Amazon is selling it for $21.24 when the price on the back of my copy says $13.95.

Anyway, back to BMT graduation weekend. I’m not sure how to describe how it felt. It’s good to know that Joyce made it through, and I still miss her. At the same time, I doubt I can muster any emotion stronger than a soft golden light, and that’s not helpful for purposes of actual communication. I love her, and that’s enough for now.

Before I forget, I also met Airman Szeto, whose mother looked me up and, through an undisclosed website, discovered my wife’s first name. On the off chance that it’s this one…*waves*

For you 28th century archaeologists, digging amongst the digital ruins of 4chan and Twitter, my voice beckons to you from across the great divide to Amazonian ruins where, even now, the ghosts of e-commerce past entice you to Buy Now with 1-Click. Or for those worried about the Bezos curse, this unique treasure can be found in the Noble Halls of Barnes as well as hidden in the smashed glyphs in the wordward hills.

This tome is filled with dreams of honor and duty, and you shall find that ours is not so backward a civilization after all.

For everyone else, it’s elegance in print, more than worth your time.

That’s one of the common criticisms aimed at the “accept yourself as you are” forms of self-help. On the surface, it seems to validate, even encourage, a “do whatever you want and damn the consequences” style of interpersonal interaction. Many people are more than willing to throw others under the bus to get what they want, and telling them it’s ok to do that seems iffy, at best. It’s even worse if you say that they deserve affection and admiration for it, and a lot of New Age schools of thought come dangerously close to that at times.

There is a place for self-accolades, since many people are struggling with internalized self images of not being good enough, but it always seems like there’s an unstated assumption that you are (or should be) trying to be a good person. Try to be honest, kind, do the right thing, and then accept your failures and everything else life throws at you. What happens if we remove that from the situation and consider someone who believes that lying and manipulating others is “just how the game is played”?

The quick answer is that people who lie and manipulate are acting from a sense of fear or lack. They fear the consequences of the truth, so they lie to control the situation. They don’t feel adequate in and of themselves, so they manipulate others to get what they want and need. Telling people who act like this they should accept themselves as they are is sometimes interpreted as, “It’s ok that I’m scared and feel bad about myself. It’s also ok that I manipulate others and put them down because of that to make myself feel better. I’m not so bad after all, and if I don’t get what I want, that’s because the world has a problem.”

That’s a very vapid and shallow basis for any self image, and not one I can endorse.

But what then? Is there a two-tier model of self-development, where people who don’t intuitively understand the values of honesty, integrity and compassion have one set of rules, and the people who do have another? That’s also an easy way out, and any time you divide people into classes, you run the risk of elitism. Human nature isn’t a step function as much as a continuum, and almost everyone has told white lies to make themselves seem better to a potential date, mentally clocked out of work 15 minutes early, been snarky and sarcastic. And while actions may seem dodgy in others, we always have “good reasons” when it comes to why we do it ourselves.

Such a two (or more) tier system may be the best answer, but I’d rather avoid that if possible. The world and human history are filled with examples of what happens when people and groups believe themselves morally superior to others. There’s also evidence that people treat morality and ethics like a bank account. Build up enough of a balance by doing good things, and then they feel that it’s perfectly fine to withdraw some of it in order to be a a bit of a bastard (as long as there’s a good reason). If something tells you you’re a more moral class of person, that can be like starting out with a few thousand dollars extra. A system of morality and ethics, no matter how elegant, that by its very formulation provides a basis for unethical behavior is less than ideal.

Perhaps a possible solution lies in re-examining the words themselves. It’s the simple, commonly used words that tend to create the most confusion. Here, the rhetoric focuses on “connection,” “belonging,” and “acceptance.” I’d like to start with acceptance.

There’s this idea that, in the interpersonal realm, acceptance means being liked. But is that accurate? We can accept that people die, but that doesn’t mean we like the idea of death. We can accept that child soldiers exist, but that doesn’t mean we approve of the practice. Accepting that the post office is closed on Sunday doesn’t mean you won’t be inconvenienced if you want to mail a letter and it happens to be Sunday. In situations that aren’t emotionally charged, acceptance seems more about acknowledging and working with the truth than insisting on a certain outcome.

