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The Revolution Will Not Be Search-Engine Optimized: Confessions of a Groucho Marxist

This is not content. This will not be syndicated or pushed through social networks. This was not rewritten with a keen eye for SEO. It will not go viral. Less than 1% of 1% of 1% of the people on earth will ever be aware that this existed.

Early experiences with Southern Baptists and other cultists gave me a sustained distrust of evangelicals. If I'm in hell, it's not because I lack something that you discovered six months ago.

I'm not a big fan of most activists, either. I suspect that a lot of activism has less to do with anyone else's enlightenment than it does with glitches in the activist's psyche that have gone unaddressed. Maybe I'm being selfish with my own little private revolution. Yes, it may be a pot-kettle thing, but they're both black.

Politically, I am a Groucho Marxist. I am reluctant to join any movement that would have me as a member.

And yet, I'm not a big believer in free will, either. I believe that humans have a visceral sensation of making choices and that this is sometimes the only thing that fortifies our egos against oblivion. But I think it's delusional.

I suppose that, instead of writing this, I could be meditating, quietly sipping peppermint tea, or watching BoJack Horseman. Because the chemical typhoon in my body blew me a certain way at this moment, I am writing instead. But I don't choose my choices. I cannot do anything that would never occur to me.

I believe that the world would be decidedly different and perhaps more to my liking if more people read the Dharma and practiced meditation. I am tempted to hustle and optimize and get the message out there that meditation should be taught in public schools, in corporations, in prisons... It would be a start. I wish that meditation practice was something on more people's ontological chalkboards.

I admire the work that Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche did to bring meditation practice into my life, and I admire the unorthodox therapist who taught me who he was. I admire David Lynch for his own, different work in using his privilege and fame to spread his own practice. A part of me aches to follow their examples, to be a teacher, a booster, or even just a cheerleader.

Still, I'm reluctant to do even the most basic extra work to get this post clicked on. It doesn't feel right. Maybe I'm deathly afraid of coming off as too pushy. It wouldn't be the first time.

I am free to fantasize about writing, instead of this post, a bracing manifesto, or something like the Sadhana of Mahamudra, which I chanted with a group last night and still has me reeling. In this moment, I am not free to actually create something like that.

There are countless other posts on the internet very much like this one. It would take a powerful conspiracy or a vanishingly unlikely stroke of luck to make this one rise above the chaos in any significant way.

This post will go the way of all things. It will be forgotten. Probably within the week. This website may go down. Or these pixels may outlast my flesh. But not by much. The earth – maybe even the human race – may be around for a few more centuries yet. This post, and anything else I do with my life, will not play a remarkable part in those forthcoming years.

Before I even begin to consider “getting my voice out there,” I must accept that my ideas, and my physical flesh, are not fixed reality. They will go the way of ash, of dirt, of cigarette butts. That's how it is.

I can only reach out, with as much empathy and patience as I can muster, to the very few people I am able to touch in this moment.

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Comments

and thank you

for reaching out. I look forward to your posts.

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