Did you know, the heart has a little brain that paces a body’s beating rhythm?
But a brain will detach from its body and heart without thinking it needs them.
One.
Only one.
One Elo to share.
A single Common Near,
We are all contained within.
In these quickening days, knowing the scientific foretellings of doom, we all feel the temperature rising. The winds whipping harder. The hail pecking dents in our skulls. The air heavy with each deep breath. Stories are being told of temperatures so hot, it's beginning to melt humans from the inside out. Our world is in quick collapse. We have exhausted it to tipping point. Laughing, smiling, and debating technical details on our way to disaster. Strutting our waywardness in perishable, slave-tailored clothes as though its woven labour shines us beautiful. Plastering entertaining smiles on our faces to mask sincere reaction to fast-approaching catastrophic disaster.
But Elo’s goodness can only be abused so much before it reacts too,
Before balance will be restored upon us by waves of natural reaction.
Like you, I’ve watched for too long, maintaining this system’s many machines. Inputting data behind a screen and wallowing in the egresses of Cela’s greedy ambitions. All so they can keep stimulating their rolling brain of quick quantification—that deep freeze mechanism in the soul of a human system.
We all know these Cela-head types. Corporatizing executives. Fine-suited managers. Cosmic network weavers. Detached intellectuals. Wealthy hoarders. Roaming authorities. All discussing their divine status in their free time and imposing their high-minded ordained codes and psychology. Peddlers of their well-costed but uniquely divisive regulations. Manipulating with their intellectual speed of superiority. Bending our minds to their singular networks and recoding our brains through their ongoing observation of disgust and high-minded judgment. And all this, as they’ve watched poor people’s obvious plight on vomit-strewn streets. Those lingering puddles of vile being a manifestation of Cela's unique form of mental waywardness.
For in Cela, it seems they can only spend their days mourning for a harsh word spoken to them, spending hours seeking pity. Crying about rudeness and minor threats speckling their airwaves as though it was something akin to the very real violence and death that has been unleashed on the masses of people. And those useless complaints always emerge from the wealthiest neighbourhoods of Cela. Doing this while they continue to ignore the turmoil of growing fascism within their small governing communities and across the planet within the domains of privilege. Being completely unable to comprehend the very real consequence its bravado now bears upon those in power. They are a continuous sob fest for the softest, most comfortable people while the poor die in the streets.
And they are also those who will mourn and feel upset as assassinations take aim at those responsible for the heavy burden placed upon the innocence of everyday people. They are out of touch, they have no clue what is going on. All they feel is their discomfort, their growing sense of loss for their previously untouchable status in Cela. Longing for their warm blankets and comforts to resume. Their parties and gatherings. Snuggling cozily to wealth and celebrating their vane reflections upon its shimmer. And they keep trying to impose their self-righteousness on regular people like it's a bright divinity to follow or a path through the chaos.
But a hurricane has been raging on all in the lands, tearing into its humble people, and at last, the eye has centered itself upon their cries for normalcy. Unleashing their pathetic agony to be treated like delicate celebrities in a time of fascism and environmental collapse. They are unprepared for what is coming. And they don’t deserve positions of power if they can’t use it to dramatically alter course for the betterment of all living on Elo. Instead, they whine about their fears of what power now means in this quickening moment. Meanwhile, the vast majority of people could hardly care for the discomforts they must now endure—for their lives have been wrought by the storm for so long—a storm that Cela-brained incompetence has regulated into existence.
In Cela, they fear no human or god! They only fear a loss of power or a diminishing of their perfect images. But their mental egresses and vanities are not enough to bind a planet together wholesomely.
What they don’t see, is that this system is without construct.
It has no foundational relation between its many peoples.
That is why we war, that is why we allow greed to run rampaging around like an old fool at the end of prophetic time—that long-foretold ending of the Singular Age. And that is why we are entering a time of wrath yet again. Their ideas, their ideals, and their images are not enough. Their shine and colourful coats of greed are not able to offer foundational principles that affect all living thing. They are fancy paperwork, crunched numbers and media light trying to describe their own perceived uniqueness. Slashing their names upon policy and buildings, hoping they will live the test of time through it. But all must submit before death to yet live again!
