Balckwell Manifesting
April 7, 2021
As I sit here and ponder my imminent retreat from the world of sense, I must let out a long, silent sigh at the days that are soon coming to an end. I've spent a long time turning from what I was to what I am, and I am on the verge of a new journey by which I will turn from what I am to what I will be. It is time to say a farewell to fruit store.
Earlier this month, I was in bed for two weeks. I was ill. I went to the emergency room a couple times. I wasn't ill enough to stay there any longer than an hour or two before they sent me away, but just the fact that they sent me away once and I came back has got to mean something. The illness was a medical mystery - no doctor queried could come up with any diagnosis more substantial than "It doesn't seem like you're going to die." Of course, I could have seen this coming - the last time a doctor successfully diagnosed me was when I was six years old, and I am fairly confident that they did so by accident and against their own will. Please don't misunderstand: I am not a paranoid person. I don't think doctors are trying to kill me. I'm just not convinced that they are equipped to save me.
My illnesses emerge from demons underneath the earth. I don't want to get into this any more than I have to, so let's just say this much: the demons send energy through the earth's mantle, and it can go right through windows, even if the windows are closed. The energy searches for a host. Most people do not notice these demonic energies - for most people, their body assimilates it among the many evils already present. In my case, my body chooses to fight. This is because I follow a path of virtue. I am pure of heart. I didn't mean to be this way - I literally can not help it. My body fights these evils head on, and I am left in the crossfire, bedridden, surviving only on borscht and vitamin water.
During my illness, I did not have to go to work at the fruit store. I did not have to think about going to work at the fruit store. I was physically unable to go to the fruit store. No one could make me go - even if some suited man were to arrive and attempt to drag me to the fruit store, he would've damn near killed me in the process, and by no means would have been able to make me do work at the fruit store once we got there. This was a refreshing feeling. I had not noticed before how much of my mental bandwidth is spent thinking about the fruit store.
The sky outside shone blue. The birds chirped as they played among the trees outside my bedroom window. I lit a vanilla candle. I read of Confucian scholars wandering the streets of Nanjing. I read of a melancholic young semi-invalid reposing at a seaside resort. I read of a planet-sized ocean with a keen interest in human psychology. I read a man’s emotional appeal to the reality of free will, couched in the language of logic. I read a man in ancient Greece explain to the most annoying man in the world that water is an icosahedron.1
All this is to say, my mind was not on this Earth. I was adrift in ether space on an immaterial bed. As long as I didn't stand up, sit up, or move around, I barely even felt sick. It was only when I stood up and tried to interact with the physical realm that my lungs would begin to burn. It was as if a divine spirit were compelling me to quit this world of sense - to abandon this running and jumping and crouching that characterizes our modern world, and sink deep into the cave of Mind.
But eventually, despite all my misgivings, my health improved. The many hours of rest had done their job. The demons were purged, and I had to head out my front door and off to work. I was once again in the unenviable position of: Gotta go to work, gotta go to work, gotta have a job.
But once I arrived and found myself once again behind the register, placing a bag of Yukon potatoes on the scale and typing 678 on the keypad, I realized that this day felt much different than any other. And a few hours into my shift, like a bolt of lightning, a revelatory message appeared shock-bright upon the base of my cornea. It read:
”You should quit your job.” I shook my head. I rubbed my eyes. I took off my hat. I put my hat back on. I opened my eyes again. The message was still there.
It took some time for the aptness of the message to sink in. My first reaction was fear, and anger. "We fear change," I whispered, as my hammer struck violently against the robotic arm. I am not often compelled by whims, even whims inspired by divine revelation. But as the day went on, I had nothing to do but think, and my thoughts carried me deeper and deeper into agreement with my mysterious helper.
I don’t hate people. I don’t even dislike people. I don’t even fear people (the first step to hate, per Master Yoda.) I love people. I think they’re hilarious. I like to watch them, talk with them, and help them. But working at fruit store could make me forget all that. When your interaction with the general public is mediated by a cash register and an ambiguous customer service relationship, it becomes much easier to see people as objects, and in turn to be seen as an object yourself.
Many nice people pass through my fruit store. They buy turnips and potatoes and carrots, and sail away to make a soup. Sometimes, they’ll buy a seasonal fruit, and say to me, “Oh, I love these things! I’ve been waiting all year!” These people are the reason I keep coming back week after week. Its not about the money - I have other means of scraping together the cans of beans necessary for my subsistence. I legitimately enjoy hanging out with these people.
But for many people, I am a barrier. They want something, and I’m the guy they have to get past in order to have it. They want a tropical fruit, and I’m the guy telling them that that papaya costs $14. Yes, it’s expensive. It was flown here directly across the Pacific Ocean on a JET. It’s from the other side of EARTH PLANET!
Ah, excuse me. There I go again. You see, it brings out the worst in us, when we’re together like this. I want us to see each other at our best. For that, we need our space.
Here is an example of the kind of human interaction I want: I’m sitting on a concrete block outside the library at 10am on a Friday, waiting for it to open. I know the library opens at 10am. I’m there to print a document. There are only six computers, and they’ll all be full by 10:15. I’m looking through the glass doors at the front of the library, at a clock hanging on the opposite wall. The clock strikes 10:05. I walk to the automatic doors. They do not open. I return to my pillar. At 10:10, an old Chinese man walks past me. He stands before the automatic doors. They do not open. He walks towards me. “Is it Sunday?” he asks.
“No, it’s Friday,” I say.
“What?”
I move a step closer. “It’s Friday!”
He looks back at the door. “They’re not open?”
I shrug. “I don’t know! Maybe they’re late?”
He walks back to the doors. As he inspects the glass from every angle, trying to discern the answer to our mystery, I use my own detective powers. I open my phone. I google, “good+friday.” Today’s date shows up. I walk back towards the old man. “It’s a holiday!” I yell. “It’s Good Friday!”
The conversation takes some time to unfold. Eventually, I find a sign on the door that we both missed, listing the days the library is closed. It says, “April 2nd, Good Friday.” I point to it. I say, “That’s today.”
He makes an arcing motion with his arm. “All day?”
I nod. He bows slightly, thanks me, and walks back down the path. Then, I go to the mall and buy noodles.
Now that’s what I call living!
So you see, I am not retreating from people! I am running full bore towards people! But I don’t want to work for people anymore. I don’t want to do anything for people. I just want to be people!
There is one final reason I continued my work at the fruit store for so long. It is one that I believe many of you can relate to: I thought that those two days a week spent outside in the company of regular people was the only thing keeping me from going crazy. Well, my friends, it is perhaps too late for that. I think, fruit store or not, I am well on the path of losing my damned mind. That's okay - in fact, it's good. It is beneficial for my career, as they say in certain circles. It is a career boon. A career breakthrough. You see, the path to becoming a shengren, a true sage immortal, by its nature veers from the path of sanity. The path I was on was an attempt at compromise - I see now that such a compromise is not possible.
There is an alternative possibility that I am willing to entertain. Perhaps, fruit store was the only thing keeping me from regaining my sanity. Perhaps that 16 hours spent amidst the worldly world was the last thin thread keeping me bound within the Web of Maya. It is time to ascend - it is time to seek truth. It is time to rise!
Thus we say: BALCKWELL RISING!
I see now that both these possibilities end in the same result. Whether I am sane or not is besides the point. The point is that I am following a path that I believe in. I am following a path that will lead to my greatest flourishing, or my greatest flopping. I am following the path of both the wisest sage and the truest bumbler.
And this is why, at the end of this month, I am retreating from the world of sense and leaping headlong into a different world, the nature of which currently remains a mystery to me. Let's hope I make it out alive, or at least interestingly dead.