The war of state vs corporation

One World Trade Center View from New Jersey
I wish to repeat my claim that the regression towards authoritarian governments is a reaction to big corporations gaining influence on a global scale. The corporation fulfils the same role as the state, and so they find themselves in direct competition. In some cases this has lead to confrontations (Australia vs Coca-Cola for instance, and Apple and Samsung vs many different states). In many of these cases the companies find themselves ruled against by courts, but still find a way to win the confrontation.

States are immensely important when economies are based on manufacturing of products, mining and farming. These things require physical nearness and transportation. The transaction costs are lowered substantially by having a bordered country, wherein armies can defend the roads and keep internal transactions safe.

In a world where transactions are mostly online and costless. And transactions are distributed and non-local then the corporation has a strength in its purely symbolic nature. A corporation is not tied to a physical location, and thus do not provide safety for physical transactions, nor does it provide space and laws for how land may be utilised or products be transported. In return it gives the flexibility of sourcing workforces wherever they are needed, and where they are cheapest. They can also access the physical products required (copper, uranium, titanium, oil, silicon, silver, rubber etc.) where they are, instead of transporting them to a specific location.

Countries swing right in order to defend themselves against corporations. This is not completely obvious yet, but will become more and more obvious during the next twenty years. Corporations will move their profits and their work to where it is cheapest, thus slowly leeching the energy from the states, and retaining them in their structure. They gain in integrity as they drain countries of their inherent ownerships. Ownership is a key indicator for a countries strength, and integrity is a key indicator for a corporations strength. It is a bit like mass and energy, they can be translated to each other, but at a cost.

Countries seek to close borders, tax big corporations, focus on physical production, minimise workforce-travel, shutdown international trade as means to prolong their existence. Corporations fight to get around these rules and break through by strong-arming the countries.

Politicians seem to grow more and more inept, and the path for a good politician seems to be that from a period of governing countries and unions followed by a lifetime of governing corporations (sitting in board positions and director positions). Being a politician seems almost to be a trial period to be allowed into where real power resides. Meanwhile those who stay behind are those who do not support the shift from semi-static centralised government (democratic country) to dynamic decentralised control (international corporation).

The fluctuations in politics today are strictly speaking less important than we think. We should pay a great deal more attention to the fluctuations in corporations. Banks and investment firms can bring down nations and provoke wars, and so also inhibit them. It is in the corporations firm interest that inept easily pushed over politicians are put into positions of power.

Obviously we cannot do without the state, it is the basis of the corporation still. But the state is being subjugated by the corporation. It is being forced into a position of providing service and physical infrastructure to those who are important to the corporation. This usually means the big cities where the most workforce is located. This however may change with radical outsourcing and working from anywhere strategies are employed.

The biggest challenge the corporation faces currently is its own internal transaction cost. Currently a kind of kingdom/republic model is used to form hierarchies in corporations. This comes at a high cost and eventually inhibits the size of the corporation. It is old transaction cost wisdom that when the internal transaction cost goes above the external transaction cost then a corporation will stop growing. For the corporation to grow beyond its current size it will need to adopt radical ideas like self-organisation and decentralised leadership. Once companies do this however, they will easily outgrow the current cap that is artificially in play because of the default internal hierarchy.

Corporations are still based on ownership so we will still see a shift towards one corporations gradually becoming the owner of everything. This is not a bad thing. It is essentially the one-world-government many are looking for. It reflects the fact that we are one world, that we are working to create something and that we all want to make it better. The outcome has been states for a long time, since the personal barrier for travel was quite small. You’ll notice that where states began they are quite small, and where the idea of a state was implemented last they tend to be bigger – reflecting the ability of the individual to travel. But in the future as the individual has complete freedom to travel the world will become a one-world government. Though we will probably know it as the one world corporation. And I don’t see anything wrong in one world cooperating to create a better tomorrow.

I say adieu to the politicians today, and hello to the CEOs of tomorrow.

My most therapeutic dream

I lay down. Close my eyes. Perform my breathing exercises. These feel like crying and laughing at the same time, but without the head and mind. Just the body performing these two tasks, with no sound and with no tears. No facial expression, just the body breathing and going through movements.

I become tired. I slowly drift off. I face my own decoherence as I observe my singular center dissolving into the confusing cloud that we call sleep. Most aren’t conscious while they sleep, it takes practice. Some believe it is boring, it isn’t though, time doesn’t feel the same way. The mind isn’t thinking unless provoked.

I begin to dream, and I notice that I have taken a bit of urgency with me. I don’t know why this is happening though but it becomes my entire reality. Just like waking up, I awake into my dream.

The nightmare part 1

I am in my room from when I was about seven or eight years old. Something odd precedes this vision, something I do not understand. A vision of me lying down, I hear a man’s voice, I can make out the sounds but I’m not able to understand the words. It flashes me forward into my room quickly, or maybe not, time is strange. I’m in my old room, it’s messy, because I hadn’t yet learned the quality of order. I now see it as messy, through the eyes of someone who have not learned the beautiful pattern of order. I recognise a strange tickling dissonance between my current and past self. A girl stands naked in the room, she must be between seventeen and nineteen, I can’t tell. She stands with her back to me performing some sort of operation. She’s a sex symbol, I understand, a sex symbol of my younger mind. Next to her is a small table with wheels, made from metal. It is like the trays you find in operating theatres. It has an undreamt number of tools that I simply know to be there, but my imagination does not bother to pull them forward.

I am filled with a kind of dread that I cannot fully explain to you. It is the dread of a child watching a horror movie for the first time. No parents are home, and I know I will need to spend the night alone, with the memory of what I’m about to see. Yet I move forward, compelled by the tide-like current of the dream. I am moved towards her, and she turns suddenly with a big grin. I cannot see her eyes, or maybe I will not see them. I am so afraid of this horrific witch-like demon who nakedly is performing some sort of operation in my bedroom.

She laughs at me, not an unfriendly or cruel laugh. A bubbly joyful laugh, which makes everything even worse, then she pushes me back. And I stumble back and fall among books and complicated toys that are scattered on the floor. I rummage around this pool of mechanics and literature that supposedly represents my childhood. Outside the door I hear footsteps, the door is right behind me. I am so afraid, because I know that if anyone comes in they will think I was the one doing the obscene operation of… Of what?… My mind instantly performs incredible jumps of imagination, a baby, a small pet. I used to have a hamster when I was a kid, what happened to it?

Filled with terror that someone would come in and see me as the awful butcher and torturer who then performed a malevolent disgusting autopsy in my room. They would think I did it. And they would then hate me. My eyes fill with tears, and part of my mind reports that I am crying with fear – outside of the dream, in the bed, in Austria. Hypnotism has its strange moments, most noticeable when you hypnotise yourself into reporting bodily functions like this. My obsessive compulsion to control my mind speaks volumes about how I perceive my own center. But I remain in the dream, caught in the shackles of a cold fear. A fear that someone will see, that which is lying there dead and cut open.

She laughs again and I start out of my premonition. I push myself up and push her aside, and with a magic stroke (some can fly inside their dreams, I can apparently produce black bags out of thin air) I have a big black bag in my hand, I begin scooping all the evidence into it while she laughs. Even though I know she must know that she did this, I feel shame at her laughter. She looks at me as if I am the one who did this, she shames me for the act of removing the evidence. I hear people at the door, I push the remaining tools, bloody paper and other surgical leftovers into the bag and clutch it to my chest.

She blows me a kiss from the window sill, and jumps out into the dark night. I remember the big windows of my childhood home. And how terribly square and black they would be at night. I always feared seeing a face outside of them. Now I just see my reflection, a young child clutching a black bag to his chest. Not knowing what is in it, I hold it close, feeling something move in there, probably dying. I just know it’s a baby or a pet or something horrible.

The door opens and my father comes in, he is naked. He is very happy and starts talking and poking dad-jokes. He walks like I remember he did – he still walks this way now that I think about it. With a bit of a dance to his step, as if he is a little bit more happy than everyone else. He tries to see what’s in the bag, and I cry harder with fear. I push at him telling him to go away. I am so afraid that he’ll see what I am hiding and think I did it.

