Painful Blessings by Rob Brezsny

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This is a perfect moment. 
It’s a perfect moment for many reasons, 
but especially because you and I 
are waking up 
from our sleepwalking thumbsucking dumbclucking collusion 
with the masters of illusion and destruction.

Thanks to them, from whom the painful blessings flow, 
We are waking up.

Thanks to them, from whom the awful teachings ooze, 
We are waking up.

Their wars and tortures, 
their devils and borders, 
extinctions of species 
and brand new diseases, 
their spying and lying 
in the name of the father, 
sterilizing seeds and 
trademarking water, 
stealing our dreams and 
changing our names, 
their brilliant commercials, 
their endless rehearsals 
for the end of the world.

Thanks to them, from whom the painful blessings flow, 
We are waking up.

Thanks to them, from whom the awful teachings ooze, 
We are waking up

Their painful blessings 
are cracking open holes 
in the sour and puckered 
mass hallucination 
mistakenly called reality.

News of the soul’s true home 
is pouring in, 
infiltrating our increasingly lucid 
waking dreams.

Wild ripe juicy eternity 
is flooding in.

Our allies 
from the other side of the veil 
are swarming in.

We’re waking up. 
And as Heaven and Earth come together, 
as the dreamtime and daytime merge, 
as paradise and the underworld overlap, 
we register the shockingly exhilarating fact 
that we are in charge 
— you and I are in charge — 
of making a brand new world. 
Not in some distant time or faraway place, 
but right here and right now.

As we stand on this brink, 
as we dance on this verge, 
we can’t let the ruling fools of the dying world 
sustain their curses.

We have to rise up and fight their insane logic; 
defy and resist and prevent their tragic magic; 
unleash our sacred rage and let them feel it.

But overthrowing the living dead is not enough. 
Protesting the well-dressed monsters is not enough. 
We can’t afford to be consumed with anger — 
can’t be obsessed and possessed with complaint. 
Our sweet animal bodies 
need to feel rowdy blessings. 
Our amazing imaginations 
need to thrive on missions 
that incite our delight.

We need truths in their wild state, 
insurrectionary beauty 
that excites our curiosity, 
outrageous goodness 
that drives us to perform 
heroic acts of lusty compassion, 
ingenious love 
that endlessly transforms us, 
tricky freedom 
that is never permanent 
but must be reinvented and reclaimed every day, 
and a totally-serious-yet-always-laughing justice 
that schemes and dreams 
about how to diminish the suffering 
and increase the joy 
of every sentient being.

So I’m radically curious, my fellow creators; 
I’m seriously delirious: 
Since we are in charge 
of making a brand New World, 
where do we begin?

What truths in their wild state 
are we planning to plant 
at the heart of our creation? 
What stories will be our reminders? 
What questions will be our fuel?

Here’s one for you: 
In the New World 
you will know through and through 
that life is crazily in love with you — 
life is wildly and innocently in love with you.

In the New World, 
you will know beyond a doubt 
that thousands of secret helpers are 
angling to turn you into 
the gorgeous curiosity you were born to be.

But then here’s the loaded question. 
The love that life eternally floods you with 
has not exactly been unrequited, 
but there’s room for you to be more demonstrative. 
If life is wildly and innocently in love with you, 
are you prepared to start loving life back 
the way it loves you?

In the New World, you will.

In the New World, 
you will reject paranoia with all of your smart heart. 
Instead, you will embrace Pronoia, 
Which is the opposite of paranoia. 
Pronoia is the sneaking suspicion 
that the whole living world 
is conspiring to shower you with rowdy blessings. 
Pronoia is the dawning perception 
that life is a conspiracy 
to liberate you from ignorance, 
and fill you with love, 
and make you brilliantly soulful.

My fellow creators, 
I want you to know 
that I am allergic to dogma. 
I don’t trust any idea 
that requires me to believe in it absolutely. 
There are very few things 
about which I am totally certain.

But I am absolutely certain 
that Pronoia describes the way the world actually is. 
Pronoia is wetter than water, 
truer than the facts, 
and stronger than death. 
It smells like cedar smoke in spring rain, 
and if you close your eyes right now, 
you can feel it shimmering 
in your soft warm animal body 
like the aurora borealis.

The sweet stuff that quenches all of your longing 
is not far away in some other time and place. 
It’s right here and right now. 
Earth is crammed with heaven.