. . . again and again

ROB BREZSNY JUL 15, 2025

Tarot card by Winona Cookie

I CHOOSE TO FALL IN LOVE WITH THE WORLD: A Manifesto Against the Detachment Trap

by Rob Brezsny, Tantric Hermetic Celebrant of Incarnational Wonder

PRELUDE: A SPELL TO NAME THE TOXIN
Somewhere along the way, I was infiltrated.

Not by a villain. Not by a cult. Not even by any overt teaching I consciously embraced. No—this was subtler. Like a fine mist that seeps into your lungs while you sleep. Like secondhand smoke that curls through your dreams.

I was infiltrated by ideas. Notions. Ghost-thoughts from a philosophy I never chose. A worldview I never aligned with. And yet they’ve burrowed in, coiled into the soft animal of my inner life.

These ideas inhibit my spirit. They diminish my magic. They fog my inner fire. And though they do contain sage elements of a cool, rational, luminous nature, they are, for me, mostly detrimental.

They are Buddhist ideas. Or more precisely: American Buddhist-flavored memes, extracted from their ancient cultural contexts, flattened into aphoristic bypassing, and regurgitated as spiritual common sense.

Let me be clear: I don’t speak for everyone. I don’t wish to cancel, slander, or invalidate the genuine richness that Buddhism has offered to many sincere seekers for centuries. I speak only for myself. And what I know, is this:

The leakage of Americanized Buddhist-type ideas into my psyche has been demoralizing, diversionary, and corrosive to my joie de vivre.

I am not a Buddhist. I am a Tantric Hermetic Qabalist. A Golden Dawn-style magician. A bard of the incarnational theater. A lover of beauty, yearning, and ecstatic embodiment. My spiritual path is one of celebration, not renunciation—of soul-making, not self-dissolution.

And yet I have at times found myself infused with fragments of Buddhist dogma. Nodding at the shrine of emptiness. Semi-consciously harboring the dispirited feelings that roll around in me because I’ve been receptive to the Buddhist memes of Anattā, Anicca, Dukkha, Skandhas, Sūnyatā, and Samsara.

How did that happen?

My own fault: I’ve been been overly impressionable regarding Buddhist ideas. Why? In part, it’s because Buddhism, in modern American culture, has been crowned as the sole respectable religion for “smart people.” It has become the haute couture of spiritual ideas. It’s the preferred worldview of skeptics, academics, and Silicon Valley meditators alike. It’s the cool alternative to the fraudulent delusions of mainstream religions and many New Age spiritualities.

Not always, but too often, American styles of Buddhism flatter the intellect while circumventing the soul. They offer detachment in place of engagement. They entice with nirvana where I long for deeper incarnation.

These memes have seeped into me for years, even as I created a life that had little in common with them.

Now I name them. And I formally, finally, utterly leave them behind.

+

I. THE AXIOMS THAT DIVERT ME

Below are the ten specific ideas I reject—not because they are inherently evil, but because they don’t sing in my blood. They don’t support my joy of being alive in this exquisite, mysterious, terrifying, blessed world.

1. There is no such thing as a self or soul. A “person” has no core, no authentic center, but is a collection of transitory, ephemeral, constantly changing physical and mental processes.

2. Desire is a trap. At best, it’s to be sternly tolerated, held at bay, deposed, jettisoned.

3. All is impermanent; emotionally vibrant attachment to anything at all, even sweet and beautiful moments, leads to illusion and suffering.

4. There is no creator God, no Divine Intelligence, no Eternal Sentient Consciousness pervading the universe.

5. Rebirth is mechanical, not soulful. There is no continuity of identity. Because no self or soul exists, nothing real or true persists and evolves from lifetime to lifetime.

6. The highest possible goal is to escape the cycle of incarnation altogether—to permanently abscond from the supposedly oppressive round of birth, death, and rebirth.

7. All things, including people, are empty of inherent, independent existence; they lack a permanent core or identity. Our beloved animal companion, our spouse, our favorite grove of birch trees, the song we wrote: each is a temporary conglomeration of impersonal, meaningless fragments.

8. Composure is superior to passion. Serenity is a greater mark of wisdom than ecstasy. Objective evaluation is more real than deep feelings.

9. The entire visible material world is illusory, deceptive, and insubstantial. To believe otherwise is to be caught in deep ignorance. If we hope to transcend suffering and liberate ourselves, we must renounce our belief in the reality of the world.

10. Enlightenment or awakening is the complete and perfect realization of the impermanence (anicca), unsatisfactoriness (dukkha), and non-self (anatta) of all phenomena. To be blessed with this understanding is to break free from the cycle of rebirth and no longer return to earth as a human.

+

For me, all the above are not just sterile intellectual ideas. They are debilitating spells.

They seep through the zeitgeist in hushed tones and polished memes. They preach a path of subtraction, subtraction, subtraction—until even our bliss and passions are deemed liabilities.

And I have been partially under the pall of these spells. Not entirely, thank Goddess!

But these spells are not mine.

