Language immanentizes the Eschaton. The hyperdimensionality of the Supreme Real is lost in the flattened intellectualized reflection that discourse forces upon our supramental intuition. To say that the Eschaton is upon us is to recognize that the Real Itself is morphing into the monstrous, invading our imaginaries, seizing up our symbolic defenses, and finally forcing us to face the beyond of language. We are entering that beyond, one way or another: through horror that is unspeakable, sadness that cannot control its tears, or infinite ecstasy that unfolds as the Eschaton embodied as the ultimate paradox that is the Self.

Many people still want to waste time arguing—over how serious a crisis is this really; or, whether any leader can be trusted to guide us through the transition; or, whether the vaunted goal of transcendence of the ego is even more than a mirage; or if renunciation of egoic jouissance is useful, healthy, and a necessary part of a redemptive path; or whether grace will simply descend upon us all one day, no matter if we are meditating and fasting, or drinking beer and watching tv.

Thankfully, there is no more time for such barren debates. Civilization is breaking apart; unpredictable catastrophes are occurring daily in every part of the world; the ecological die-off accelerates, murdering our oceans and our lands; the climate continues to morph our sacred planet savagely into a world that is uninhabitable; while armies and bands of guerrillas everywhere continue an irrelevant armed struggle, either to defend or to overthrow a system that is doomed, no matter which side wins.