A second mucknh harder fear hits me. This is by far the strongest fear I have ever felt. It feels like an icicle going through my breastbone. Like a hard sharp thing cutting through the front of my chest. This is the feeling of that fear, it is so intensely physical that I don’t bother identifying it. This is the fear that as long as I hold this bag, I will need to push everyone away, because if anyone saw what was inside, they would hate me, and think I was awful. So in that moment I know that I will have to push anyone who gets to close away, that I will be alone forever, because of this bag. Because of this horrible evidence of a crime I didn’t do. Something awful happened, but I didn’t do it, I wasn’t at fault, but who would believe me? I’m sure no-one. So I push him away.

My mother comes in now. She is slightly mad (crazy mad – not angry mad), but also very jolly. She tries to get the bag as well, and I cry and tell her to go away. I scream that they should all just go away and leave me alone (I’m not kidding, this nightmare truly was this symbolic, it seems a bit silly and over the top, but I report it exactly as it was dreamt).

I sit there, so afraid that I will be alone. That I will never let anyone close, because I know they will want to see what’s in the bag. I’m alone in my childhood room, crying on the floor, and crying in my bed in the Austrian mountains as an adult. Knowing that anyone who comes close must be pushed away, violently if necessary, especially those who wishes to get close. I will need to hurt them in order to hide what is in the bag. The alternative is too painful, to be judged as the torturer.

The waking nightmare

I wake up. Partly by choice, also from sheer emotional stress. I’m gripped by the same fear, but now I begin seeing faces on the walls. The swirls in the wood become judging eyes. The solid night behind the curtains stare at me through its gaping mouth. I am experienced with psychedelics so I know to control myself and acknowledge that experience isn’t always reality. I feel like I have two minds, one is very calm, almost detached, and one is completely in terror, close to hysteria. This is what it feels like to experience a traumatic experience, I know this from books.

I reach out to my phone, almost not daring to reach out from under the covers. I fumble to get it out of flight mode through eyes that are filled with tears. I’ve turned on the bedside lamp when I awoke somehow, I don’t remember doing this. I open my facebook messenger and look for someone active. A girl I know who is a psychologist is active, I write her, and she is there. I let my consciousness flow directly into the keyboard, and she gives space and listens.

She can tell that I’m fairly distraught and my battery is running low, I’m at 8%. She suggests listening to some music I like, and I feel almost stupid to not have thought about it. I put on some of my own piano playing. The second the wellknown song played by myself sometime in the past comes in I feel that this is absolutely right. I begin to calm down slowly.

The nightmare part 2

I drift into a dream like state. Still holding the phone in one hand. The music keeps playing through it’s lonely solo piano, I know every note, they came from my own hands after all. I know exactly why they are timed the way they are. The dream begins to resurface, the child sits there, among books and nerdy toys. Clutching a black plastic bag, sobbing silently.

My mind is completely held by the music, so I hold out the bag in front of me. I decide to open it up. I reach in and pick up something soft, and warm. It moves slightly, a small spasm, a cramp. And I’m so afraid to see this babys head or pet or part of something, some gristly gory thing. I take it out, and I’m astounded. Not only in my dream but also my meta-self is astounded. I feel my meta-personality go “Oh wow”, and it begins to cry tears of joy. My meta-self stands behind me and goes “Oh wow Theis, you didn’t know… Neither did I”. And my meta-self is right, it didn’t know, and I didn’t know. No part of me knows this…

In my two small hands in front of me is nothing more or less than my heart.

And I look back on a life of keeping people away, because if they saw what was in the bag they would hate me, they would condemn me. For having a heart, for having needs, for being vulnerable, for not being ok when something hurt. They would only like the man without the heart, the perfect man I had built who could not get hurt. So I hold my heart there, and finally understand that a small step has been taken towards a vulnerable life.

There is no such thing as knowing what you feel and this cannot be understood

Something happens. This is usually the beginning and the end of my philosophical reveries with my dear friend Peter. We usually set out from that island of acknowledging that we both are under the clear impression that something is happening. And after sailing through dialectical storms to islands of reflective beauty we always return to the same port of call: Something happens.

