#monism

While on a hike, I found myself reflecting on how I describe personal growth. I realized my journey felt less like a loop and more like a spiral.

In this reflection, my reasoning was intuitively as follows: a loop suggests I am going in circles, reliving the same struggles without progress. However, a spiral implies movement—a return to similar challenges with a deeper perspective, each passing through of these experiences bringing me closer to the core of understanding, and each time, I grow a bit wiser, stronger, and get closer to the center of who I really am as much as seeing more of this life and the wisdoms I wish for it to share with me than I would otherwise.

Every time I face a familiar struggle, I’m not the same person I was before. Time, space, and stillness give me new wisdom to look with new eyes. Yes, I still fall into old patterns—that’s human—but the difference is how long I stay tethered to it, the idea of "struggling" that is. Instead of seeing myself as a victim of this thing, I try to sit with any discomfort that arises, to work to a place of accepting what is as it is, as much as myself as I am, and any other elements at play (like others) outside of my control, and to move forward in love, focusing on what it is that I can actually control.

(Then I saw these on Pinterest upon opening it, and I figured I just had to try to summarize my thoughts to share.)

I've come to see just how much so this shift echoes ideas that have been around for thousands of years. Take Advaita Vedanta, a school of Hindu philosophy. It teaches that the separation we perceive—between self and world—is an illusion. At the deepest level, we are not fragmented beings struggling against life; we are life. So, these “repeated struggles” aren’t meaningless—they’re part of the spiral that brings us closer to realizing that underlying unity. Each challenge peels away another layer of ego, revealing the truth that we’ve always been whole.

Buddhism adds another lens with its teaching on impermanence and the nature of suffering. Pain isn’t the problem—clinging and resistance are. Mindfulness becomes the way through observing thoughts and emotions without judgment, without grasping. This practice keeps the spiral moving instead of hardening into a loop. And here’s where modern psychology overlaps. The concept of locus of control—knowing what’s within our power and what’s not—aligns beautifully with this. We can’t control life’s ebb and flow, but we can choose our response. That’s where freedom lies.

Taoism points us here, similarly urging us to follow the Tao—the Way—by flowing with life rather than forcing it. Chaos and order, yin and yang, aren't enemies; they're two notes in the same song. The spiral honors that dance: forward, inward, and around again. Flowing, they are eternally honoring each other, for there is no other way it can be. (Though I personally believe in nonduality, this helps to explain things.)

What does this look like in real life? It means releasing judgment—of ourselves, of others, and even of the path itself. Individuation, the psychological journey of becoming your truest self, isn’t about control or isolation. It’s about integration: honoring your unique individuality while embracing your deep interconnectedness with all things. On the individual level, this means facing and accepting your shadow self—the parts of you that are uncomfortable, hidden, or rejected—and weaving them into a whole, authentic self. Importantly, it’s not about choosing light or dark, but about recognizing them as part of a unified spectrum—the All that we are and that simply is. This unity of opposites, this full spectrum, must be accepted as it is, not resisted or divided. On the collective level, this same principle holds: the world’s complexity—its light and shadow—are inseparable facets of one whole existence. True peace and wholeness come from embracing this unity, within ourselves and with the world around us.

Coming to see that you can validate another person’s experience without betraying your own truth or, worse yet, becoming someone not in resonance with who you are or want to be. Anyone who says otherwise is usually speaking from their own ego and a place of trying to impose their perspective unconsciously, lost in the motions of everyday.

Living authentically just means living, being, and learning how to more and more easily access a place of being grounded in that so that you can simply release judgments of others and 'let live'—knowing that no one harms you by simply being who they are, just as you harm no one by walking your own path.

Mindfulness becomes the way back to this understanding. It softens the grip of ego—the need to control, to make our way the only way. It teaches us to let go of that illusion and simply be with what is. Peace doesn’t come from escaping chaos or “fixing” life or something within it, but from embracing it as part of the whole. When we see ourselves as one with all, even struggle carries meaning.

Underneath pain, there is care, and beneath conflict, a longing for love, acceptance, and a safe place without judgment or imposition.

Understanding ourselves better offers us the chance not to become someone we are not in hopes of obtaining a love that would be snuffed out when we give up the illusion we fought to uphold and live authentically. When we accept the entirety of being and living, we can stop fighting life’s complexity and, too, ourselves and others.

We stop needing it to be neat or binary, to work within the confines of what we want to push it into, accepting that it never can and never will abide by any law but that of Nature, which is outside of our understanding without a mindfulness practice.

Peace doesn’t come from sorting chaos into order; it comes from seeing that chaos and order are both parts of the whole. In each breath of air we are gifted, the warmth of sunlight, the music of nature, and the world around us, as it is, as much as, as it becomes—these small, ordinary moments become sacred when we meet them fully. Gratitude arises rather naturally the more time we spend here. And slowly, we understand: the spiral isn’t a trap we're locked in; it’s the Way home—to presence, to wholeness, to the quiet truth that all is One.