II. MY COUNTER-CREED: THE PHILOSOPHY OF FERVENT INCARNATION

I affirm the core truths that animate my soul:

• There is a indeed such a thing as a self, and hallelujah for that! There is a fluid, evolving, radiant self, a soul forged through joy and ordeal, art and love, mistake and revelation. It is not a delusion. It is a mythic project, and we are the stewards of its continuity across lifetimes. It is our holy improvisation, shaped by wonder and trouble, delight and grief.

• Desire is not to be extinguished, rejected, or feared. On the contrary, desire is a divine instrument—a sensual compass given to us by the Great Intelligence to lead us toward creativity, connection, and transformation. Yes, desire can bind. But it can also sanctify, awaken, and enrapture. It is a primal expression of the universe loving itself.

• Impermanence is real. But that doesn’t mean everything fades. In truth, many moments echo through eternity. Acts of love, focused attention, and soulful presence can etch themselves into the mythic record—into what other traditions call Indra’s Net, the Noopshere, the Dreamtime, and the Akashic Records. The fleeting and the eternal are not opposites—they are dance partners. Change is not erasure—it is the compost of continuity.

• There is a Central Intelligence in the universe. An Artful Creator of Divine Play. A Sentient, All-Pervasive Architect whose essence is Love. Not the old patriarchal God of superstitious dogma, but the Majestic and Mysterious Lover who breathes through stars and foxes and orgasms and grief. This Potent, Kaleidoscopic Source is not static, it’s ecstatic. Not judgmental, but generative.

• The cycle of incarnation is not a punishment to be demeaned and escaped. Not a prison to be mourned and denounced. It’s the central adventure. It’s where the action is. I don’t want to escape rebirth. I aspire to participate in it with ever more skill, devotion, and inspiration. I cherish the poet John Keats’ understanding that this realm is “the vale of soul-making”—a training ground for sacred creation, radical compassion, and mythic becoming.

• The purpose of life is not to disappear into formless void, but to become ever more radiantly particular, to forge an ever-curious soul that enriches and enhances all it touches—and to rejoice in the marvelous project of being someone.

The ingenious and fun project at the heart of creation is not to perpetuate the ego-run-riot, but rather to enliven and enchant the unimaginably gorgeous ArtShowGameRitual of becoming—a work of fierce tenderness and creative grit.

• There is no such thing as final and complete enlightenment and awakening. What constitutes pure realization today will always be different tomorrow. Even if we’re fortunate and wise enough to score a sliver of deep wisdom about the nature of reality, it’s not a static treasure that becomes our indestructible, everlasting possession. Rather, it remains a mercurial knack that must be continually re-earned.

+

III. WHY THIS MATTERS

My very personal manifesto here constitutes my gleeful metaphysical insurrection in celebration of our actual lives, our literal world, our fleshly bodies, and our essential desires.

To embrace soul, to affirm desire, to dance with the lush and lavish mysteries of incarnation: These are political acts, poetic acts, and magical acts in sublime rebellion against a culture that wants us numb, hollow, and disconnected.

I reject spiritual nihilism disguised as impersonal wisdom.

I reject the idea that self-controlled detachment is superior to intimate interweaving.

I reject the modern cynicism that equates soul with illusion, and intelligence with disembodiment.

I choose to fall profoundly in love with the world again and again.

I choose Eros over Emptiness.

I choose Sacred Story over Silent Void.

I don’t choose the escape hatch of nirvana, which is a theoretical state derived from the Sanskrit word that means “blowing out” or “extinction,” as in the extinguishing of a flame. Instead, I choose to align myself with The Great Reincarnational Pageant and the creative magic spells of kindle, ignite, spark, fuel, stoke, and illuminate.

I claim my right to weep with beauty, burn with meaning, and craft my devotional drama in full color.

+

IV. WHAT I HONOR

Though I renounce the nihilism of the Detachment Trap, I honor the Buddhist teachings that awaken compassion, sharpen attention, and train the mind to rest in the present. I bless the Bodhisattvas who stay close to our burning world out of love. I bow to those who use mindfulness to cultivate mercy and insight.

But for me, mindfulness is a tool—not a gospel. Emptiness is a lens—not a destination. And compassion is not a reason to vanish—it’s a reason to show up even more vividly.

THE ALTERNATIVE EIGHTFOLD PATH OF FERVENT INCARNATION

A Soul-Centered Alternative to the Path of Cessation

“Don’t extinguish the fire. Tend it.”
“Don’t dissolve the self. Ripen it.”
“Don’t flee the wheel. Become its music.”

This eightfold path is not about escape, but embrace.

Not about extinguishing desire, but consecrating it.

Not about melting into the formless, but rooting more deeply in divine form.

Each fold is a discipline and a celebration—a practice and a praise.

+

1. Right Enchantment (or Right Imaginal Alignment)

Let’s make our primary lens be mythic.

Let’s perceive the world as crammed with holy, exuberant stories, alive with symbols, messengers, and divine signals.

Resist the spell of reductionism and the scouring out of intensity.

Refuse to be hypnotized by surfaces, avoidances, and barren freedom.

Cultivate awe, synchronicity, and enchanted attention.

Resolved: Everything is more than it seems.

