Panic At The Disco: End Of Mayan Calendar Means We're Totally Screwed!

More than anything, I believe we were born with the gift of free will. We humans get pretty scared out here on this ball, so we try desperately to short-circuit that. "Give me a heads up on my future. What does my palm read? Do the tea leaves spell 'lucky'? What do the stars portend? When you go to 'E' for 'End Of The World' in the Akashic records, is the date listed anytime soon?"

Easy everybody. Take a deep, big breath. We're gonna get through this. And were gonna get through this without knowing everything we think we need to know in order to feel safe.

What's in our control? Very little. Namely ourselves and whatever we commit to contributing to. The Mayan calendar is running out? What else is new? People have been identifying reasons to either go apeshit or celebrate the dawning of a new age for a long, long time. Aquarius. The new millennium. Heaven's Gate. But it's not out there. It's in here. So let's stop projecting. Every second, every day is an opportunity to either live a fresh new chapter or reenact an old one because it's familiar and miserable. This is our Fundamental Power.

The future is being built by the choices we make in the here and now. Aquarius is the new world that emerges when you engage in new behaviors. They result from addressing small questions like "Can I hold off on eating another cookie and trust in the promise of a lightened body?" and big questions like "How do I face mortality while still championing my life?" Runes? Tarot? Numerology? Beautiful arts of human creation. But nothing human is perfect. And surrendering our self-determination is human behavior in its least enlightened.

If you really want to know the future, attend to the present. If you don't, give up your fascination with cheap divination and redirect that energy on getting the laundry done. I guarantee you, clean clothes are the pathway to total happiness.

Let's let the Mayans be. If they were so smart, their civilization would still be around. Remember singer Dionne Warwick's "Psychic Friends Network"? Well, if our friends had been so psychic, surely one of them would have seen that their network would go down in the flames of bankruptcy.  (Or maybe they needed to consult a powerful numerologist known as an "Accountant".) Dionne Warwick was far more prescient when she sang "Do You Know The Way To San Jose?" She may not have had directions, but the lyrics exuded such enthusiasm and wonderment. You just knew she was smart and capable and would make it there in one piece.

And so will we. And so will we.

The disco ball we're on keeps turnin'. You're in a warm, dark room; enveloped by points of light that travel and scatter around you like stars. You are the center of your own boogie universe. Love the dance; when you are doing it well and when you're just doing the best that you can. Both make you better. Enjoy your shimmery, sweaty polyester. You look great tonight. Tough it out when they play anything from Peaches and Herb; use it to pace yourself and grab a drink. You'll be ready to hit it hard when they pump up the electric "Nights On Broadway" by the Bee-Gees. Close your eyes. Everything is perfect. No need to panic. Here, there is no time. No calendars. No meddling Mayans. Just you, the beautiful people, and Jesus in the booth working the turntable.

Inescapable

As night grows deeper,

The gut fills with panic

That cannot be attributed to anything.

What it arises from

Is a sea of mystery

With the vague outline of beasts

Lying in wait at the bottom.

Come daylight,
The terror will be
Stolen from memory,
Only to be experienced anew
When the moon comes calling.

On the rare occasion that

The subconscious allows us remembrance

Of the night before,
We dismiss ourselves as silly.

But upon leaving the party,

As the voices die down at your back,

As the sound of key unlocking your door

Echoes throughout the apartment,

As you brush your teeth in the mirror

As if being given your last rites,

When you surrender and lie in bed

Vulnerable and perfect prey,

Something returns.

It finds you.

It taunts with the terror of its being

Without ever revealing what it really is.

And fear without revelation of the cause

Is insidious double-damage.

Is this looming terror

Behind the frenzy of sacred ceremony at night?

Is this why people pray when the sun is lost,

Attend midnight mass,

Burn sage and cedar in an Inipi ceremony

Or attend a loud rock concert which

Drowns out the inner noise

And brings us together with a community of others

Also looking to escape through the music?

Is this what a nightcap is meant to fend off?

Is this what sex and lovemaking is meant to subvert

If practiced diligently and long enough?

Is it called the “graveyard shift”

Because shelves are stocked while

Demons salivate behind you

And ghosts roam the aisles?

Is the late, late picture show a final chance to buy time

Before The Unnamed must be confronted?

Western society and medicine itself

Provides excuses for what is really going on.

That’s how scared we are.

That’s how unfamiliar the territory is.

After all,

You’re not wanting to run away from something inside yourself:

You have restless leg syndrome

You are not afraid of the haunting truth your dreams remind you of:

You simply have insomnia

You are not struggling to breath amidst nameless horror

You have sleep apnea.

It is said that

“The only way out is through.”

So what is required?

What is called of us?

And why is the path as elusive

As the threat itself?

When the bully of night is back,

Is there anything beyond cowardly avoidance?

Take talisman, holy water, mantra, and psychopharmalogical placebo.

Recite the “Prayer of Chairs”

In which an endless number of them

Form a protective barrier around you

In all directions

For as far and wide as the echo of three claps can travel.

Bring your hands together thrice.

Make your palms burn.

Only Allah in all His beneficence

Is big enough

To fell this opponent.