how to live

dear friends,

I dissect myself.

I write to you on this third revolution, 14 year old Jake. I hope to grant you a guide for navigating life in a practical sense. A praxeological culmination.

I find myself writing about living while questioning if I am truly alive. The irony doesn't escape me, my friend.

Through this writing endeavor, I attempt to disintegrate my essence to be understood more clearly to then integrate and reintegrate, a sort of self-assembly. Translating past thoughts and streams of consciousness transfigured into this piece of digital remnant living online, addressed to you, friend. To the audience that reads.

To go forwards and backwards simultaneously - that is what it feels to integrate and disintegrate in this self-engulfing process, a beautiful spiraling corridor of the mind. Can the soul disintegrate, integrate, and assemble itself at once?

Before the mind fuck, here's a mind map of the past and the present of the journey and blip of the live life letters from (i) seeing to (ii) navigating to (iii) living [it's been fulfilling reading back old letters]:

P.S. stop hope-baiting Jake.

Hope is merely the entrance fee to stay afloat. Be real with your words and do not always be a blind optimist in the face of certain harsh truths. There are times when you must be a hopeful absurdist. Seek the wisdom thru intuition itself. Let it linger.

your friend(ly)

jakester

June 11th, 2025 - flowered winds

How does one live?

To be alive and to feel alive?

I find myself in Charlie's Garden as two dragons soar the skies above, this fairy tale full of flowers. Who is creating this fantasy?

The flowers spoke in the wind, the mountains crossed across the horizon. This sense, this presence, you cannot pin down.

"I want to feel alive."

Yet, the lamp is low. How could you feel alive if you cannot see, if you cannot connect to yourself, to others, or to the world?

The wave of flowers whistles with the wind. Just listen, you tell yourself. The time passes and you find yourself distracted, a phantom.

"The key to it all could be our soul."

You look up to see an adult figure staring down at you. He was full of life, stars in his eyes.

"Charlie, is that really you?"

C: yes, it's me Jake.

J: you have grown in such a short span of time. How long has it been?

C: to you, it has been a month. To me, a lifetime.

J: you are still young, don't exaggerate your loss of youth.

Before Charlie spoke, Jake begins to notice the age of the Garden itself. It has matured quite nicely through the years. Flourishing yet well-lived, full of charm. Eudaimonia?

C: I am older now Jake, I could not wait. I travelled the stars, to distant planets, and lived many moments. This path you call life is not linear. This temporal experience may follow a linear progression, but the way meaning unfolds feels dysfunctional, messy, and erratically spun. It is rarely linear.

J: life is unpredictable, I get it.

C: but you haven't lived it. Listen to me a little longer. Strangely, I am your past and your future. This "meta-moment" exists presently but only is held by a few delicate supports that will soon expire.

… … …

Charlie stared at Jake us for a pause of reprieve and anticipated the thoughts to pass on into this spoken dialogue of ours. He waited for our agreeance and nod of approval. Reluctantly, I listend.

C: the Tale you Tell yourself is dangerous, I know you are aware of this, this dance with fire, you feel it within this body of yours. You search for tailed events, bursts of exponential growth, pursuing the tails of dragons.

C: I speak to you, to the Narrator, the Storyteller, the Creator who reads this back in observation. Who is creating this fantasy?

Jake stood there, patient yet confused. Charlie must be losing his mind. The scent from the budding flowers must've gone to his head, the wind picking up in the background with the branches waving, the leaves dancing.

C: I am not confused or crazy. The Sage warned me of this. This slip of perspective is found in the petals that fall. I see the Observer looking down on me as he writes me into existence. My silver compass leads me down this windy path. You, the Narrator of this Story cannot decide what perspective to take on to make this more coherent for the audience you lament to.

I was taken aback, patient yet confused. Am I losing my mind? I question, who is creating this fantasy?

C: hold firm, I ask of you. The two dragons have caught wind of the bloom of flowers within your soul and your bodily perspective. Do not succumb now.

I told you this story to tell you the one that now follows. Be what is necessary. Together, thru time, we have created this foundation for a praxis-oriented philosophy. Plant the stars in new soil, Jake, and explore. Move from knowing, to being, to valuing and doing.

Finish the Story.

Sit and listen.

The voice that speaks from beyond the page, seeing all characters, all timelines, all possibilities.

I am playfully serious in my endeavor, of putting on this display for you, the vein of my soul.

