An old song for a new apocalyptic age

This morning I found my thoughts turning to an old song by Sting, “Love Is the Seventh Wave,” along with Sting’s rather profound comments on it. Both his comments and the song’s lyrics strike me as resurgently relevant to our current state of global conflict and crisis, and I was rather moved when I looked up the lyrics and reread them after all these years.

Sting wrote the song during the culminating years of the Cold War, when a sense of doom hung over everything (as I well remember, because I was 15 when the song came out). In an interview for the NME, he explained the song’s central metaphor and shared his intent when writing it:

In popular myth, if you count the waves on a sea shore, the seventh wave is supposed to be the strongest, the most profound. And I felt that at present the world is undergoing a wave of evil, if you like. The world’s never been as polluted. We’ve never had as many missiles pointing across the borders, or as many armies in waiting. We seem to be in the grip of this growing sense of doom. And the song is uncharacteristically hopeful, saying that behind this wave there’s a much more profound one. It’s love, beyond selfishness. And I think if there isn’t this wave, then we are finished. So it’s singing about something and hoping that by singing about it you’ll create it. The alternative, thinking that in five years’ time the world will end, isn’t that helpful. It might sell records, but it doesn’t help the people listening.

Here are the lyrics, which, as I said, come off as at least as relevant to our current global cultural moment of crisis and collective sense of impending doom as they were to the original context in which Sting wrote them:

In the empire of the senses
You’re the queen of all you survey
All the cities, all the nations
Everything that falls your way, I say

There is a deeper world than this
That you don’t understand
There is a deeper world than this
Tugging at your hand

Every ripple on the ocean
Every leaf on every tree
Every sand dune in the desert
Every power we never see

There is a deeper wave than this
Smiling in the world
There is a deeper wave than this
Listen to me, girl

Feel it rising in the cities
Feel it sweeping over land
Over borders, over frontiers
Nothing will its power withstand, I say

There is no deeper wave than this
Rising in the world
There is no deeper wave than this
Listen to me, girl

All the bloodshed, all the anger
All the weapons, all the greed
All the armies, all the missiles
All the symbols of our fear

There is a deeper wave than this
Rising in the world
There is a deeper wave than this
Listen to me, girl

At the still point of destruction
At the center of the fury
All the angels, all the devils
All around us, can’t you see?

There is a deeper wave than this
Rising in the land
There is a deeper wave than this
Nothing will withstand

I say love is the seventh wave

Every breath you take with me
Every breath you take, every move you make
Every cake you bake, every leg you break

Two interviews

Horror, Cosmic and Personal

Back in August, I was a guest on the Against Everyone with Conner Habib podcast. The episode kicked off a multi-episode series on horror. Here is a portion of Conner’s introduction to our conversation, which was also his introduction to the series:

We’ll be asking the deep questions and seeing what unlit paths they lead us down. What is horror for? Whay do we condemn it even as we flock to it? What is the horror-nature of being? What happens when the imagination explores the violence, the darkness, and the screaming in the inner landscape and when we conjure it into art?

You don’t have to know much horror or even like horror to follow along with these episodes; each one will reveal a horror of life, of being human. Horror remains the best tool to investigate evil and to overcome it.

To kick off this series, I’ll start with the tension between the horrors of the cosmos and the horrors of the personal, with horror scholar and writer, Matt Cardin. Matt first came to my attention via his appearances on the Weird Studies podcast (first on WS 41, then on WS 126), where he spoke with such frightening depth about horror that I knew the horrifying must have, across his life, shocked him into new avenues of being. He’s the author of many books, including the story collection, To Rouse Leviathan, and also What the Daemon Said: Essays on Horror Fiction, Film, and Philosophy.

You can listen to the entire episode HERE.

The Daemon Muse

Last week I was interviewed by Mycelium Signal, the podcast of the Finnish visionary artist collective Tuonnen Portti. Here is the official episode description:

We’re excited to welcome our esteemed guest today, the accomplished author Matt Cardin, hailing from Arkansas, USA. In our conversation, we delve into a diverse range of topics including the concept of the daemon muse, the differences of science and scientism, explorations of pessimism and nihilism, insights into nonduality, and discussions on supernatural horror. We also touch upon the influences and thoughts of Robert Anton Wilson, Thomas Ligotti, H. P. Lovecraft, Carl Jung, James Hillman, and Stan Gooch. Additionally, we explore the harrowing concept of Chapel Perilous and discuss Matt’s very first published horror story, “Teeth.”

You can listen to the entire episode HERE.

I have also published a transcription of several portions of the interview at my newsletter under the title “Beyond the Veil: Religion, Scientism, and the Supernatural.”

On writing the personal to express the universal

  • Post category:Creativity
  • Reading time:2 mins read

As writers, we would do well to remember that our art conceals a hidden paradox: What is most private and personal in us is also the most universal. Our deepest truth, which seems to be the most hidden and idiosyncratic thing about us, is actually what resonates with all people. In our writing, it’s when we delve deeply into ourselves that our work makes a profound connection with others.

