Saturday’s “Spring-Break to Eternity” was the most densely populated Liminalist event to date and covered a range of topics, from Dave Oshana to the human and sociopolitical adaptations to the so-called Corona Virus. The above podcast is a collection of dialogues on that last subject.
As a separate audio, here’s a clip in which I discuss my interest in Dave Oshana and why your interest in Dave matters to me:
The last Dave event was a joyous and vibrant affair; watching back my own event from the day before, I couldn’t help but be humbled by the contrast in the levels of life force energy and sheer exuberance on display in Dave’s presentation compared to my own. I suppose some people don’t respond to someone as obviously alive and filled with joy as Dave is, however. I seem to attract souls who are struggling with heavy loads, as I have myself over the decades. And of course, ebullience isn’t necessarily correlative with life force or joy.
There are people who are quite ebullient but also thoroughly obnoxious and gratingly inauthentic at the same time. And I know that, when I try to be more “up,” it often causes my energy to become abrasive and distorted; when I am contained, however, even subdued, something subtle and bright can often shine through that.
Probably, my appreciation of Dave’s joyfulness is contingent on getting to know Dave well enough, over twelve years, to see past the ebullient cockney persona, to the essence beneath it, and then to re-see that surface personality as something, like a small child, quite astonishingly genuine and not at all forced or affected. My impression of Dave is that he really is in a state of joy most of the time, and that this is what the life force looks like, fully landed in human form…
Dave started Sunday meet talking about how our life is spent in boxes, from the crib or cradle (or sock drawer, in his case) that we are placed into as babies, to the coffin we go out in. And yet we come from a womb and into a Nature in which no right angles can be found.
He called a number of witnesses to his “case.” The first was “a thing called a person, because I don’t think they exist.” He mentioned how our joints alert us to coming tsunamis, and then called a second witness: words.
Science is rhetoric, he said, persuasive argumentation. When we hear words, however, we are hearing the sounds of our brains, like fax machines firing off coded information. As he encouraged us to tune into the feeling of the marrow inside the bones, once again, I was struck by the irony that Dave’s enlightened consciousness seems focused on almost infinitesimal things that are of so little interest, or even conceivability, to the logical mind. Is this what a body feels like to infinite consciousness, I wonder: a never-ending source of information and meaning? What else would we expect? Aliens, gods, and shiny spaceships?
Everything that ever happened in our bodies is still happening there, over and over again, re-looping. What if we start to study the loops and see what they are constructed of?
Dave called his dog as a witness then, and described how dogs know when their humans are coming home from work, due to an invisible information network of smells. When the dog’s human leaves, they leave behind their scent. During the hours they are gone, the molecules of the scent disperse and the strength of the smell reduces. The dog has a scent-clock that lets it know when the human will return. This may even appear “psychic” to the human, but only because they aren’t tuned in to the sea of olfactory information around them.
Dave’s next witness was the clock but he quickly switched to the heart, a natural keeper of time. Changes in the heartbeat change our perception of time. A slow heart rate means we are relaxed, and that reduces the pressure we feel of the future bearing down on us, compelling us to react.
At that moment, I mentioned to my wife what the vet had said recently about Tuco, our cat lodger: he has an unusually slow heart-rate. The vet was surprised by how calm Tuco was: all the cats that go there are agitated and afraid, but not Tuco. The vet even thought he might be ill!
Right after I said that, Dave used the example of a cat stretching out, supremely relaxed. It was ironic, because Dave says he is not a cat-person.
Dave’s next witness was “Dave’s self.” He recounted how, when he woke up at 5 am June 19 2000, though he remembered his past as “Dave,” he no longer found himself in it, no longer felt that the name or the memories referred to him. The pervasive and persuasive idea of time no longer held him to its storyline.
He talked about a crystallization of mind called self, a concept-bound homunculus. Classification, he said, leads to persecution and imprisonment. It starts with a name and ends with a number. Leaving all classifications behind allows us to read one another in unexpected ways and to merge informationally.
I thought then of Sherlock Holmes, and of his capacity to deduce a wealth of information about a person within moments of meeting them. Dave is like that, except that, like his dog, he doesn’t use logic and deduction so much as an invisible information network around us.
Can two objects occupy the same space he wondered? When two people meet, they are like two atoms that entangle and swap spin. Dave’s dog tunes into the people it meets, and matches them. Meeting is communing.
How seriously do we take our capacity for language? Is there another rhythm of life? (He used this phrase not for the first time; I noticed because it was the name of my brother’s collaboration with Paul Haig in 1981.)
Dave mentioned reading Jean Paul Sartre’s Nausea when he was young and finding it “torture.” For me, at around age nineteen, the book was mildly revelatory: it was one of the first and only times someone had articulated my experience of existence (I had by then already coined a phrase that evoked Sartre’s ennui: “the meaningless pressure of objects”). Perhaps this signifies something about the difference between “Dave” and “Jasun”—about our historical timelines and how we have classified our experiences, and hence our audiences?
Dave says he doesn’t find people when he looks for them, but only bodies that have a strangely fixed identification with their problems. Communication for him is not via words but through shared vibrations. He sees individual humans as akin to individual neurons (an oxymoron?). He asks what experiences truly resonate with us.
There is a way of retaining experiences of living without holding onto them or identifying with them. A kind of positive imprinting, the inversion of trauma. Instead of the indelible effects of shock that cause a thickening of the fascia and a permanently contracted nervous system, it suggests an opening to life and its many layers that allows each moment to go all the way into and through us, to our core, and so become stamped in eternity.
The next online Dave event is Spiritually Taboo: Sexual Energy: Good, Bad and Ugly: Uses, Misuses and Abuses, this Sunday 29 March. His free-of-charge World’s End Party Meet & Greet online event of April 4 is currently 42% full. Book it here.
Coming full circle to the question of the covid-19 virus, I recommend two short essays by Dave on the metaphysical dimensions of the phenomenon:
What would life be like if the concept “COVID-19” had never been created? The intellectualized concept of the virus has a life of its own, altogether different from the life of the actual virus. The actual virus is a humble organism in contrast to the virus concept, which is a huge character on the world stage where the narrative is that David is beating Goliath. However, Goliath is changing our lifestyle, news, healthcare and economics.
Lastly, here’s a video from yesterday depicting our attempts to continue business as usual in our little town as the lockdown rolls across the globe and David Icke’s “totalitarian tiptoe” turns into a quick march: