Today marks the day of the Iranian New Year. It is a holiday called Charshanbeh Suri. On this day, Iranians celebrate by jumping over fire. For them, this signifies the cleansing of the past year and a hope for the future year. Some would use the term luck—out with the bad, in with the good—but I’m not a patron of that belief system. Luck. Perhaps only insomuch as a statistical probability of some occurrence likely happening, but certainly nothing beyond that. My belief system is more akin to that of water, like an ever flowing stream.
The future path of water is not determined by some chance embankments, rather it has molded the path before it. A stream is not so whimsical. Luck does not belong in its reality. Indeed, it has determined its own outcome. The only future changes in curvature are predicated on the present currents. A river knows its path, and the banks are shaped by it! Not the other way around. That is not to say the earth has no effect on the stream, but it’s quite less than the latter has on the former.
Novalis said, “Our body is a molded river.” Then I pose to him: What is our body terraforming? Surely, Novalis meant our entire being when he states “our body”, so it is our mind and soul which is thus shaped and shapes as well.
Jim Harrison may have understood Novalis best:
"Bloody brain and heart, also mind and soul finally becoming a single river, flowing in a great circle, flowing from darkness to blessed darkness, still wondering above all else what kind of beast am I?"
When posited like this, the self can be imagined as three tributaries: that is the mind, the body, and the soul. The Holy Trinity. The surfaces we etch ourselves into, make an impression upon, are made from these three streams, albeit chaotically and seemingly without purpose.
First, the body, a resplendent river, is seen by all but who look upon it. Its breadth is remarkably wide, cutting a deep path through open fields.
Second, the brook of the mind is far less seen, nestled among thickets in the hills. Slightly more treacherous to find, the journey is inconsequential to the intrepid wayfarers that seek it.
Lastly, the soul, a mountain’s rivulet. Most never attempt the arduous path to its discovery, and yet its heavenly body stands as a crystalline reward for the courage of the indefatigable.
Then there is the convergence of these three streams. They interdigitate to form an ocean. It is blissful serenity in its calm, and it is wrathful vengeance in its wake. In either state, its will is indomitable.
As these three convene into one, so must we, lest we be forever lost, scrambling across the expanse until we fizzle out. That is when the temporal has shaped us to its will, and ours has been forgotten. A water without will is a wandering fool, doomed to dawdle and dry up.
So begins my attempt. To be sure, the attempt began long ago, but not of cognizance. Today, on the mark of my 38th year, I recognize my tributaries and begin my ascent to the mountain tops in hope of connecting all three streams towards the solace of my ocean. And, while I do not believe in any ultimate apotheosis, I crave its powerful currents. I wish to fill my ocean until this celestial body can longer contain it. I desire its blessed darkness so that I might glimpse a vestige of what beast I am.
Thank you for reading my latest scribbling. I have spoken with a few cherished individuals about my embarkment on my year of asceticism. I had hopes of defining what this year looks like, but then I began to understand that I cannot truly define every bend in the river. I’m a sucker for romanticism in philosophy, and one thing I constantly find myself coming back to is my love for the idea of “eternal return”. This concept may not sound endearing to most, but there’s something beautiful in the thought of being able to experience everything I’ve ever experienced, without knowing that I’ve experienced it.
There’s a glimpse of this in Jim Harrison’s quote above, where he talks about becoming a “single river, flowing in a great circle”. Again, I think there’s much beauty to behold in such nihilistic sentiment. If we’re doomed to repeat everything, like a tape-loop without fail, then what is there to cherish? Harrison hints at this, stating that we flow from “darkness to blessed darkness, still wondering above all else what kind of beast am I?” The elegance of such a statement is the understanding and acceptance of this cycle and the ability to become cognizant of one’s recurrence. Once one understands his moat, his existence can become blessed. And then he can truly try to discern what he is and his place in divine existence.
All of my rambling above philosophically constitutes what I am setting about on my 38th year. Practically, I will continue to hone my body, as I’ve been doing resistance training six days a week for the past six weeks. I see no end in sight, as weights have become my refuge and I’m delighting in the physical transformation I’ve seen so far. I’ve always tried to sculpt my mind, but I will be doing that with more vigor and open-mindedness this year. An author I have been really immersing myself in lately is Julius Evola. I feel a sense of kismet when I read him. I also intend on expanding my horizons by learning Latin. I’ve been a fan of linguistics/etymology for as long as I can remember, so I think this language will only further develop that love affair.
And finally, I do not know what constitutes my soul, and so I will embark on this ascetic voyage in hopes of finding that inner constitution. I believe transcendence comes from immanence. And so, if we happen upon each other in the near future, and I seem a bit off or weird, it’s not you, it’s me.