Dying Into Truth

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This morning I was discussing philosophy with my Greek Philosopher Soul-Brother, Alexandros Pagidas.

He shared with me some Beautiful Wisdom and Wit from the only and only Friedrich Nietzsche, on how Pain and Suffering transforms one into a True Philosopher, more deeply in touch with Life’s Sweetest Spiritual Nectar.

Here is a brief poem I just composed on my own journey to Truth through the deathly valleys of pain and suffering. Nietzsche’s quote to follow.



I know this process all too well

I am a Phoenix

I have been consumed many times in the Fires of Death

Depressed, supplying the Evolutionary Function of Deep Rest

Psychological brushfire burning Overgrown Forests in my Mind

My last chapter was supposed to bear more fruit, I have only the rind

Born anew

Paradoxically Cleansed

Being imbued with only Indestructible Diamonds of Deeper Truth.

Awake to a Reality so Pure it cannot be Touched

One must merely learn to Scrub off the Rust

Of the Mirror of Awareness that is Always Reflecting Radiant Light

Infusing the Soul with Bodhisattvic Might.


Quote from Friedrich Nietzsche:

“You see that I do not want to take leave ungratefully from that time of severe sickness whose profits I have not yet exhausted even today. I am very conscious of the advantages that my fickle health gives me over all robust squares. A philosopher who has traversed many kinds of health, and keeps traversing them, has passed through an equal number of philosophies; he simply cannot keep from transposing his states every time into the most spiritual form and distance: this art of transfiguration is philosophy. We philosophers are not free to divide body from soul as the people do; we are even less free to divide soul from spirit. We are not thinking frogs, nor objectifying and registering mechanisms with their innards removed: constantly, we have to give birth to our thoughts out of our pain and, like mothers, endow them with all we have of blood, heart, fire, pleasure, passion, agony, conscience, fate, and catastrophe. Life – that means for us constantly transforming all that we are into light and flame – also everything that wounds us; we simply can do no other. And as for sickness: are we not almost tempted to ask whether we could get along without it? Only great pain is the ultimate liberator of the spirit”

Only great pain, the long, slow pain that takes its time – on which we are burned, as it were, with green wood – compels us philosophers to descend into our ultimate depths and to put aside all trust, everything good-natured, everything that would interpose a veil, that is mild, that is medium – things in which formerly we may have found our humanity. I doubt that such pain makes us “better”; but I know that it makes us more profound.

..,out of such long and dangerous exercises of self-mastery one emerges as a different person, with a few more question marks – above all with the will henceforth to question further, more deeply, severely, harshly, evilly, and quietly than one had questioned heretofore. The trust in life is gone: life itself has become a problem. Yet one should not jump to the conclusion that this necessarily makes one gloomy. Even love of life is still possible, only one loves differently. It is the love for a woman that causes doubts in us.

The attraction of everything problematic…is so great in.. more spiritualized men that this delight flares up again and again like a bright blaze over all the distress of what is problematic, over all the danger of uncertainty… We know a new happiness.”

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