Originally posted on August 19, 2007. Note: Most of this post was originally composed via a method of stream-of-consciousness writing called a Whole Write. Be on the alert that there are a few moments of letting my shadow out to dance. Read at your own risk.

John wants me to define involution. So I wrote this.

What do I mean by involution? What can’t you guys get out a fuckin’ wikipedia or get out a fuckin’ dictionary? Oh, I suppose you want my definition. Well, since you asked … Any moron can see that involution is the metaphysical process by which the Absolute or God or Brahman involves itself in creation through a series of manifestations, generally regarded as a sequence of stages of enfolding. Evolution is the opposite of involution, so generally what we know about involution is by inference: it is what evolution is NOT. In terms of concepts within time, evolution may be fruitfully viewed as a process of emergence out of the Spirit, so you can say involution took place before evolution. On the other hand, you can also say that involution does not take place within time and therefore it makes no difference whether involution precedes or follows evolution or occurs simultaneously.

Got that? If you don’t, I’m not surprised. It’s rather abstract to me, too. And apart from placing involution within the context of a fully fleshed out metaphysical edifice such as Sri Aurobindo’s, it’s tough to really speak about involution and come away feeling satisfied. It’s easier for me to feel like a moron. And yet I feel called to speak about involution because it’s part of my own process of self-discovery and self-realization. Metaphysics is a layer of abstraction, an overlay, that attempts to interpret personal religious or spiritual experience. (As I use metaphysics, it’s always provisional–my best effort at explanation within a plethora of socially and culturally created contexts.) For example, I may have a sense of connection to nature, for instance, and this may show up as the belief that Nature with a capital N or Gaia with a capital G is a mystical Oneness which is not separate from the self with the little s. You probably do something like that, even if you don’t call what you do metaphysics.

If you’re trying to wrap a layer of theory around evolution — and that’s what the 20 tenets of all holons is — that’s what Integral theory is all about — that’s the perennial philosophy and most of theology in general whether it knows it or not — then in large part you’re trying to make sense of your own holistic development: the various processes that led you from where you were as an infant to where you were as a toddler, then a child, then a school age kid, then a teenager, then a young adult, and then an adult, and then a middle-aged adult and then… Evolutionary theory is, in large measure, an attempt to grasp the process of development. So involutionary theory is, at least for me, an attempt to grasp the process of regression.

Have you ever regressed? Really regressed? Have you ever let the torrents of madness and the tsunamis of irrationality overcome you, destroy you, and leave you for dead? Have you ever been such a danger to yourself or others that you could not be trusted to take care of yourself minimally? Have you ever lost it, really really lost it? Have you ever watched Psycho or One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest or A Beautiful Mind and said, you know Anthony Perkins or Jack Nicholson or Russell Crowe’s performance is really good, but it’s not quite like that in real life? It’s like this. Madness is…

Have you? Well have you?

Have you felt yourself as an infant? A fetus? A sperm? An egg? A womb? An atom? An electron? A quark? How far, how deeply, how intensely have you sensed the interiors of matter? You know it’s possible, don’t you. That’s why you are comfortable by speaking about “involved matter”. Because you’ve been there, felt it, breathed in the electricity and the subtle currents of sound, light, and vibration …

Have you ever woken from a dream and wished to all hell you could get back into the dream somehow, someway? To see a lost love? To raise the dead? To recover your youth? To feel your passion, your sex?

Have you ever looked at your body aging? Have you ever seen it decay, decline, fall away into an unrecognizable person? Have you ever seen your muscle waste away, or your hair fall out? Have you shrunk, shriveled, pruned with age?

The question isn’t whether you’ve regressed, but how. How have you regressed? How have you fallen backwards in your spiritual journey? How have you lost enlightenment and stumbled into the maya and stayed there? How have you lost your recovery in a long, dark relapse? How have you forgotten who you really were? How have you lost track of your true nature? If you’re trying to grasp involution and you haven’t yet really wrestled with your own experiences of regression, then you will get nowhere. Go back to the textbooks and the definitions and the metaphysical formulations.