In the interpersonal realm, our actions and attitudes have consequences as a result of human nature. We accept that if we drop something it will fall and possibly break. Why is it so hard to accept that if we’re too busy to spend time with someone, we’ll stop being friends? If you take that understanding and apply it to intra- and interpersonal acceptance, things change.

Instead of: “I’m an angry person, and I accept that about myself, so why is my girlfriend leaving me? If I’m ok with this, why isn’t she?”
You have: “I’m an angry person, and I accept that about myself. I also know that constant anger can drive people away, even people I’m close to and care about. I can accept my part in that loss and pain without hating myself.”

Instead of: “I’m afraid I’m going to lose my job, so I made my coworkers look bad so they’ll get fired first. I’m only protecting myself and I’m not going to feel bad about myself for it.”
You have: “I’m afraid I’m going to lose my job, and I betrayed my coworkers’ trust to protect myself. I accept that I’m not a nice person when I’m scared, and I understand and accept that they will be angry with me if they find out. I won’t hold it against them if they never want to see me again.”

On the reverse side, is it possible to accept someone and have a negative opinion about them?

Something similar happens with connection and belonging. Unhealthy, even destructive, relationships exist, and they’re connections. We’re also connected to anything that creates a strong emotional response. And belonging? Can you belong somewhere you’re truly and deeply miserable? Put another way, do you have to be happy to belong?

Quite often, when someone says they want to be connected and belong, they’re asking for connections that make them feel good about themselves and their lives, and a group of people who’s glad to have them around. I’m not saying that’s wrong. I’m not saying that’s right either, but it helps to know what we’re really looking for.

Even then, there’s a big difference between:

“I deserve to feel connected and to belong. Why don’t my friends and family make me feel that way? I deserve it, so the problem must be with them.”
“I deserve to feel connected and to belong, and I accept that I can’t choose who makes me feel that way. But I deserve to find that feeling, even if it means letting go of people who might still mean a lot to me.”

I have a suspicion that people who use self-acceptance to avoid responsibility to before or to insist that everyone think of them positively may be closer to the first ideas than the second. If so, there may be an underlying human morality and, like with all things, our sometimes desperate need to show ourselves in a positive light, both to ourselves and others, twists it in self-serving directions.

And then there’s the question of compassion, which isn’t something that can easily fit into a blog post.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading, and I hope I don’t come across as contesting with Mrs. Brown. I agree with her talk, but my agreement doesn’t make it correct and it can be useful to think about things every now and then.

You can’t blame people for seeking security in the face of anxiety or uncertainty, and heuristics can be a valuable tool for making “good enough” decisions in the face of pressure. Political conservatism itself also isn’t necessarily an outdated mode of thought. Many of their suggestions come from a sobering realization: give people the chance to be assholes without getting held accountable and it’s surprising how inventive they’ll become.

Conservatism also seems to accept, if not embrace, an idea that drives liberals into fits: the idea that not everyone has the same abilities, nor the same capacity to contribute to society. While literally true, that’s dangerous intellectual territory. It’s a very short step for some to move from “not everyone is equal” to “these groups of people are naturally inferior.” They are not the same idea. The former can be worked with. The latter leads to justifications for racism, classism, homophobia, and Social Darwinism. Those justifications sound scientific and noble, are deeply flattering to those in power, and all the more pernicious for it.

But if we move away from the idea of inherent inferiority, that leaves a thorny question: can people be vastly unequal in physical, mental and social capabilities, yet be valued the same? And what does ‘valuing’ a person actually mean?

Liberalism may have an answer. Despite an intellectual tradition as diverse and manifold as conservatism, one of the ideas underlying liberalism can be distilled into, “Society is far from fair. Not everyone gets the opportunities they deserve.”

Again, there’s a huge question implied in that. What opportunities do people deserve? The word ‘opportunity’ implies change. What do people deserve the chance to change into?

