gratia pro gratia.

 Leben ohne warum, wrote Meister Eckhart, Life without why.

From the Symposium with the European Academy of Sciences and Arts

Leben ohne Warum

—Der Ursprung des Lebens in der Theologie Meister Eckharts

Tatsuya Yamazaki

Brief summary of this “Life Without Why: The Origin of Life in Eckhart’s Theology” is as follows: 

Meister Eckhart expresses frequently the opinion that there is actually no reason in living itself and the life is »without why«, as the origin of a life is God who is the why (quare) of all beings. The thought is justified biblically through the interpretation of the Chapter of the Gospel according to John. And it is drawn from this interpretation that all beings exist in God as the life which is not to be created. The proper name of God »I am what I am« (ego sum qui sum) describes according to Eckhart the divine life which is boiling up in itself. He explains the boil as the divine emanation of the Son and the Holy Sprit from the Father and the overflow which comes after the boil as the creation. On the basis of the relationship of the emanation to the creation, Eckhart places the incarnation (incarnatio) these two ones. The incarnation is the grace for grace (gratia pro gratia) which enables us to be the sons of God and with which God gives birth to his son in human nature (natura humana).

(--Institute of Oriental Philosophy,  http://www.iop.or.jp/Documents/0818/yamazaki.pdf)

In prison Monday we looked at Meister Eckhart after some words about Leo Tolstoy and Ivan Turgenev. (This, after wondering if self-proclaiming of one's Christian identity was enough, or, whether an external verification is also necessary. 

Rilke's poem was recited:

(Gieb deine Schönheit immer hin

ohne Rechnen und Reden.

Du schweigst. Sie sagt für dich: Ich bin.

Und kommt in tausendfachem Sinn,

kommt endlich über jeden.)” 

 

“Let your beauty manifest itself

without talking and calculation.

You are silent. It says for you: I am.

And comes in meaning thousandfold,

comes at long last over everyone. 

 

― Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Images

We sipped black coffee. "It says for you: I am." We don't say it. It says it for us.

Since Monday I've wondered about Eckhart's words. Originally we discussed the invitation to go beyond rational distinctions and analysis, rather leaning into a more existential "rising up as itself" appearing without calculation. 

Then it occurred to me that ohne (without) could have a hermeneutic that means that life without (i.e. outside the interior mind) is one of constantly asking 'why', a continual rationalizing, calculating, analyzing, comparing, and judging.

Whereas, innerhalb (within), suggests something else. Perhaps contemplative. Not looking for reasons. Rather attempting to dwell within the mystery of unexplainable manifestation.That which is beyond the facts and explanations, below the surface of accountings and speculations.

The fact of things. The arising into realization with no obvious preface or prediction.

Whereas the without of things asks why, the within of things looks with silence.

The revelation is, always, "I am." Things say it, plants, trees, and animals say it. Humans say it. And according to inchoate apophatic event-utterance, God says it.

There's no accounting of it, no accounting for it.

It is, what is, as it is.

Essentially, the underlying ungraspable mystery of things, the impenetrable reality of being-here, of Being-Itself. 

And we are asked, not to look at it and analyze it, but to look as it and become it.

What shall it be called? An immediacy of intimacy? An intimacy of immediacy?

Or as Rilke said elsewhere about whatever it is:

                 from all the borders of itself,

burst like a star: for here there is no place

that does not see you. You must change your life.

(--last lines of poem, Archaic Torso of Apollo, by Rainer Maria Rilke) 

Gratia pro gratia.

looking out / in our directions

Thanks

     BY W. S. MERWIN

Listen

with the night falling we are saying thank you

we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings

we are running out of the glass rooms

with our mouths full of food to look at the sky

and say thank you

we are standing by the water thanking it

standing by the windows looking out

in our directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging

after funerals we are saying thank you

after the news of the dead

whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you

in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators

remembering wars and the police at the door

and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you

in the banks we are saying thank you

in the faces of the officials and the rich

and of all who will never change

we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us

taking our feelings we are saying thank you

with the forests falling faster than the minutes

of our lives we are saying thank you

with the words going out like cells of a brain

with the cities growing over us

we are saying thank you faster and faster

with nobody listening we are saying thank you

thank you we are saying and waving

dark though it is 

 

