Mike’s cocoon


A safe place where one may, or may not, ever grow up.

I’ve already told Mike’s story at length:  Mike and facts

A week or two after those events, I heard him tell Devon that

He’d rather continue to be homeless and jobless
than participate in the system of white supremacy.

That clinched my understanding of him.

Similar thinking played a role in how I became homeless.  Being white, I wanted to get in a status such that no one could accuse me of privilege based on my skin color.

Mike is wrapped up in all these threads of ideology that no contrary facts or thoughts can ever penetrate.  Whatever comes, he can always pull on one thread or another to re-assert his prejudices.

A cocoon, like a womb, is supposed to be a safe place for radical transformation.  It can also be a place that permits infantilism forever.  Given his worldview, Mike has no need ever to own his power (One of the axioms being that black men are powerless.), to take a risk, ever to face uncertainty, ever to face failure; ever to do any work.  Indeed, he is opposed to ever holding a job.

So one stands to reassess the question that Twin asked him, “What do you want?”  On the one hand, in all probability, Mike is unaware of wanting anything.  As to any thing he might want, the desire gets deflected by his ideology.  Want a home?  That would make him complicit in the System.  Want a car?  That would probably mean getting a job, which in turn would make him complicit in the System.

I have seen in my own experience that I need to believe a desired outcome is possible, in order to feel desire.  And the closer I become to a goal, the more realistic the prospect of that goal becomes, the easier it is to want that thing.

At bottom, it appears to me he already has everything he knows he wants; namely, the freedom to go on hating white people forever.

Similar cocoons may house Trumpers.  This may explain how conservative ideology enables social conservatives to feel safe, in a world they otherwise perceive as full of threats.

Given the irritation of his loud, provocative orations; whatever is the basis, the core of it all, upon which all else depends; if I could find and snip it, presumably all the rest would unravel.  I have no call to do so.  I am best to love him just as he is.

Related:  David Wilcock redux

Later:

08/19/22 — Now he’s getting all religious.

 

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