In the U.S. at least, the answer has been, “People deserve the chance to change into rich people.” A six-figure (or higher) job. Position and status at the apex of society. Fame, fortune. A college education (because it gets that job). Equality in the workplace (so that everyone has a chance to make it to the top).

That’s the American Dream. A stereotypical conservative viewpoint is that the American Dream or equal opportunity is still in full force and always was. Those who don’t succeed are obviously not as capable as those who do. A stereotypical liberal viewpoint is that the American Dream was never an option for large portions of society, and that the moral thing to do is to make it available to everyone.

What if the American Dream isn’t just a first world problem? What if the American Dream is the problem? What if there are better things for people to become?

And knowing we have an overabundance of inventive assholes, how do we help everyone (assholes included) get there?

I’m going to go with the spiritual idea of self-development, that everyone deserves the chance to develop their abilities and themselves to the fullest. Whether or not they actually do so is up to them, but society can at least remove the onerous impediments to that journey. The concept of basic human rights can be framed in that context: the lack of certain things (food, water, literacy) or the presence of others (endemic violence, slavery, theft) are so deleterious to human development that it is unethical for societies to condone them. This is vitally important because it moves human rights from the realm of ideology to the realm of science with developmental psychology. As we learn more about who we are, we’ll also learn how to encourage the good rather than the evil.

Setting aside the issue of psychopaths and sociopaths for a moment, a society structured around the insights of developmental psychology, once that field is sufficiently advanced, may deal with both sides of the issue: assholes and lack of opportunity. If the majority of the douchery in the world is caused by social structures influencing our personalities and behavior, and those same social structures prevent people from developing themselves to the fullest extent possible, there’s no conflict. Giving people the opportunity and support to become the most authentic self they can be might also dissolve the prejudice, pain and hate which cause people to turn inward and selfish.

That idea resonates so deeply with spiritual ideals that I want it to be true. Is it?

I don’t know.

I’m going to have quite a lot of time alone these next few months, especially as work slows down, and it seems it’s time for me to clear out some lingering crud from the past. I’ve been unusually irritated these past few days, centered around some of the worst people I’ve personally known.

With moving between states every 2-3 years, skipping two grades in school (4th to 7th), dealing with an insistence on perfection, and getting constantly hounded for not being more socially adept, growing up wasn’t pleasant. By the time I graduated from high school, the emotional pressure from these and other situations grew such that I started to break down. The beginnings of spiritual awakening also started then. It was a mess and I feared for my sanity.

In struggling to break myself free of everything weighing me down, I encountered them. Given today’s litigious society (and that they’re not worth the time to name), I’m not going to provide any details, but they were part of an organization that, at least on the surface, prided itself on adherence to values like peace, compassion and truth. Given the petty politics, backstabbing and outright lies, though, it’s clear in hindsight that it was all lip service.

At the time, though, I was going through enough that I didn’t completely trust my own perceptions and interpretations. And honestly, I wanted to believe they were good people, since that was something I was desperately searching for.

There’s still much anger in my lower chakras, and if I’d have known then what I do know, I’d have reported much more and saw where it went from there. I hadn’t yet realized that forgiveness isn’t the same as giving second chances. Sometimes you need to eject people from your life in order to heal, and sometimes consequences for bad decisions are necessary. I know this anger is skewing my thoughts, but right now it would be easy to claim the world would be better off without the lot of them (at least as they were then). But that’s pain speaking. Maybe they’ve changed. For the sake of the people who still deal with them, I hope they have.

Last night, I realized that despite my feelings I don’t actually hate them. That’s good. It gives me confidence that I can give these issues the space they need to play out and evaporate without falling into the same traps myself. And since Joyce will be away for the next two months, I don’t need to worry overmuch about missteps along the way.

Last night, we went to the midnight showing of Act of Valor. Many pop culture popcorn flicks irritate me. There are enough people who think “being a man” means blowing things up and getting what you want through force of arms. They don’t need to be encouraged through the glorification of violence. There’s far too much of that in the world already.