What's more, here’s the truth: you don’t have to control life to live fully. You don’t even have to understand it. What you need is to develop a peace that is wholly within, that less and less disturbs, as well as to begin redefining reality as it is for you. Come to see what’s right for you—your values, your truth—and allow that to be enough without imposing it on anyone else, because everyone’s spiral looks different. Different dreams, needs, and timelines. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

This is individuation in its purest sense—not isolation or purification, but integration. Becoming wholly yourself while honoring that others are doing the same.

One of the most liberating truths I’ve learned is this: you can’t control how people perceive you, just like you can’t control how they experience life. (Even when we want to, however well-meaning, this could be taking from someone a defining moment of character development for them.) Often, people come to their judgments already decided and fixed, shaped by their own fears, experiences, and beliefs. No matter how well-meaning one's intent, trying to change their minds or explain oneself is usually a disservice to both us and them. It keeps you tangled in the struggle, which denies your authenticity and refuses them the freedom to live their reality as they choose—which they have every right to. The energy spent trying to shape their perception is better invested in accepting you and them as we are and focusing on what truly lies within your control: being present, living honestly, and finding joy where you are.

When you release the need to manage others' views, you step out of performance and into real life—the kind where peace arises naturally because you're simply being, not seeking approval or moving from some place of lack or fear, or just attachment, really. I guess that's at the heart of this too, but that's another post to do when I have the time and energy.

The Noumenal Monad

Within the Polynon framework, nothingness is an undifferentiated cognitive space that precedes geometry and structure. It exists as a pre-geometric source, housing the unformed essence of all phenomena from which spacetime, and all its manifestations, arise. Imbued with primal noumenal potential, it is denoted as the state where all possible realities are latent, waiting to be expressed into an observable world.

A circle whose center is everywhere and circumference is nowhere.

The monad is a geometric construct that acts as a universal grammar of existence, mapping how the boundless noumenal potential transitions into perceptual and phenomenal dimensions while retaining coherence across all levels of manifestation.

The centre being “everywhere” signifies the Monad’s omnipresence as the locus of all potential states, embedded in every point of reality. The circumference being “nowhere” reflects its boundless architecture, transcending the constraints of space, time, and materiality, integrating infinite possibilities within a singular, cohesive structure.

The compactification process begins with the noumenal everything compressing into a singular phenomenal something, reflecting a specific instance or manifestation. This phenomenal something is inherently equal to the noumenal everything because it retains the entirety of noumenal potential, either in its un-collapsed state of infinity or as a collapsed singular “ring” dimension, compacted into a single cognitive focal point.

The only attribute of a point is that it marks position. Take away this attribute and in the unposited point we have a symbol of pure Being, the abstract noumenon, that which underlies every mode of phenomenal manifestation, every form of existence. It is at once All and Nothing, at once Absolute Consciousness and Unconsciousness.

B.W. Betts, Geometric Psychology or the Science of Representation

Or, as Fichte envisioned it, the line symbolizes the progression of consciousness—linear and sequential—while the circle represents its completeness and self-enclosure, encompassing all its dimensions. Thus, both the noumenal everything and the phenomenal something are expressions of the same essence, differing only in their state of manifestation and representation.

#indigenous theology #apophatic christianity #mystical synthesis #religious studies #decolonize metaphysics

Funny how no one talks about the fact that Native American spiritualists probably had more in common with Christian mystics than with modern evangelical Christians.

While missionaries were busy trying to replace Wakan Tanka with a white-bearded sky-God named Jehovah, they completely missed that the Lakota were already doing negative theology — seeing the Divine as an ineffable force beyond name, gender, or form.

Wakan Tanka doesn’t mean “Great Spirit” in the European sense. It means “Great Mystery.” Not personal. Not impersonal. Beyond both. Not a guy. Not a ghost. But the Ground of Being itself.

Sounds a lot like Pseudo-Dionysius or Meister Eckhart if you ask me. But instead of reverence, Western colonialists reduced Indigenous beliefs to “primitive animism.”

No academic thought to say: “Hey, maybe this isn’t myth. Maybe it’s metaphysics.”

This is why I’m convinced that Indigenous cosmologies were more “Platonic” than the literalist theologies that colonized them.

And yet, no one in religious studies seems to be talking about this. Why? Because we’re still trapped in a Eurocentric idea of what “real theology” looks like.

But the Great Mystery doesn’t care for your credentials.

As readers of the Hermetic texts might have realized by now (especially, I hope, with the guidance and commentary that my Reading the Hermetica blogpost series can give), these texts can be a bit of a strange thing.  They’re not encrypted or encoded or anything, despite the occasional claim one might see about that (generally made because one is trying to mask their own ignorance in reading them…