As for me, I’m still working on understanding involution from the inside out. That’s because I believe that I have touched my true nature — and it was a crazy, mad, psychotic fool, a paranoid, delusional, weirdo — and that it was not separate from the Godhead, the Absolute, the Spirit of All. (How could it be? If you subscribe to any notion of nonduality whatsoever. Doesn’t God go crazy? How could He not?) And then, having touched that space, I fell out of space and time and suddenly ordinary perceptions of “reality” had no bearing on me. Miracles happened. The world lost form. Time moved backwards. Time stood still. Time skipped around. The world and my mind and time were all wrapped up in a fantastic maze of my own design, and I was a lost seeker journeying in the dark on the adventure of a lifetime. An adventure that I would be lucky to survive.

There is a point that is forgetting of who-you-are in the service of who-or-what-you-might-and-must-become.

There is a point when you have recovered a memory and are, for an instant, holding both the reclaimed memory and that which is forgotten, together. You are both forgotten and reclaimed.

There is a point where synthesis looks back at antithesis and almost, but not quite, becomes antithesis.

There is a point where an actor loses herself in her role utterly and becomes invisible, forgotten, unconscious.

There is a point that is the letting go of Godhead for the relative world of illusion, willfully and knowingly giving up Absolute for a mad, crazy dash at freedom.

Evolution is the copying of DNA millions upon millions of times, in the hope and sincere wish for mutation. A mutation that could maim, kill, sterilize, destroy. And must, millions upon millions of times over. All for the sake of that glorious mutation that takes Spirit in the direction of novelty and joyous self-discovery. Because evolution is boring. Evolution as reproduction is predictable. It’s the mutation, the Agape, the homophilia, the perilous and dangerous mutation, which brings the excitement.

But you already know this. There is a point which occurs when you walk in the footsteps of mutation, OUCH! or WOW!, and say: Ahhhhhh, I remember this. I remember this. This… changes everything. This expands me. This is new.

The point of which I speak is the Cross where involution and evolution meet, a juncture that is made possible (for me) by faith, a gift on my journey towards an even Higher Reason than I have yet known. Faith, sheer faith. Faith that the new realization awakens my slumbering Self to the lurking Spirit, Faith that I am walking on the bleeding edge (for me) of Spirit’s self-knowledge. Not yesterday’s enlightenment, but today’s, right now’s is-this-enlightenment? when it feels like yesterday’s enlightenment pushed to a new and scary place. That’s why I get angry when I’m asked to define involution. You’re asking me to justify my faith. Fuck you. My faith has no justification that could convince you. I cannot bring you to the beginning of time or the end of time and say, “there you go”. Proof at last of the metaphysical conception.

Hell, I can’t even bring myself there. Involution does not take place in time; it must be encountered tentatively as if through a mirror. And to encounter involution is to taste death, to become what you have already been, surpassed, and to lose yourself in the process. I must be forcibly taken there. My reality must be raped. I can only go there, if I choose to go at all, by a process of remembering what I have forgotten, seeing the magical signs and allowing them to open me to the morass. I don’t go there very often, if I can help it.

So instead I would invite you to stop worrying about the definition of involution and start exploring, if you want, your experiences of regression. Make sense of them. How did they elevate you? How did they destroy you? What secret messages were hidden in their logic that gave you a weird feeling of deja vu? Look at deja vu. Look at synchronicity. Look at the prerational and the irrational and the Lord-knows-what rational (if your ego isn’t too big to let you). You’ve been there before. You know you have. Some ineffable part of you — some long forgotten part of you — has been there before, exactly, and is there right now, and will be there again. If you think you’ve tasted enlightenment and you have not tasted involution, then think again. Asking about regression is as good a way as any I know for getting in touch with that You. It’s a fast way, good if you’re in a hurry. But it’s not the only way, and maybe a particularly dangerous and risky way, but it works. Discover involution for yourself, if you dare.