(—W.S. Merwin, "Thanks" from Migration: New and Selected Poems. Copyright © 2005 by W.S. Merwin. )

Poetry Foundation

And this:

Merwin was once asked what social role a poet plays—if any—in America. He commented: “I think there’s a kind of desperate hope built into poetry now that one really wants, hopelessly, to save the world. One is trying to say everything that can be said for the things that one loves while there’s still time. I think that’s a social role, don’t you? ... We keep expressing our anger and our love, and we hope, hopelessly perhaps, that it will have some effect. But I certainly have moved beyond the despair, or the searing, dumb vision that I felt after writing The Lice; one can’t live only in despair and anger without eventually destroying the thing one is angry in defense of. The world is still here, and there are aspects of human life that are not purely destructive, and there is a need to pay attention to the things around us while they are still around us. And you know, in a way, if you don’t pay that attention, the anger is just bitterness.”

Merwin died in March 2019 at the age of 91.

 https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/w-s-merwin

nowhere to go, nowhere to be; this breath, then this emptiness

 Days become

One another

Today is Thursday 

Body is 

One breath after

Another

Inside is

Outside is

Unsided

The question

Is not

Do you love me

Nor do I 

Love you

Rather ask

Is outside

Inside & inside

Outside

Sitting

Shikantaza no

Borders

No boundaries

Steel ring dawns

Whole of it all

I cannot tell

If I am

Alive or dead

Chanting from

Somewhere lays

Baseline drone

I’m glad

You stop

Bye

for what we’ve done

 the day of mourning

for all our relations — the

originals, haunt

what are you, looking for

I suppose there was once a time when people thought they knew what to believe. 

"If you wish to seek peace of mind and happiness then believe. If you wish to be a disciple of truth, then investigate"             Friedrich Nietzsche, in letter to his sister, 1865

That was then.

Now, we wander.

Now investigation. 

sixty years later

 Rain this Wednesday

So refreshing — wooddrop tarped

Gate closed, good dog near

what is christ, what is bodhisatva

 Emerging 

from

Itself is

Itself as

Itself . . .

Just

This

falling into what is

 Until integrality

Parts will battle parts

Once wholeness

Then life together 

no place to hide

 They say our mind is in deficient decline

We no longer just dislike something and get on with it

Now we dislike and want to eliminate whatever or whomever we dislike

This is the deficiency of our rational mentality -- destroy what we dislike

This trend is troubling

We have guns

We demean and denigrate 

Denounce and shoot in the face

We do not suffer dissatisfaction

We make others suffer our dissatisfaction 

Cancel and castigate, imprison and impugn 

Cross off the list, consign to depletion and dirt

Patience no longer a virtue

Compassion is for fools

Fidelity is for suckers

The meek will be run off

The mind is compromised

The heart terrified

Men want their way

Doors close with strong locks

either way, it works

Anything/everything.

In for a penny in for a pound. 

Don’t start by trying to love God, or even people; love elements and rocks first, move to trees, then animals, and then humans. Angels will soon seem like a real possibility, and God is then just a short leap away. It works. In fact, it might be the only way to love, because how we do anything is how we do everything. In the end, either we love everything or there is reason to doubt that we love anything. This one love and one loveliness was described by many medieval theologians as the “great chain of being.”              (Richard Rohr, Building on a First Love, Daily Meditation)

There’s something we do not yet understand.

Microcosm is macrocosm.

Inch is mile.

Mind is universe.

I am you are me.

 No matter, never mind.
No mind, never matter.
Either way, it works 

- Ram Dass.

Face it, all of it!

It works, either way. 

before-knowing mind

 She doesn’t know where she is, or why. She wants to go home, to family, whoever or wherever they are, she doesn’t know.

Nor do I, but I only visit, sit with her, not knowing anything myself.

There we sit, the two of us, in the special wing, of a Sunday morning.

Until I get to go home.

Not knowing why.

scalpel school of discord

 All is good.

It’s when we sever things into discard and dislike

We part from good.

then there is this

The thing about non-dual consciousness is you must hear everything with a mind that is able to hear everything.  

 The repeating Israeli airstrikes on the Jabaliya refugee camp in Gaza are beyond my own comprehension.  For at least 10 of the last 40 days, missiles have rained down on the most densely populated refugee camp in all of Gaza. 

 

And it is not just the days; it is also the nights. The bombing is done in the dark, when the power is off and the only light is from the fires that burn. It is done when the internet is cut, when the journalists are shot dead, to hide their crimes, the burning of children. 

 

I have a long history and strong connection to the people in this camp. My friends, former coworkers, patients, and people I have known for decades through my work as a doctor at Gaza’s Al-Awda hospital are living in this camp.

(--From Gaza with Rage: You Must Stop the Genocide, by Mona El-Farra, 18nov2023)     https://www.palestinechronicle.com/from-gaza-with-rage-you-must-stop-the-genocide/ 

That is, with compassion and courage.

As if your life depended on it. 

they shot at everything that moved

We think we know courage.

Look here:

Truck dashcam footage shows farmer dodging bullets as he saved 120 from music festival

 https://www.timesofisrael.com/truck-dashcam-footage-shows-farmer-dodging-bullets-as-he-saved-120-from-music-festival/#openwebComments 

in response to m.d.'s opinion piece re j.b.'s age

As someone coming up to 80, I can't imagine why anyone would want to be so active surrounded by so many crazy problems.

On the other hand, The Republican frontrunner is truly off his rocker and wandering the desolate hallways of spooky ideology and mega-lomaniac fantasy.

If Biden is the only one to put the other guy away as he did last time, I say go. 

He will be the wounded lawman in the not-ok corral sequel who we suspect isn't going to make it to the end of the film, but who got rid of the bad guys threatening the people and the peace.

America will carry on. It's what we have to do. It's a vote for decency while we still can.

sound of one rainfall

 No need for 

Religious chants

This rainfall

Says it all

With unencumbered

Celebration

three words: poet, monk, nun

How well they sit together. 

His reputation for gentleness was sometimes carried to comical extremes. A tale is told that, one day when Ryokan returned to his hut he discovered a robber who had broken in and was in the process of stealing the impoverished monk's few possessions. In the thief's haste to leave, he left behind a cushion. Ryokan grabbed the cushion and ran after the thief to give it to him. This event prompted Ryokan to compose one of his best known poems:

The thief left it behind:
the moon
at my window.

When Ryokan was 70 and nearing the end of his life, he met a young nun and poet named Teishin. Though Teishin was only 28, they fell in love. They exchanged several beautiful love poems. 

As Ryokan was dying, Teishin came to him and held him at his moment of death. It was Teishin who collected and published Ryokan's poetry after his death.

Ryokan, Japan (1758 - 1831) 

Once the phrase “ monastics of no other” (m.o.n.o.) seemed to capture the gist of why bother waking up in the morning —  along with the appellation “dottore nulla e niente” as an academic credential. But now I am an old man with nothing to show and still less I actually know. 

All that remains is faint sound drifting across small distances as we converse with one another again and again like tenured archeologists and insouciant degree candidates brushing off dirt from articulated exploration of deeply hidden remnants of our true self with several others attending the dig with their own trawls and two inch paint brushes.

Today, Royokan is uncovered and swept clean and makes himself clear:

This world

by Ryokan

English version by John Stevens
Original Language Japanese

This world
A fading
Mountain echo
Void and
Unreal

Within
A light snow
Three Thousand Realms
Within those realms
Light snow falls

As the snow
Engulfs my hut
At dusk
My heart, too
Is completely consumed

-- from Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf: Zen Poems of Ryokan, Translated by John Stevens

 

And Teishin (1798-1873)

distant waves

Distant waves
seem to come
seem to go
So I have lived my life
leaving everything to the blowing wind.

 

  (Believed to be her last poem written before she died in 1873)

when words good and thanks are their own spirituality

 Wood-drop yesterday,

Finish covering boat — good

 prison circle — thanks

tonight

 Too tired to care.

the price of chains and slavery

Give me liberty — and, give me death. ‘Or’ no longer seems to apply. Choice is merely delay. War is coming. Which way to turn?

 I trust you, my Mind.

Though the body is filled
To the full by you,
The ten thousand things
Have become light.
Roaming in the universe,
In and out of mountain forests,
Why should I admire the beauty
Of red and purple robes?
I seek only that which
Frost and snow cannot harm.

Han-Shan Te-Ch’ing

At St. John's Church, Richmond, Virginia, March  23, 1775, Patrick Henry made his case for a Virginia militia, reconstructed here: 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

 Source: Wirt, William. Sketches of the Life and Character of Patrick Henry . (Philadelphia) 1836, as reproduced in The World's Great Speeches, Lewis Copeland and Lawrence W. Lamm, eds., (New York) 1973.