Haven’t you experienced this in your own life as a reader? Don’t you find that when you come across writing that is palpably personal, writing that clearly shares the writer’s most intimate views, thoughts, and feelings, that’s where you can see yourself most clearly? The sense of connection is practically hypnotic.

This is why pandering to others in an effort to appeal directly to them and/or to extract their money is counterproductive. It alienates the reader and makes the writing sterile, whereas the act and art of writing honestly instills life in what we write, which transmits its energetic charge to our readers.

The psychologist Carl Rogers put it well in his classic 1961 book On Becoming a Person:

I have almost invariably found that the very feeling which has seemed to me most private, most personal, and hence most incomprehensible by others, has turned out to be an expression for which there is a resonance in many other people. It has led me to believe that what is most personal and unique in each one of us is probably the very element which would, if it were shared or expressed, speak most deeply to others.

For a deeper look at this phenomenon, not only in the art and craft of writing but in the practice of spirituality, see “The Writer’s Paradox: Personal Is Universal.”

Introductory note and index to ‘Journals, Volume 2’

  • Post category:Book News
  • Reading time:2 mins read
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Volume 2 of my journals is now available from Sarnath Press. Here’s a portion of the brief introductory note that appears at the beginning of it. It describes the rising sense of exposure that I felt while creating this volume, as the entries I was transcribing grew more and more recent:

For a full introduction to this journal, including an autobiographical sketch that establishes the wider life context of each entry, see volume 1.

Regarding the many significant gaps in coverage during the years encompassed by the present volume, in some instances these gaps represent places where I have omitted content. In a few such instances, I have briefly summarized the nature of the excised entries. Other large gaps represent either periods for which I have now lost my notebooks or periods during which I went silent and did not write in my journal. In both such cases, I have entered brief explanations.

Finally, on a personal note, as I worked my way through my notebooks chronologically to create the manuscripts for both volumes, I found that whereas the older entries often felt like someone else’s writings, as if I were unearthing old bones in a textual-archaeological dig, the more recent entries progressively began to feel more like “me.” Thus, the content of the latter years in this second volume, which extends all the way to last summer—less than twelve months ago as I sit here writing this introductory note—makes me feel distinctly more exposed and vulnerable. I simply point this out for whatever it is worth. The fact that future “me” will look back on these same entries, and on the sense of vulnerability just described, with the same detachment that present “me” currently feels toward the older ones, is just one more testament to the fundamental strangeness of the ego self, and of its relationship to the wider, deeper world of timeless total identity and reality, that I grapple with throughout this journal.

MATT CARDIN
Pyatt, Arkansas
March 2023

Additionally, here is is a downloadable PDF of the book’s index, showing the multitude of topics that entered my journaling inferno during my thirties, forties, and early fifties:

Index to Journals, Volume 2: 2002–2022

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On feeling the call to absolute stillness

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Are you ever tempted to abandon all of your creative projects? Let them collapse? Maybe even let your whole outer life crumble as you sit there silently and just watch it all burn down? Is there ever an inner spiritual call to do this?

This is a question and a temptation that has suggested itself to me multiple times over the course of my adult life. The peculiar nature of my mental-emotional makeup apparently renders me highly susceptible to such thinking. Naturally, this has made itself known in my private journal. The example below is a case in point that shows me grappling with the pull toward absolute inertia.

When I wrote those words, I was deep into editing my mummy encyclopedia and conceiving the proposal for my paranormal encyclopedia, while also carrying on a full-time job as a college writing center instructor and English faculty member, even as I was managing all the necessary responsibilities to my family. In the center of this swirl of competing calls and obligations, the desire just to let everything go was a constant whisper, a silently thrumming inner suggestion that hovered on the margins of my awareness and sometimes converged toward the center.

And into the midst of this came the above-quoted passage from the works of Oswald Chambers—who would later become the subject of my Ph.D. dissertation—to amplify the whole thing. That particular journal entry will appear in volume 2 of my collected journals, whose proofs I’m currently editing for publication later this year. I share it here for those who will immediately grok what I’m talking about, those who are personally familiar with the inner call to total silence and stillness.

I have no particular advice to offer about this experience, other than to state that it needs to be recognized and honored. Just a couple of days ago I encountered the following words from nondual teacher Robert Wolfe, from his booklet “Elementary Cloud-Watching: Contemplating the Meaning of Living in the Moment” (excerpted in his biographical essay at Amazon). They convey the mood of this inner stillness as well as anything possibly could:

Civilization and stillness—quiet, inactivity—do not go together. Civilization is a continual process of choices; stillness comes without choice. There is nothing which can be done to create this stillness. It is not something which is to be acquired; it has no value as currency. It is, put another way, priceless.

One must relax, to breathe this stillness. Not just the body: the mind, the psyche. One must relax ambition. Ambition and stillness are not compatible. There is no ticking of the clock here. There is no effort in stillness.

For more mini-essays like this, you can explore this blog’s archives. You can also sign up to receive updates every time I publish something new: