New Ansazi

This post is a reflection on the idea of "personal freedom" as opposed to a strict "political freedom."

photo from Pexels by artist
Jasper Tunney

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   Joshua Brown

If she had asked me about my birth, her abhorrence of virtue might have been evidenced by the loss of my own ambivalence to the eradication of my own species. But instead of being a normal fucking human, I plotted out some revenge against the soft whispers outlaid by those who just fucking wanted a happy life.

It wasn't safe for me to intervene. For if I had intervened, their wicked fingers might have reached in and, through me, snuffed out my own life. God knew what had happened, because that's what fucking God does. He knows shit.

From under the table I watched cautiously as the kings of the earth gathered together to discover what might be accomplished. Was it dangerous, or had they taught me to stay clear of their machinations so that they might more easily accomplish their desired ends? Grief overcame me as I realized that it was I who had planted among the young innocent minds a fortifying minefield of destruction, both for those attempting to invade but also for those whose dreams of escape, just as vicious, might have hated me for the choice I made to hold them captive.

There was no meta. There was no story beyond the existence day by day of words and ideas that we used and thought. Freedom existed outside of the dream of captors and sin, the locus of passion distraught by simple daily thoughts of what we wanted to do and which people we wanted to be surrounded by. 

Even the imagination of captors on a level beyond created those captors, nearly out of thin air, but subtle as it was, they knew that these imaginations were more powerful than most were willing to think and meditate on. These chains held about by our own hands, while distracted into a million flitting chaff, while following simply the fantastic dream that God mattered but We did not.

For implied in the existence of God is the very existence of One who's imagination and conscience can both see God but also be seen by Other's who can see God.

And the acts taken by those who speak the very name of God, not as though He existed beyond Their own imagination, but rather that the moral implications of violating the principles that We hold to be true to ourselves, against Others, takes apart our very soul, dismantling the eternal lust to survive and eroding us merely into a masturbatory coil.

It wasn't like I was ready to accept these first principles of existence, in fact, my very body rejected both the articulable sounds that the ancestors used to describe and evaluate things and ideas, and I pretentiously stood up, screeching into the clouds, my head rising up above them as if I myself were some spaceship carrying men and women to their fiery death. Personally, I liked the idea of being a modern proverb teller. If we could teach people through the language they already know, that would be a lot better than trying to teach them a whole new language. 

But, but, but... Erase it all. Erase the gods, erase the morals, erase the history. 

Man, if I only had the guts to say that! Freedom was always one of those words that kept me going, paycheck after paycheck. I felt the ground shake beneath my feet, and I could see the little rocks bounce. 

Deep in the distance there was silence. But as I lifted my foot to trod the land, roots deep down came up with a tremendous force, birds stopped chirping and the wind itself went still.

Razor against the soil, my feet planted themselves, my roots diving dizzyingly into new soil as I continued onward, facing east towards the Rocky Mountains. I had one objective and we were too deep to stop now. There was nearly 9,000 of us, rooted deep, probably deep enough to pierce even the bedrock that protected the essence of the planet from even the most consequential freedom thinker before.

We marched across the crumpled landscape, over the Puebloan relics, that last creative ploy at civilization that barely anteceded the Latin/Germanic thrust upon the world. Our own stories would be told, not as worshippers of Gott or Deus, but as those who practiced Pri.

#philosophy #freedom #choice #directaction #anarchy #definitions #culture #religion


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📅 Written March 30, 2024

📍 Written in Aurora, Colorado at Joshua's home along Sand Creek


If definitions are relationships and relationships are definitions, then this is an exploration of the origin story of the word "freedom." There are some loose adjectives that match the term "freedom" like "personal autonomy" and "the ability to choose" but I still find those a bit too base to be meaningful. A closer definition might be "citizen" or "clan member" that better articulates what the word means. Because "mutual agreement to definitions" gives clear boundaries on what freedom means to an individual. Which is why I want to revive the root "pri" which loosely means "love" but with a specific etymology that leads to "free" because those who we love we give freedom and those who love us give us freedom.

The Rocky Mountains and the ancient civilization of Ansazi (Puebloans) have been on my mind recently and the relationship of the local archeology to a larger meta of cultures like German (think McDonald's and America's obsession with the burger) or Latin (Christianity). These people and ideas I find interesting, especially because I work daily in an office whose name literally references a pre-Columbian native tribe (Arapahoe). 

I grew up taking a lot of American propaganda pretty seriously, for instance, I always made sure to pledge allegiance to the flag. Most of the last few years of my writing has been me trying to be really specific about what I believe about being "responsible" and "being a productive member of society." Part of this artistic expression of facing my own choices' consequences is the application of those consequences to the people that should have protected me from those life altering choices and failed in their "responsibilities" to me and those that come after me. In most of my artistic conscience I am exploring concepts and ideas argued by Stefan Molyneux and his community. 

For some reason, erasure cultures like ISIS have been a large part of my thoughts for the last little while and I have come to love the West, more and more I find myself a Western chauvinist, mostly for the really powerful preservation of its own cultures as well as other cultures rather than their erasure. I'm not sure what the future holds but there are a lot of interesting people, cultures and parts of history that I think the West has preserved and at least given a fighting chance to make a case for their continued existence or practice.

Thanks for reading! 

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