By D.L. Snell
Some say the end is near. Some have been saying it for thousands of years. John of Patmos wrote about it in the Book of Revelation. Baptist preacher William Miller actually set a date for it. 1844. He was wrong. So were all those who constructed and stocked bomb shelters in preparation for Y2K. So was Marshall Applewhite. And in 2012, the human race, along with John Cusack, dreaded the end of the Mayan Long Count calendar. Nothing happened. Except we bought new calendars. And yet, with wars waging in the Middle East and economies melting down and North Korean and Iranian dictators making all sorts of threats, some are still worrying about the end of the world. And I say, “Good.”
Anyone who has ever seen The Secret should understand the concept of how negative thoughts manifest negative actions and outcomes. And almost everyone grasps the idea of mind over matter. Even if you don’t believe in all that New Age shit, simply lift your arm. Simply punch something. Your will over matter be done. In other words, if we think it, if we believe it, we can make it happen—simply with the hands we’re given. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Sure, we might not be able to control certain things. The earth will quake, rivers will flood. Supervolcanoes may darken the sky. Now, mind over matter does suggest we have some control over these things, collectively, and I could blather on and on about interlinked electromagnetic fields, the holographic universe, and the interconnectedness of it all—but you don’t believe in that shit. So we’ll focus on the obvious thing we can control: ourselves.
Just as negative thoughts can manifest negative outcomes, positive thoughts can manifest positive actions and results. If unconditional love were everyone’s guiding value, the world could be a much brighter place (natural disasters, animal attacks, and accidents aside); our precious bodily and planetary fluids would be less spastic and more sacredly cymatic in design. If our societies, governments, and economies fostered unity instead of hierarchal competition and greed, our focus might shift toward feeding each other instead of ourselves. We might actually live up to our dogmas, to robes from filthy rags. But alas, you don’t buy into any of that pinko commie bullshit. Good for you! Even better for me.
Because the second we stop cogitating on and worrying about (and setting dates for) the apocalypse, the second the apocalyptic genre goes tits up. As an editor and creator and capitalist in that literary category, I cry out against the New-Age hippy mindset to preserve paper, human spirit, and love. I guzzle from the glass that’s half full. I empty it. And I let future generations suffer the desert left behind. So, please, let us crack open yet another tome of the apocalypse. Let us savor the blood. Let it rain. Because the more we think about it, the more we read about it, and the more it manifests. In my bank account. In fact, as I write this, I feel the power behind it grow. I feel a movement afoot. And I feel well supped on its spoils.
D.L. Snell – Editor
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