 I’ve no firearm. Yet, a war is coming. Not from away. Closer. Something mean this way comes. It is cruel and unkind. Half the people want the other half gone. They are pests, they say. They do not savour the lust for dominance or control, they do not scam suckers for personal gain, nor denigrate those not agreeing with them, as is so blithely done.

We are warned, but we are asleep in the illusion of liberty and the love of Jesus who has been drafted into their propagandistic mob and remains silent.

Han Shan roams the universe. We are invited.

There’s no telling when, or if, the human mind will ever mature.

Frost and snow near.

We’ll see.

start again

 What does it mean to be anti-rational?

I don’t know.

Zhuangzi (Chuang-tzu 莊子 “Master Zhuang” late 4th century BC) is the pivotal figure in Classical Philosophical Daoism. The Zhuangzi is a compilation of his and others’ writings at the pinnacle of the philosophically subtle Classical period in China (5th–3rd century BC). The period was marked by humanist and naturalist reflections on normativity shaped by the metaphor of a dào—a social or a natural path. Traditional orthodoxy understood Zhuangzi as an anti-rational, credulous follower of a mystical Laozi. That traditional view dominated mainstream readings of the text. Recent archeological discoveries have largely laid that ancient orthodoxy to rest. 

Six centuries later, elements of Zhuangzi’s naturalism, along with themes found in the text attributed to Laozi helped shape Chan Buddhism (Japanese Zen)—a distinctively Chinese, naturalist blend of Daoism and Buddhism with its emphasis on focused engagement in our everyday ways of life. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy

What does it mean to be mystical?

There’s no knowing.

Just everyday engagement.

bodies belong where words lead

 If we could feel, 

instead of thinking,

would atrocity stop?

If we said “no”

with body and soul in place,

would cruel ugliness cease?

Berrigan wrote: “Freedom 

consequent on the accepted necessity 

of walking where one’s word leads…

Bodies belong where words lead.” 

(From Daniel Berrigan’s poem, 

“September 27, 1971”)

Let’s go there, stand in Gaza,

place ourselves with love

and compassion

in harm’s

Way

wholly spirit

 The spiritual life begins and ends with breath. 

Between breaths the activity of movement and thought occurs.

Be attentive.

Do well what you are doing.

One breath at a time.

koan be gone

 God is

Nowhere

God is

Now, Here

God is

What is

Looking

Through

This

Wording

This 

Worlding

a huge, huge loss,

 War.

At least 102 workers from the largest United Nations agency in Gaza have been killed in five weeks of heavy Israeli bombing. Most did not die in the line of duty but instead while at home, often in strikes that also killed members of their families, U.N. officials said.

They were men and women. The largest number were teachers. Others included school principals, warehouse workers, engineers, a software developer, a gynecologist and a man in charge of staff safety. He was killed in his home along with his wife and their eight children, said Juliette Touma, the media coordinator for UNRWA, the agency that cares for Palestinian refugees and their descendants across the Middle East.

“It is a huge, huge loss,” Ms. Touma said. “Every day, we get more of these reports of our colleagues who were killed.”  

 (—With 102 Workers Killed, U.N. Agency in Gaza Struggles to Provide Aid, By Ben Hubbard , Published Nov. 14, 2023 Updated Nov. 15, 2023, 2:05 a.m. ET)

War . . .

It is a great failure of imagination, a great moment of failure and cruelty.

One can only guess what the mind of the terrorist and war-maker looks like. 

oy vey

 It seems ludicrous

The posturing and lies — there’s

Little sanity

nihil obstat

  What is

Is

Said the

Inmate

Nailing

Theological

Realization

For us

all that’s left you

 Yes.

From “Bookends” by Simon and Garfunkel:

“Time it was and what a time it was it was, / A time of innocence a time of confidences.”  

“Long ago it must be, I have a photograph / Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you.” 

Read that final phrase again, then read it again.

Now, what really is here? 

We looked at Rupert Spira last evening: How Does Evolution Exist If Time Is an Illusion?

a sandwich from scratch

Yes, of course, we are at the origin of everything that is. 