Let the veil shimmer. Let the sidewalk speak. Let the dust breathe mystery.

Practice: Engage in daily rituals of mythopoetic perception: Tarot, ritual magic, dream journaling, omen reading, acts of holy play, unprecedented and unexpected expressions of love.

+

2. Right Desire (or Right Erotic Devotion)

Desire is holy fuel, not a snare, cage, or quagmire. Let’s cultivate our yearnings to be conscious, textured, generous, and sometimes gloriously wild.

Feed our beautiful longings with art, service, enthusiasm, and feral tenderness.

Transmute compulsive hunger into erotic prayer.

Make lust a liturgy. Let longing become literacy in the language of becoming.

Practice: Cultivate our appetites as blessed allies. Keep a Book of Lusts and Longings.
Make offerings to Venus, Inanna, and our own pelvic fire.
Light a candle to the ache that sings true.

+

3. Right Identity (or Right Soulhood)

We are not a random cluster of skandhas (the theoretical Buddhist notion of blank “aggregates”).

We are every-growing, forever-enriching souls—gathered across lifetimes, shaped by trials and miracles, gifted by purpose.

Honor our Self not as a fixed ego, but as an ongoing divine project in quest of luminous, numinous truth.

Build and tend our mythic autobiography.

We are soul-sculptors, shaped by wonder and wound alike.

Practice: Speak our mythic names aloud.
Write our past lives as poems; sing them as songs.
Track the signs of soul-recognition in this life’s encounters.
Ask each threshold: Who am I now becoming?

+

4. Right Speech (or Right Spellcraft)

Language is magic. Every sentence casts a spell.

Let’s speak with rhythm, ritual, hilarity, and reverence.

Use our words to bless, to awaken, to invoke, to seduce, to protect.

Let grammar become glamour. Let verbs shimmer.

Let the sounds from our bellies, throats, and mouths open portals.

Speak in tongues of the fox, the moon, the beloved, and the flame.

Practice: Chant aloud. Invent mantras that crack our hearts open.
Practice the poetic lies that tell the deeper beauty.
Sing blessings to strangers in the checkout line.
Curse only when the revolution demands it.

+

5. Right Memory (or Right Lineage)

We did not begin here.

We belong to lineages of dreamers, rebels, lovers, shapeshifters, witches, and divine fools.

Remember and revere our ancestors and descendants—not only blood kin, but also soul-kin, spirit teachers, our past and future selves.

Rejoice in our mythic DNA: the soul-blood that links us to unsung heroes, freedom fighters, and midwives of wonder. Their wisdom is in our marrow.

Practice: Build altars to our spirit allies. Who are they? Find them. Name them. Dream with them.
Let our past and future lives teach us our next rite.
Invite the dead to dinner. Invite the unborn to sing.

+

6. Right Work (or Right Mythic Action)

Our vocation is soulwork.

It need not be perfect. But it must be true to our idiosyncrasies, our wabi-sabi beauty, our twisty, burning questions.

We are not here just to grind out a muddled struggle to survive.

We are here to explore unpredictable awe and to craft liberations that propel us out of suffering.

Our calling is not a career path. It’s a crooked trail through enchanted woods.

Practice: Perform one act per week that fuses art, service, and erotic weirdness.
Write job descriptions for our past and future lifetimes.
What did we do when we were a mycelial dream scout? What will we do as a lullaby composer for extinction-wary children?

+

7. Right Pleasure (or Right Embodiment)

Our body is a cathedral of treasured sensations.
Let’s live in it with glee. Love in it with experimental daring. Let our griefs tremble through it with veneration. Let our joys exalt our blood stream and nervous system.

Pleasure can be more than indulgence and distraction. How about a devotional worship of fun intelligence?

Celebrate our mammalian miraclehood.

Proposed: The body is not an accidental trap, but a spell woven from stars and bacteria, tears and rhythm.

Practice: Take ecstatic baths. Eat one thing slowly.
Make love like we’re composing music.
Let the hips remember what the tongue forgot.
Dance for our ancestors and our descendants.
Cry in public if needed. Moan in private: Honor feelings.

+

8. Right Return (or Right Reincarnational Will)

We are returning souls—not as karmic flotsam, but as dramatis personae in an eternal pageant.

Reincarnation is not a trap. It’s our soul’s long arc of artistry and love.

We can commit to the project of continuous resurrection and reawakening with ever-refreshed clarity, courage, and weird grace.

We don’t crave escape and abdication. We seek poetic continuity. Mythic recursion. Joyful persistence.

Practice: Write a letter to our next self.
Name three people we’d like to find again in our next life.
Promise to be even more magical when we meet them again.
Vow to make stranger miracles next time. And stranger love.

+

Closing Spell:

I don’t flee the world. I bond and blend with it.
I don’t dissolve the self. I make it and unveil it.
I don’t seek the end of incarnation. I’d love to burn brighter in each round.

I am not a drop disappearing in the ocean.
I am the rain that remembers the root, the spring that sings to the seed.
I fall, I rise, I pour myself again into the unruly flesh of this world—
Ever more tender. Ever more real.

from my unpublished Tarot deck