🔁 Honestly, personally, I still can't believe that I became Daria's translator. I was born and raised in Tucson, Arizona. She was born and raised i...

Forwarded From Continental-Conscious

Honestly, personally, I still can't believe that I became Daria's translator. I was born and raised in Tucson, Arizona. She was born and raised in Moscow, Hyperborea. What are the chances?

What did the Divine, my ancestors, or I do to make things come to such? At what point in the weaving of Fate(s) did I turn up? “Mihi quaestio factus sum.”

Why do I think that so few people — perhaps, unfortunately, more enemies than friends — know the influence and significance of her words being translated? Illiterate regime agents once interrogated me, “How do you choose what books you translate and publish?” — I answered like a true human being: “Ideas and humans find their way to me.” Of course, naturally, they didn’t understand, nor did their “superiors.” Nor would any inferiors.

Why do I think that even fewer people understand the “cause” or “reason” of why and how such translating came to be instead of nothing? What if there were no thinkers, no translators, and no receivers? What if we all only consumed news? Even the basest entities tremble at the thought…

All of the great spiritual traditions of the world, and all of the teachers I’ve been blessed to study under, including Daria’s father, teach that the “I” is an illusion, or a test, or a mirror of something beyond, a mirror that, in any given instant, will shatter, leaving its shards to give way to an altogether different vision. “God sees through you out of freedom and grace.”

“Why me?” If every dissident asked this question, the world would not be “a better place,” as the sticklers and accountants and restless activists of modernist ideologies and the consumers of postmodern news insist — but the world would be a world, we would be humans, and we would be raising, burying, and fighting for our own, real beings and Being, instead of abstract “values.” And “our own” is inherently pluralistic, across continents. We would be participating in everything that makes the world turn. We would be ourselves in the Divine’s “image.” We would know what it means to lose a daughter. We would know what it means to lose a philosopher. We would know what it means to lose an artist. We would know what it mean to lose us, and to learn something about ourselves through all of it.

That’s why.

The chances left are almost “nil”. Because it’s not about chances. It’s about being — intentionally, purposefully, lovingly, warringly, readily for forever, being the “here” and “now” in the “where?” and “When?”. And the very awareness of this is disappearing. If you’re fated to become something, the World Soul will call on you inasmuch as you have learned to have eyes that see and ears that hear. Better get to work. If you’re not, because you put yourself in a wrongly crowded and inattentive space, then rest assured: the liberals are planning to feed you to their consumers. Buddhists don’t kill bugs out of compassion for you just in case. Not all of our people and traditions are as forgiving.

There are more than a few ways in which you could be worthy. There are 8 billion excuses to become another bug.

That’s why. Maybe there’s more. But there’s much less.

May Gods bless. But I wonder whether they still do, when questions about the basics are asked out into the open…