So what will bind us all? What is the forward path that garners the most shared agreement? For I know their intelligence is certainly not it. And I also know my specialty is not enough. Nor the tribalism of a close community. And so, we must all accept a shared base of relation that sets the foundation for a future world to be built upon.
Containment is the admittance of a singular construct that all cells— otherwise known as humans—relate to in a Systos-Cela. It is the fundamental internal relation that allows essentialization of cells through wellness and psychology. Wellness is not just internal essentialization—accepting your attributes as necessary to your identity—and it's not personal ascension psychology. It is the relation of our internal self to physical externality with all living thing. Stretched out into repetition that allows a sense of placefulness, of beingness with environment. It is a recurrent process of interconnection. In societies, it is accomplished through the broad acceptance of gods or god, ideal, concept, or even something material, like a place, clock or totem.
At the end of the Pivotal Age and its pantheon of gods, the emergence of the one God morphing into a mass religion became the containment that allowed a patchwork of loosely interwoven feudal states to exist during the Singular Age. Their base construct was a ‘saint manifesting God’, and from this understanding came the interrelation of cells up into the organization of their monached states. It was a singular, unbreakable, shared agreement, the base construct understood by all cells—that they were the children of God.
It was an ephemeral concept that required much laborious prayer, music, art and confession to essentialize its cells. But that was its wellness program. Confession was central. Relating the internal to their environment. And it allowed a semblance of underlying unity—as it still does across the world today—though its construct has entered its dangerous dying phases. And today it wanders more like a lingering ghost, haunting nations in times of economic crisis as they shift away from its base form of relation. Containment is this predominant sub-structure, the base ideal that all cells within its domain can be in relation to each other regardless of all other disagreements, miscommunications or particularities. It is the air all breathe.
So, for the purposes of this discussion, the framework of Systos-Cela is assumed to be within a contained, singular, planetary system—Elo. It is our globally shared monotheistic underpinning. Monos pactum Elo! All discussions herein are derived from this basic assumption, and thus, its singular construct adds major simplification and idealism to these understandings.
“Elo is God, our Greatest Container,
All bless Elo, our Eternalizing Saver!
It is our containment until we grow out into our solar system to become a Solar Civilization, if we can manage to. And then beyond that, into a Galactic Civilization.
But like all others on Elo, I have despaired. For on my earthen journey, I’ve seen this green world I love burn while trying to grow it strong with my hands. I’ve watched the humble souls I cherish struggle daily while trying to uplift them in a time that only pushes them fast to dirt. And regardless those souls' many bigoted opinions that I despise, all have been toiling to an early exhaustion that is disordering their brains to its furthest externality. Too many have needlessly died already. Losing their lives to despair and abandonment. Or those endless wars strewn of young boys. The allowed genocides wrought upon children. Urbanities left pooled in mental poverty of drugged-out men wandering streets. And those far distant enslaved women who are broken and raped in inhuman factories so we can shimmer in their threading.
And soon, all of them will be living through utter environmental catastrophe because of Cela’s stubbornness, arrogance, and wayward vanity.
We are on the verge of a calamity so monstrous in waiting, that it will make the death tolls of all previous wars and genocides look like a child's calculation of one plus two. Do we all see this abyss before us? Are we comfortable stepping into such a tumultuous fall without acknowledging our choices and power to change it? Will we peddle the foolish wisdom of greed, whose obsession with numbers withholds us from a better future? Do we accept those long prophesied ends or do we rewrite our future? Are we able to see beyond the numbers rolling in? Can we see the pattern within them, and thus the paths through?
But we will not find agreement without accepting our shared base structure; containment on Elo.
And the acceptance of containment globally cannot come from an imposition of aristocratic authority or supreme knowledge imposed on cells, nor a degradation of cells into class or caste structures—which will result in revolution and potential catastrophe—especially on a contained high-tech planet.