I am the Meta-Self.

I listen through the words that are displayed, this sequence of code that plays out.

Past reflections on seeing.

Present experiences of connecting.

~ ~ ~ + ~ ~ ~ + ~ ~ ~

In dreams we see.
In waking we connect.
In action we live.

The three states fold into one another,
creating the strange loop of consciousness in motion.

Jest Real Crux Octaves.

~ ~ ~ + ~ ~ ~ + ~ ~ ~

Future possibilities of living.

All existing simultaneously in consciousness.

The pieces laid all out in front of you.

The heartbeat never questions its purpose.

Give back to your heart within this stream of consciousness, these clouds of thought that rain down in cyclical torrential downpour.

I have a vendetta writing these "guides" and "frameworks" of "life" because I am highly skeptical of the truth itself and how it flows. There are certain styles of truth that resonate and certain styles that fizzle at the sight of water. Conflicting truths can exist, don't you see?

When two conflicting truths exist, I do my best to aim at a truth that unifies the two. A third truth that makes two into one?

What is this life? What is life itself?

The endless process of emanation and return. We dwell in a void of mind. To feel alive, you must recognize these four cruxes of experience of whom I will briefly touch upon. These are the four pillars of the human experience.

The heartbeat never questions its purpose.

This bares repeating because you (yes, you Jake) often failed to acknowledge the ways your body tried to speak to you.

In the past, it seemed you like to ignore what your senses told you. Sensory awareness is how we access direct knowledge from our experience. The body is an instrument of consciousness. When you fail to listen to your body, you fail to listen to this instrument that sings within the wind.

Somatic awareness.

When you feel your stomach clench when you're anxious, do you listen? What does your gut tell you? How often do you listen?

The body is the vessel for the unconscious. Individuation and actualization requires somatic integration.

Open your eyes. Feel your feet. Inhabit your breath.

Time dilates.

The passing of sand is not as absolute as you think. There's nuance to how we interact with time itself. It's important to note because living has it's time constraints.

There are two ways we perceive and experience time itself:

Chronos is quantitative. Kairos is qualitative. The eternal now exists within Kairos. Immersion to the presence either makes time stretch or vanish.

Beware of the vanish points, the antithesis to Kairos.

Vacuitas Temporis. The emptiness of time.

The moments you spend lingering online rotting. The seconds flashes to minutes turn to hours as this thief runs away with this sacred possession-

Your time. It becomes hollow and empty, this phantom time is the current bane of our digital existence. This thief I speak of is you. The one who mirrors this screen. Stop scrolling Jake in this distortion. The numbness follows.

Spend time wisely.

Living is inherently a communal act.

No one is purely independent. Our self-identity emerges from our relationships with others, with society, with the world, and with the cosmos.

Interbeing, the interconnectedness of all things, appears in all aspects of life and its fluidity. A flower is not just a flower. A flower contains sunlight, rain, soil, clouds, and time. Without one, how would that flower exist?

A flower itself is not alone. A star itself is not alone. In constellation, in the void of space, separation is an illusion. We exist on a relational field. No being, no species, no element is truly isolated within its own vacuum.

Intergalactic, you and me. The flow of energy. In motion, there is hope.

This deserves its own live life letter. The spiral of spirituality?

:P [coming soon — comeback next week]

Chatter in the skull.

Mimi: what do you need?

…

Mimi: say something.

The whispers whisper willingfully [wishfully?] within the wind winding down the windy path. Whimsically wandering, you witness it all in motion, wind struck.

She stares at you with wishful eyes. Cryptically coded, you lose yourself, lost in the space within her eyes.

Charlie's spaceship, the Ship of Theseus, has finally cleared the labyrithmic asteroid field. He now lies in front of a glowing planet radiated in yellow and blue, seemingly breathing of life. There it was, a spiraling portal self engulfing on itself.

Within the shattered like fragments of this "glass" portal, you see yourself, infinitely looping, looking onwards to this Goldilock planet.

The windy path.

Mimi: wake up Charlie. Dance with the wind. Stay the course.

Mimi began to shift shapes. She was a shape shifter, but certain flux of shapes was unlike the rest. This was no ordinary shift. This was not her shapeshifting. This felt more illusive. This was you hallucinating, your perception distorted. This was not Mimi.

The voice expanded beyond observation into cosmic intergration. You disintegrate within the void of it all.

It was Latin translated to English.

…