Act of Valor is different. It’s filled with explosions and death, but very little of the devil-may-care attitude and smarmy catchphrases that summer blockbusters exude. I’m guessing that has a lot to do with the fact they cast real Navy SEALs. After watching it, I was filled with anger and sorrow that the world is still like this, that people in general haven’t found a better way and violence is a way of life for too many. I had to remind myself that humanity will learn eventually.

…I’m not sure what to say other than that, but a scheduled transcript came in early and I might as well get to work.

He felt heat at first, and then his knee popped and went a bit numb. We were both unnerved, him because he really didn’t expect anything to happen and me because I didn’t expect that to happen. Up to that point, the healings I’d been giving stayed primarily on the energy and emotional level, with no strong physical effects. Maybe a little heat or a tingling sensation, but that’s it. My healing guide said it would be fine, but I was still concerned.

My answer to Crossfire was that it mostly meant more things to worry about. I normally don’t talk about those things, but maybe it’s time to try something different.

For the past several days, I’ve been venting some pretty nasty stuff. Joyce and I refer to it by the technical term of “pleh.” The proper pronunciation involves sticking your tongue out and grimacing like a seven-year-old unexpectedly confronted with spinach and Brussels sprouts for dinner. I’ve been venting enough that it’s been hard for Joyce to be around me, let alone touch me, without her shields being up, and it hasn’t been fun for me either.

I don’t blame her. The pleh nauseates me and when this much is flowing through, I can’t concentrate or focus. It’s like a -6 penalty to INT. (Good thing I’m a wisdom based caster.) And when this much is draining, I can’t contain the bleed off either.

All relationships include an energy connection, and the closer the relationship, the stronger the connection. And the pleh, as it bleeds off, seeks the easiest path to ground. As it exceeds my capacity to ground, it spills off into those alternative energy channels as the path of least resistance. When I realize that’s happening, I throw shields up into the relationships spaces and/or attenuate the connections. People who aren’t energy sensitive won’t notice the influx of pleh, but that doesn’t mean it won’t affect them.

What they will notice, though, is a sense of distance. When friendships grow distant or end, that’s also what happens on an energy level: the friendship space closes and the energy that was there is repurposed. That puts me in the uncomfortable position of mimicking the end of friendship on an energy level in order to protect my friends.

At least that’s not a problem with Joyce. We’re married and our connection to each other is strong enough that I can’t attenuate it with anything less than several weeks of sustained effort, during which she’ll no doubt smack me in the back of the head, because she values the connection and is fully capable of grounding out my pleh, thank you very much.

It still doesn’t make me feel very good, especially when I see the energy pouring out of my heart chakra and drifting through the air in her direction. I can’t close the connection, and if I try to throttle back the pouring out of pleh, I start to shake to the point where I can’t stand. There’s nothing I can do (and healing meditations actually accelerate the venting), so there’s no point in dwelling on it, but it’s not easy.

I’m going to start walking around in a double-sided magic circle until this passes. Hopefully that will help.

I’m really excited for her, and proud. She’s also more than a bit nervous, not that I blame her. Big changes all around, and energy’s flying off her like dirt from a soap bubble. If I close my eyes, I see that old anime cliche where the hero is buried under rocks, immobilized by gravity or trapped by the sheer weight of the dog piling enemies. Then with supreme effort, a light like a star being born erupts and the obstacles are blown away.

I want to say more, but she’s asked me not to say too much about her where the Internet can hear.

Not that I can blame her. I’m rather private myself, and big life changes seem to bounce back and forth between us. My energy’s shifting and it feels like my personality is spinning in its casing. It will move from anger and irritation to laughter and joy, or myriad overlapping emotions like a stained glass avalanche. And then there’s the sea of formless anxiety that keeps me up at night with nervous energy.

I believe I’ve said this before, but at least I’m aware of what’s going on. And I’m stronger and wiser than the last time this happened in force, more whole. It’s still daunting, though.

