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The daylight wanes; the night deepens; remember!
The abyss thirsts always; the water-clock runs low.
Soon will sound the hour when divine Chance,
When august Virtue, your still virgin wife,
When even Repentance (the very last of inns!),
When all will say: Die, old coward! it is too late!"
—Charles Baudelaire, The Clock
This was then.
Recently, I have taken as my personal mantra the not very transcendent phrase, “I don’t know.” The list of things I feel unsure about seems to be steadily increasing. For instance, I don’t know if our solipsistic species will survive much longer, and sometimes I am not even sure how much I care. I don’t know if Barack Obama is a warm-hearted leader who will unite people at a time of adversity, or the most brilliant puppet ever put forth by the New World Order conspirators (who, as radio journalist and documentary filmmaker Alex Jones suggests, may be plotting a program of rapid depopulation). I don’t know if the increase in UFO sightings means we are approaching a benevolent contact experience or a horrific predatory ambush. I don’t know if global warming is mainly caused by human action, or if it is part of a phase transition of the entire solar system, as the Russian scientist Dmitriev proposes. I don’t know if men and women should be monogamous or if it is better to be bonobo-like in one’s erotic habits. I don’t know if we will develop some type of new energy technology that will rescue us from Peak Oil, or if we are destined to see industrial civilization devolve and disintegrate as fossil fuel becomes scarce. I don’t know whether to learn to grow food and harvest rainwater or to master some weird new esoteric discipline like Vortex Healing or Keylontic Science. I don’t know if free will exists, or if we are conditioned robots, performing an illusory spectacle scripted by Hindu deities or dreamtime ancestors. I don’t know if we should get rid of religions or create a really cool new one. I don’t know whether to stockpile gold or create an intentional community. I don’t know whether to stay in Manhattan or head for the hills. I don’t know whether we are approaching global enlightenment or regressing into barbarism. I don’t know whether biotechnology and nanotechnology will fuse to give us immortal physical bodies or if we will all croak as our mistreated planet falls apart. I don’t know if anything special will happen on December 21, 2012. I don’t know if I should start a riot or throw a party. I don’t know whether to panic or relax. More Here: The Age of Uncertainty Daniel Pinchbeck is the author of Breaking Open the Head: A Psychedelic Journey into the Heart of Contemporary Shamanism (Broadway Books, 2002) and 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl (Tarcher/Penguin, 2006). His features have appeared in The New York Times Magazine, Rolling Stone, Esquire, Wired and many other publications. |