Acceptance must come as cells relating to containment. Doing so through the processes of community cellularization and those essentializing tools of wellness and psychology—all acting in relation to Elo. It is the development of a new language of wellness related to containment—not just the vanity of individual ascension narratives into a specific community or up into heavenly Cela. And it is from this common understanding of containment, that all cells may be essentialized with Elo. It is not an eternal construct, but it is the fundamental pinwheel that the entirety of a Systos develops around. It is a base operating construct, the focal point that allows shared engagement, purpose, agreement, and thus future.
“You can have your spiritualities, mysteries, cults, religions, armies, revolutions, and corporations- but on this planet, all must bless Elo, our Giver and Receiver!”
And now let's take heed. There is only one planet. It will take only one obvious, and completely over-thought-out mistake to destroy it for everyone. And mark my words, in the process of that environmental unfurling and chaos, in that quickening, those comfortably high Cela brains will be lined up on the wall of an angry squad. ‘Fired’ for their greed and incompetence to the people. The guns at the head, those they forgot to regulate while they ascended to heavenly Cela. They’re safe compounds found, dug up, and bashed in by the hands that built them! Their pale unsunned skin let to roast in rays of fire on bloodened crosses lining the streets of revolution. Oceans and Cela’s many, many warships can’t hold back a world of billions on the move from environmental collapse!
Some things in this world are unknowable.
And some things are simple to understand.
The anger of desperate mobs, lost to climate calamity, food insecurity, and hopeless violence, desperately trying to protect those they love—that is a story of retribution easy to foretell—for our history is drenched in its crimson nightmares. And its spirit hovers around moments like this, waiting for Cela-brained arrogance, peddling useless greed and unabashed authority, to allow its ascension into wrath upon their loosely disguised perfection. Those Cela-brains of privilege should not doubt the heavy burden of high status in a collapsing society—they will be blamed for these disasters—and in its final outbursts, wrath always rolls the heads responsible, where greed gave them cover.
And if you do not feel this worry now, oh big-brained Cela heads, and act as though the people's wrath, and God's eye of judgment is upon you all living way, way, way, high, high up in high-minded, heavenly Cela. On those untouched and glistening shores of the ascended few. If you feel no fear but for the image of your reflection, then the wrath of the system’s innocent children, whose needs you continue to ignore and silence, shall wash upon you and wrung low your incompetent brains. Drudging you into that same violent servitude you’ve forced their labour to stupor in.
Make no mistake, I have no desire to see Cela overturned, for that is also the end of our world, and would be the loss of Elo’s soul. But I wish those arrogant Cela heads would see their deep, prodding, and judgemental intelligence in a truthful light. Because they look very foolish indeed, pretending to be so smart, when we’ve only ever seen them strut naked past us with gleeful smiles. Looking down dismissively at our tragic ways. Tossing cents and bonbons when living costs a fortune that only makes tasting a bitter experience.
So when will heaven finally come back down to earth?
For Cela is a languishing nightmare for the people of Elo!
It's a nightmare for those real people in Systos, the poorest, the least of these. The people that the Cela heads and their jittery communities of privilege have never before seen, nor talked to, nor would have any desire to touch for fear of infection. Those far-off, slaving for the ascension rights of Cela’s most aggressive mental personalities left unregulated. Toiling for them in distant impoverished countries so that Cela brains don't get dirt near their white gleaming temples—those structures designed along strong alignments to purest superiority.
We are no longer pooling in the existential turnover of the Singular Age, latching onto the ephemeral unity of spiritual leaders pointing at God. Our God lives beneath us now, our unity will only come from accepting how it contains us all within its sphere, and acting in alignment with its needs.
And is Elo the final monotheistic underpinning of a world in the process of entering the Celestial age? I do not know. But I do also know the alien within the black hole in our brains, and the ones coming from without, real or staged, will shape our cosmic identity far beyond our ability to maneuver the mechanisms of planetary control. But Containment is the one singular ideal required for this next century. For we still have hundreds of years before entering Celestial Age and growing ourselves into far space. We must not rocket off Elo if that only means blasting it in a fury of fire!
But sleep in Celestial Age, for we are calming,
Offer your blessings upon Elo, for it is our pact,
And live to Love Honest, for in that we may unite.
No, honestly, I’m not exactly sure what it is,
But ya, they always get excited around me.
I think it's how I look right through them,
Because I’m never really sure if I’m here.