The roles and expectations we mold ourselves into harden and grow stiff, enclosing and trapping the Spirit within. We start to die inside until our vital spark of life rebels and insists there has to be something more. Thus the first cracks in the stifling armor appear. But until the scales fall from our eyes, we’re still blind, and as the pieces of a life that no longer fits fall away, there’s nothing but darkness and an overwhelming sense of space. The old, cramped shell is comforting and familiar and it takes so much courage not to cling to each shard of the person we thought we were.

In the meantime, our thoughts and dreams are filled with the fear and pain that finally feel fresh air and are no longer forced to fester. Last night, I couldn’t fall asleep because of worry over taxes, and not having enough set aside to cover them, so at around 2am I went to H&R Block’s website and filled everything out. The fear was, of course, groundless, but at least I’m a couple of months ahead on getting taxes done.

And now that that’s dealt with, the anxiety wants to coalesce around whatever minutiae it can find, from toothpaste to a strangelet apocalypse. For now, I’m keeping a sense of humor and listening to Pandora, rocking out to everything from Stephen Ashbrook to Adele to AC/DC, John Mayer, Queen, Jeff Black and beyond. That station does play a bit too much Dave Matthews for my taste, but nothing’s perfect. This physical world of ours isn’t even the most significant reality, and it helps to remember that.

But one thing that my job brought up today was that, in any situation, my impulse is to make vibrations to fit in and connect with people where they are. It’s getting to where I can’t do that anymore, not without getting cranky and forgetting who I am. I know I’ll learn to accept that eventually, but for now, the memory of who I used to be feels sadness and worry about the possibility of losing friends and acquaintances. The scars of loneliness do heal jagged and sometimes it feels like there’s nothing but the music and the song.

Anyway, Joyce just wandered out here, half-asleep, with the cutest cross-eyed expression on her face, called me a jerk when I pointed it out, and asked if I’d be coming to bed soon. This is probably enough strangeness for tonight, and Pandora just played another Dave Matthews song. Though, as far as strangeness is concerned, for the past few days I could swear I’ve been stalked by Eckhart Tolle via Google ads. It’s the same ad, too, this older German with blue eyes and a blue polo shirt staring at me while trees like fuzzy green popsicles hang out in the background.

“What if Eckhart Tolle was available right now to support your spiritual awakening?”

If it keeps happening, I’ll look into it further, but for now it’s time to sleep.

I’ve been implementing a website design in Drupal to support Dick Richards, Private Eye, but I’m certain it’s not going to make the final cut. It’s a satirical take on Trumpian quality, bold gold and green on a deep, sparkling rosewood background. It’s elegant and refined, and in case you don’t realize that, the website reminds you:

It still cracks me up every time I look at it.

My editor is concerned that the satire would be lost on some, and I can see her point. Feeling like a sir might be lost on a great many people and the maleness of “Sir” could alienate quite a few who’s enjoy the book.

Then again, that feeling of “Sir”-ness is a big part of why I’m writing the Dick Richards series. While thinking it through, I sent a long e-mail to my editor to see if she could help find a productive direction, but these ideas probably shouldn’t have any overt impact on the final design. The deep currents rarely should, lest art become pedantic and preachy.

But the ideas are worth presenting, and I’m waiting on my rice and sausages to finish cooking, so why not?

In liberal-leaning cultures, it’s hard to avoid the notion that “male” is synonymous with “sexism” and “abuse of power.” Misogynistic and demeaning attitudes still clutter cultural discourse, but sometimes its gets to the point where it’s not hard to imagine the stranger aspects of coffee shop culture as dudes running around and yelling, “YES I HAVE A PENIS, BUT NO, I DO NOT WANT TO RAPE UNDERAGE JAPANESE SCHOOLGIRLS!” A lot of it is the inevitable reactions of anger and resentment and stereotyping of generations of women who had to fight to be seen as social equals, but it doesn’t help the boys and young men growing up in the midst of a cultural redefinition.

The old attitudes still exist, as do their concomitant role expectations. A man’s man does this. A ladies man does that. And to a large degree they’re tied to deeply sexist behaviors. It’s not that much of a stretch to claim that these roles are based on chauvinism. It may seem simple enough to say that people should know better, but that’s not how people grow up. Finding one’s social role is daunting enough, and even most mature adults are unable to break free of preexisting social roles. They may depart from one, but the existential anxiety only dissipates when they choose another preexisting role. (For their health, hopefully it’s one they’re better suited to.) For developing teenagers and young adults, such a task might be impossible.

