A philosophy that is erotic, juicy and alive

What wisdom longs to be remembered at this particular time?

Wisdom tends to have a timeless quality. That's why I can spend hours reading diaries and stanzas of philosophers dead for centuries and feel the aliveness of their words.

Yet, aliveness is not always the first association with philosophy. Nor museums. Dusty, rigid, elitist ghosts have haunted them both. And I desire to re-imagine otherwise.

I want a philosophy that is erotic, juicy and alive.

By erotic, I mean the fierce, vital, underlying energy of creation. The force that makes seeds grow miraculously out of dark, wet soil. The drive of Life, the exquisite feeling of being fully present in flesh, in our senses.

A philosophy that tastes like dark roots and rainforests,
that moves the flesh and sets fire to rigid notions of 'should'.

A vulnerable philosophy, a loving one
that connects to the soft, tenderly receptive now,
a philosophy that remembers what loving wisdom feels like.

This philosophy blurs boundaries, breaks silos,
isn't confined by mediums or prescriptions,
resists classifications and escapes expectations,
constantly slips from fingertips
swimming into new shapes.

A philosophy that knows that listening is active
presence and that stillness can be deep
reconfiguring, a philosophy that honors
the unseen.

A philosophy for the more than human, for the subtle, for the overlooked,
for this world in this body with these senses,
all dormant doorways to divine potentialities.
A philosophy that kisses presence back to life.

A philosophy like river, like rain, like roots,
power felt, not screamed,
embodied, not a mindless trance of deified technologies,
a philosophy connected to Earth, centering Life and the sensuous beauty
inherent in now.

A philosophy that integrates, that can love divisions into wholeness,
that can hold paradox without compulsion to simplify or chop it up,
a philosophy that re-members.

A humble philosophy, a kitchen-table philosophy,
that smells like freshly baked bread and care,
rooted in the mundane.
No universal pretensions, no agendas of forcing one truth upon all,
rooted in a particular place, in particular bones,
a philosophy that invites individual uniqueness
to bloom forth.

A philosophy of neighbors, of friends, of lovers,
of poets and taxi drivers,
of speaking to cleaners and cooks and wise strangers on rainy streets,
a philosophy of the unexpected
connection, a philosophy that is willing to be
surprised.

Where the subtle and the deep can be perceived,
where presence can be practiced
and sensitivities caressed, not numbed out
by synthetic sugar spells.

A philosophy that can be soft and tender and fierce,
that can move with unknowing,
that doesn't cling to performative certainty
to control.

Not a palace of abstraction.
A temple to all that is alive.

Philosophy, after all, means philo-sophia: the love of wisdom.

That is my philosophy. What is yours?
I would love to hear how you relate to it, and what wisdom tastes like to your particular palate.