“To truly make a sandwich from scratch, you must first create the universe.” --Carl Sagan

The source of all, one might say, is the source at middle of each one of us.

We emerge through this source.

We might be inspired by what has emerged through another's source. But what we see from that emergence is similarly dwelling in and through our sluice of passage. 

Source is source each place of emergence and manifestation. 

From the Madyamaka (Middle Way) school, this:

There does not exist anything

That is not dependently arisen.

Therefore there does not exist anything

That is not empty.

--Nārgājuna 

To be empty in the Buddhist sense is to be wholly interconnected with the ten thousand things, or, as we might say, with all that is. To come to dwell in the center of things, in the center of one-self (or, one's self),  is to take up residence in center-seat where compassion and wisdom are most likely to reside.

Yesterday, sitting in room with the hurt and damaged in bodies and minds I was aware of my fate as non-different from my companions. It was Saturday morning. We were there together in designated wing for the no-place-other-to-go. And it occurs to me how apt that is for anyone meditating -- the stark and liberating realization that there is no-place-other-to-go. 

“Madhyamaka” is a Sanskrit word that simply means “middle way.” (The derivative form “Mādhyamika” literally means “of or relating to the middle,” and conventionally designates an adherent of the school, or qualifies some aspect of its thought.) Madhyamaka refers to the Indian Buddhist school of thought that develops in the form of commentaries on the works of Nāgārjuna, who flourished around 150 C.E. Nāgārjuna figures in the traditional accounts developed to authenticate the literature of the self-styled “Mahāyāna” stream of Buddhist thought. Arguing that sūtras known to have begun circulating only at the beginning of the first millennium could nevertheless represent the authentic teaching of the Buddha (buddhavacana), proponents of Mahāyāna invoked the characteristically Buddhist idea of “skill in means” (upāyakauśalya); they thus claimed that the Mahāyāna sūtras promulgate an advanced stage of the Buddha’s teaching such as would not have been appropriately taught to the earliest auditors of the Buddha, who, unprepared by the necessarily preparatory earlier teachings, might draw nihilistic conclusions from the sūtras. It is Nāgārjuna who is said first to have recovered and promulgated these sūtras, having retrieved the Prajñāpāramitā (“Perfection of Wisdom”) literature from the underwater kingdom of the “Nāgas,” or serpent kings. 

(--Madhyamaka Buddhist Philosophy) Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy

Perhaps the "skill in means" points us to the willingness to be where we are when we are there with all the compassion and wisdom available arising from where and when we are there. 

The Middle Way is where we might find ourselves sitting. Or walking. Or attending in conversation. (This is not "both-sides-ism" but, rather, "residing at source") -- finding out from where causes and conditions have obscured the source.

So, here we are, creating the universe with each breath, each activity, each looking.

(Uh oh, the eggs are ready.)

Time to make the sandwich.

use with caution

 Belief? In what?

Nah -- just meditative walking

silent sitting, empty looking

doing this, doing that, nothing else

Belief has become a swing

hanging from tired limb by

frayed ropes

at end of ability to hold

nada y nada, nada y nada otra vez

 Two trillion galaxies?

Universe 26.7 billion years old?

An infinite cosmos

An eternal span beyond time

Makes the pain in my back

Seem very small

I wonder if anything matters

Alas, purring thing on right arm!

I’m going to pray now — to whom

For what — I’ve no idea, none, nada

what james webb space telescope and author of paul’s hoax are reflecting

Lecturer proposes

Paul invented hoax

About Jesus 

Two thousand years ago

Maybe

Maybe not

For Christ's sake

Scientists are saying

 There are galaxies 

Older than universe

Before the Big Bang —

Maybe

“Jesus Christ” is

The name for

“I don’t know sh*t,

Do you?”

The JWST is out there

Looking around, as is

Down here author of

The Jesus Hoax says Paul

Did a trump and fooled the

World making things up

I don’t know — no big bang

No salvific resurrection

No Santa Claus, no ancient

Aliens — what’s next — no

Purring cat on right upper arm

No coffee beans to grind

I’m left on a wharf untying lines

Attached to no trawlers no containers

Just loosened dock lines

Hanging out over changing tide

the man who never turned back

 A little further

Just a little further

Where do you come from —

Just a bit further

satyagraha, soul force

 Yes

If I forget

Remind

Me again

Satyagraha

“Soul force

Pure and 

Simple”

Suffering in

One’s

Own

Person

it marshalled 

their 

inner most 

resources

Gandhi

Uttered the words

“He Rama!”