On one end (in a simplified scheme) is the stereotypical macho man fare foisted on us by pop culture, and on the other end is not the overly submissive creature that would be the result of simply flipping the gender binaries, but the idealized image found in old-school romance novels. These images are just as unrealistic and destructive as men unreal idealization of women, and they’re also just as prevalent. (Setting aside any discussion of prevalence, detailed sociological research I doubt I’ll ever have time to do, and the how the definition of prevalence changes when considering subaltern status and whatnot.)

If young men have no wholesome role models to look up to, yet still want to be “Sirs,” how can they grow into wholesome men?

As Nietzsche pointed out somewhere in the infamous “God is Dead” passage, fundamental changes in the ideology don’t have effects overnight. They take effect hundreds of years later. Lacking a God to put faith in, peoples turn to nationalism. Lacking culturally sustaining role models, individuals fall into anomie. The calcified crust of a male-dominated society is still standing, but it’s rotting from within. If something doesn’t arise to replace it, Western society is going to have problems. Not in our lifetimes, but decadence has brought down many civilizations. Ours isn’t immune.

So how does a near future urban fantasy novel tie into this?

Stories are at heart myths, and the deep meaning of the Fall-Wasteland-Redemption mythic arc is this:

The old ideals and ways of life are no longer sustaining. Society itself is on the verge of spiritual bankruptcy, of losing the vital spark that allows it to continue to function as a society. The hero, as a product of that society, is also spiritually bankrupt at first. This bankruptcy leads to flaws of character, which in turn leads to the hero’s fall. He is simply unable to succeed at the challenges of life because he doesn’t have the inner strength to do so.

But this utter failure reveals to him, immanently and incontrovertibly, his own inner lack. He has to discard the old, outmoded values, but with nothing to replace them he’s utterly lost. The myths often reflect this through the utter devastation of the landscape. Outer devastation to match inner confusion. Through his flailing struggles, the hero is able to find a new order of values which give meaning to his life once again.

Redemption starts when the hero begins to start living those values, often against intense opposition. If the stories go in that direction, the hero, through his example, inspires others in his society to start living according to these values as well, and together they slay the Beast of the Wasteland, which allows the society to be rebirthed and rebuild.

The practical application, as it applies to literary and cultural analysis, is which ideals are outmoded and which ones are the breath of new life. Every social structure and cultural paradigm ossifies over time and needs to be renewed. It’s the transition of the old to the new.

The mythic level of Dick Richards deals with the ideals of “maleness.” At least, that’s what I’m going for. Whether it all comes out like this is anyone’s guess. I really can’t go into specifics, since it might ruin the reading of it for those who’d know (and I haven’t been able to figure them out yet anyway). You also can’t write solely to the mythic level, just like you can’t write solely to the thematic level, without the writing becoming forced and pedantic. There’s plot, setting, characterization, humor, growth and all the complexities of the human condition.

Still, despite the much needed dissolution of traditional gender roles, there are differences between men and women, if only because men don’t menstruate. The gray areas of the LBGT community will prove vital in the social discussions about differences and similarities, but the inclusive, multicultural ethos tends toward a glaring lapse of insight:

For diversity to be worth protecting, the differences between human beings have to be meaningful and real. Otherwise, a celebration of human diversity would be as trite as a celebration of all the different colors cars can be painted.

I believe the values traditionally defined as masculine–setting and defending strong boundaries, strength and power as tools to be respected, recognition of one’s own duty and expendability, hard work, tolerance of failure, and many others–need to be rescued and redefined. By the time there’s widespread recognition of the hollowness at the core of masculinity, it may be too late to prevent another turn of karma’s wheel from grinding yet more people into dust.

(Here’s hoping this is a needless jeremiad. At least writing it helped me further flesh out the character and purpose of St. Irian the Red.)