My feelings existed before I named them. I can’t immediately recall this, but I trust that something was felt even before I started talking about it. I can recall sensations of fear and safety from my pre-talking self. They are usually triggered by smell or touch. My self wasn’t clearly defined yet, so what happened did not happen to me it merely happened. There was no one it happened to, no self. It just happened as things tend to do when not seen through the limitations of subject and object.

My feelings still exist before I name them. And if they go away, I would not be able to put my attention to them and then name them. Just like I don’t randomly blurt out the names of coloured animals unless I am inspired by a sensation. The sane does not have the prerogative of suddenly saying “pink monkey!”.

My feelings do not arise as words from a magic eight ball. They are not like letters swimming around in a murky pond, slowly floating together to form words. My feelings exist like sensations, much like those of my senses. They are slightly different in nature though as they often take up the spaces that my senses do not.

Many of my feelings are inside my chest and belly, where I’m notoriously low on nerves. But it is not the case for all feelings, some also live on the surface of my face. I can get a feeling of sadness that is like a warm wet blanket on my face. I can get a sense of joy that is like an uplifting sensation of my jawbone. Many of my joyous feelings lift my body up, and make me forget about gravity. The feelings I identify as sombreness are usually paired with a weighing down. Even pleasant physical tiredness is like a sense of anti-gravity, a strange lightness paired with a buzzing sensation on my skin. A feeling of tingling at being still. The opposite can be an agitation of my joints that I identify as a desire to move or change something.

Sometimes when I perform a kind of physical therapy I will hit upon a place in a body where there is a stiffness. I usually perceive this as a way of holding against the feeling happening there. A guarding reaction of the body, like the one you have if you sprain your back. With a sprained back you will feel lots of pain at moving, and so you learn to hold your muscles ready and tight to keep everything from moving too much. This same reaction I often feel in other bodies. Just today I had the experience of feeling someone holding back an intense feeling of heaviness around the front of the upper chest around the collarbones and throat, and I asked whether or not it felt lonely, and drifting – if it felt vulnerable. The reaction was very immediate.

As a therapist I am often put face to face with feelings described by words. Usually people are very adept at saying what they feel like, but they have no idea about what it is that they identify as this feeling. It is a bit like people so adept at seeing that they can’t see the light but only the flame. I may ask what sensation it is that makes them identify the flame, and they simply say that they see it. They see the flame. But there is no such thing as seeing a flame, it cannot be seen. A flame has a sound and a spelling, but it has no light, except if you look at the printed word. A flame is an interpretation of a particular pattern of light. When I report a flame, it is because I see a brightness that overloads my eyes, I identify this as direct light. Around it is a coloration that is usually reddish, which gives rise to a pattern that I identify as a flame. A lightbulb is different because it is more round in its shape, and the area around it isn’t coloured red. But I see neither lightbulbs nor flames, I see light.

A flame has five letters and the light it shines has the exact same number.

And going even deeper I don’t even see light, because light is simply an expression of the phenomena we experience around the area of our pre-ontic space that has to do with vision. We have identified this as “being somewhere” close to that which we identify as thought. But all these things are essentially just different things in the same space. Like squares, triangles and circles are just different things in the same space (shapes on planes). Thoughts and light – and even the sensation of pressure and taste – are the same in that pre-ontic world. So there is no light, just sensation – or phenomena if this tastes better to you.

This particular sensation I identify as light, and then as flame. The first identification (from pre-ontic whereabouts to light) is not a mental process, it is a spatial process performed by my whole being. It is more an expression of how I am wired together as a being. There is a connection between some things that spatially puts the sight apart as a thing, it is a systemic identification. The second identification occurs when the systemic identification pumps the signal into the brain and the brain spews back a visual image of the word/spelling, a sound and other associations (fight, flight, eat, have sex with, etc.).