[Oh God]

Saying it

All

cf. https://www.sahistory.org.za/archive/documentary-history-indian-south-africans-edited-surendra-bhana-and-bridglal-pachai

institutional evil

 The ugliness of American and Canadian governments stealing native/first world children from their parents, from their people.

Shame!

to wait for the mourning after

Necessary reading. 

The euphoric rampage of Oct. 7 that killed some 1,400 soldiers and civilians has not only hardened Israeli hearts toward the suffering of Gaza civilians. It has also inflicted a deep sense of humiliation and guilt on the Israeli Army and defense establishment, for having failed in their most basic mission of protecting the country’s borders.

As a result, there is a conviction in the army that it must demonstrate to the entire neighborhood — to Hezbollah in Lebanon, to the Houthis in Yemen, to the Islamic militias in Iraq to the Hamas and other fighters in the West Bank — that it will stop at nothing to re-establish the security of the borders. While the army insists that it is hewing to the laws of war, it wants to show that no one can outcrazy Israel to drive its people from this region — even if the Israeli military has to defy the U.S. and even if it does not have any solid plan for governing Gaza the morning after the war.

As Israel’s defense minister, Yoav Gallant, told reporters on Wednesday: “Israel cannot accept such an active threat on its borders. The whole idea of people living side by side in the Middle East was jeopardized by Hamas.” 

This conflict is now back to its most biblical and primordial roots. This seems to be a time of eyes for eyes and teeth for teeth. The morning-after policy thinking will have to wait for the mourning after.                         

 (--THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN,  I Have Never Been to This Israel Before, Nov. 9, 2023, NYTimes)

Pointing out a necessary wariness and troubling prospects for a future resolution full of difficulty.

the intersections

 It is curious to see the word savour. It looks like saviour, but is not.

“Take for yourself what you can, and don’t be ruled by others; to belong to oneself—the whole savour of life lies in that,” (—Ivan Turgenev, First Love)

To belong to oneself. Not ruled by others. To take, to grasp, what is needed, an action within one’s ability.

There’s something both intriguing and existentially authentic in gathering to one’s self /oneself that which belongs to itself as an arising event. It feels like an etymological somersault to long for savour rather than saviour. 

The inner appreciation and inchoate realization of personal accomplishment arising in the moment is a savouring experience of delight and unexpected surprise.

Is it in our nature to project this particular experience out onto an external personage who does it for us? Hence, a saviour.

Have we extrapolated and projected the inner to the outer? That which is our own to that which is other than us? Is the perceived need for a saviour a reluctance to own the savouring insistence of interior realization?

“Whereas I think: I’m lying here in a haystack... The tiny space I occupy is so infinitesimal in comparison with the rest of space, which I don’t occupy and which has no relation to me. And the period of time in which I’m fated to live is so insignificant beside the eternity in which I haven’t existed and won’t exist... And yet in this atom, this mathematical point, blood is circulating, a brain is working, desiring something... What chaos! What a farce!”                                                            

(—Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev, in Fathers and Sons) 

I recall a book I enjoyed, and taught from in several courses, captured the inner/outer dynamic surrounding and emerging from us. 

The Inner Reaches of Outer Space is a 1986 book by mythologist Joseph Campbell, the last book completed before his death in 1987. In it, he explores the intersections of art, psychology and religion, and discusses the ways in which new myths are born. In writing the book, Campbell drew on transcripts of a series of lectures and conversations that he gave in San Francisco between 1981 and 1984,^[1] including legendary symposiums with astronaut Rusty Schweickart and with members of the Grateful Dead.^[2]  (--wikipedia)

New myths are being born.

What we call "being" might be seen as the irruption of what-is-not-yet into the realm of what-is-revealing-itself.

The touch and taste of this emergence need not be given away to some deus ex machina lingering outside above and beyond individual and ordinary human experience. The dualism of our rational mind tends to do this.

The world, one might say, is rolling out from within. 

Own it

And let it be

So

americans look in mirror, see something awful

 Are you worried?

Yes.

About Trump?

Yes.

Do you think he will escape prosecution and be elected again?

Yes.

Will he be as bad and dangerous as some fear?

Yes.