So I don’t feel love, fear, disgust, compassion and all the other words my brain may produce as interpreted associations for the thing that happens. Somewhere in the space I have access to (my entire body with brain and all) something happens. This is happening at a place, as dictated by its location in the three-dimensional interpretation and its cybernetic position as dictated by its connections to other things in the system. This which happens may well be happening in the belly or in the throat. Then after it is placed in spatial terms, it now has a pre-ontic disposition that may give rise to a mental ontological analysis (which is indeed what is being performed here). After this is achieved the everyday-mind produces associations for the pre-ontic disposition and produces what most identify as the “reality” of what is going on. It is a bit like playing a computer game and thinking that the things on the screen is really what is happening in the computer. Obviously your computer isn’t full of pacmans, orcs or plumbers, this is simply an ontological interpretation of the associations based on the pre-ontic input. It has been gifted with the quality of being. This quality is the hardest one to understand for our minds, because they are currently only working with this. It is as difficult to access the pre-ontic as it is to play a computer game only seeing the code flow by. So to access the pre-ontic one must first learn to read the pure output of reality. This is not easy, and it is also very easy.

The idea of qualia infects much of consciousness talks in an attempt to talk about what being is. But it fails in its pedantic use as the redness of red and the beauty of the sunset. These rather harmless attempts tend to shroud the more disconcerting idea of the quality of being.

It is not easy to read the pre-ontic because all we have learned is to function in an ontologically digested world. Things are labelled and defined by our common interaction with them. Signs, labels and buttons are most of what we interact with. It is rare that we interact with raw substances, and this is often confusing to us. Chemistry, physics and software are seen as mostly confusing. Dance, sex and feelings are even more arcane. Because the first set are bridges between the empirical and the rational – which essentially is the same as pre-ontological and ontologically-digested. The second set are actions which have a clear pre-ontological nature to them. They are inherently ungraspable by the tweezers of rationality, they cannot be fully understood through decomposition.

It is easy to access the pre-ontological because you wouldn’t function without this skill. You have done it all of your life, and you will never stop doing it. But most likely you have gotten so reliant on the ontologically digested that you aren’t able to see the forest for the sky scrapers and power plants you built on top of it. You are out of contact with nature, because you constructed a huge city of concepts on top of it. You have defined understanding as seeing how a new building can fit in with the others. This means that understanding is performed through naming. A child with no language who points questioningly at a cup is answered by “cup” by the well-meaning parents. But this would most likely lure a martian into thinking that we perceive physical things as aids for remembering sounds, and not the other way around.

If a martian points to a cup, we would likely demonstrate its use in various scenarios. But when dealing with humans we have decided that understanding is simply naming. This gradually turns into an over-reliance on words and interconnected webs of words and grammar (made of words). They are used to solve problems, and we only notice that they aren’t solved when everything comes crashing down. Economies are essentially structures made from words, and they are very functional, but they end up overshadowing what they were built upon. To such a degree that people are surprised when they watch documentaries about how economies started and what actually drives them. You could say that the gold and silver standard has been removed from our entire language. There is no backing anymore to words describing feelings. The feelings of love, lust, desire, hate, fear etc. are now purely fictional implements subject to crashes and sudden fluxes. Just like economies with no backing.

Many spiritual practitioners promote some of the ideas I touch upon here. But do so by layering even more words and concepts on top. So I must underline that I am in stark disagreement with 99% of any spiritual practitioners who speak of embodiment and awakenings. While I think they have the right idea, they simply lack the skill and intelligence to fully grasp it and end up digging themself into another word.

I believe that personal seriously curious introspection is the only cure to this. To sit down and just notice exactly how the process of identification is happening. Some of my greatest teachers have pushed me into meditation and I strongly support this practice. But blind meditation is pointless, one should first have a grasp of the space outside of the brains mindless regurgitation of associations. Before that it often becomes a mind-game. A trying to “not thing”, which feels like “I try to do nothing, but fail” when performed under the illusion of being “just a brain”. I suggest exploring movement first, aggressive and pleasurable, practices of dance, martial arts and tantric yoga inspires many. It can help to open up the eyes to that which is outside the mind. But it must be personal and not guided by a teacher. The journey must be one of curious exploration, of true introspection. And this begins with understanding that you are the only one who is travelling in the space that is you. There are no teachers here but yourself. There is much more to being you than meets the brain.

Postscript. You who are reading this, are for all intents and purposes an ontological creation. You have named yourself and so created yourself in your own image. You are the false god of your own stories. But false gods have much more power than real ones, because false gods doesn’t need to follow the rules they put out. Perhaps I should name you a free god instead. Free will is a strange spillover from the ontological analysis and self-naming.