In the Era of Chaos, Be Cunning
Fosterverse Weekly #35
Hello Writers,
Of the 2,781 billionaires on Earth (as of today), I’ve met three. Successfully pissed off one. Was instructed to exit a moving vehicle to chase another before he fled the country. And stayed in the Wyoming mansion of another as a guest.
The materialistic “have a lots” and “have a lot less” folk, have co-evolved in an imbalanced relationship dynamic. In order to mend, Hanzi Freinacht, the modern pseudonymous philosopher duo, suggests adopting influence (because we are all already part of each other and can affect each other).
I, however, prefer to tell you to be cunning, especially in the face of so much imbalance. And I sense that in order to invoke the attitude of its highest heart piercing powers you’ll need magic.
In the magical arts, the enactment of this specific type of influence, lasting impression, or cunning can be equated to selfless magic (as opposed to selfish magic). In the past, it was executed by the Cunning folk, wise folk, practitioners of such magic that kept them from being burned at the stake in times past.
Since Spring has arrived, a time for new beginnings, and balance, it seems rather fitting to contemplate how we writers can shift our writerly arts towards literary cunning.
The entity triangulating the “have a lots” and the “have a lot less” folk, is money. And the memory that reminds me of this dynamic all too clearly is nested in a span of time when my ill projections of that entity were suspended long enough to allow me to greet the human before me.
Years ago my mentor and his wife invited me to the billionaire capital of the U.S., Jackson Hole, Wyoming where the county is named for boobies, and so are the mountains. I was to stay at one of the mansions of their friend, a family member who made their fortune on frozen foods I ate as a child.
The home of this man was immaculate and I was indeed most impressed by his ski room, a place where you hop into your skis in winter, and dart down the mountain right out of your doorway.
I found this man to be humble and inquisitive. Interested in meditation, but unclear on how he could find the time to sit still. He asked me about Texas, my home state, as he considered the tax benefits of adding another business there. And he was so moved to learn that I purchased one cent books from another billionaire’s online store, that he too made one cent book purchases to add to his home collection.
Outside of whitewater rafting with he and his girlfriend along the Snake River, a road trip to the National Elk Ridge, a tour of the French named, Grand Tetons, and my first taste of elk steak at a restaurant, part of the trip involved attending a party where the other super-rich would be in attendance.
I was slightly apprehensive about this party for many reasons, and my apprehension only grew when I was told that Dick Cheney was planning to be in attendance. Yes, the former vice president who committed international war crimes, Cheney.
Once at the party I scanned the room. Figured it would not be so bad after all until a few folks approached me and I realized otherwise. First, a White woman with a smile asked me a fateful question. “What do you do?”
Public school teacher in Los Angeles resulted in this woman turning her back on me. No communication bridge to her departure whatsoever. Was she socially awkward or was it me?
Next, I set my night’s focus on tasting every single hors d'oeuvre across the mansion— hosts’ vineyard wine varietals, truffle mac and cheese, scalloped potatoes and all of the sweet stuff I could get my hands on, I figured I’d be left alone. Safe. Unbothered. But the night, and this party of people, begged for my attention yet again in a most peculiar way.
“Whose children are you two?” White wine in hand, a White man slumped over and asked me and my mentor’s wife.
At first I wondered, how drunk is this mo-fo? With the genetic gift of really long telomeres, I’d adjusted to the world constantly mistaking me for a child. But for my mentor’s wife, an Asian woman five years my senior, she was stunned and offended.
By the time the five of us made it back onto the road, I’d begun to wrap up my conclusions about hanging with the super-rich until the conversation went into territory that impacted me terribly.
From the back seat of the truck I was suddenly jerked forward as our humble host hit his brakes hard, hoping to avoid slamming into the stalled elk passing the road. Everyone was safe. Uninjured. The elk finished crossing, and it brought the conversation back to the home we’d just left.
Our host’s girlfriend announced that the owners of the party house were selling their home for $27 million, and he casually yelped, “I’ll buy it!” as he swung his head to the right to face hers.
To which his girlfriend retorted so softly and gently, “But hun you don’t need another house, you already have five (or was it six or ten).”
“I know, but I can buy it.…”
And there I sat in the back of the pickup truck processing how many times my $60,000 teaching salary could fit into $27 million.
There are at least ten trillionaire families in the world. To my knowledge, I’ve met zero.
One trillionaire family member is adept in the cunning arts—the Crown Prince of the kingdom of Saudi Arabia, Mohammed bin Salman Al Saud or as he is more globally known, MBS. The trillionaire delivered a masterclass in how to get billionaires to act.
In May 2018 MBS pretended to be friends with Jeffrey Preston Bezos, who was the world’s richest man and CEO of Amazon at the time. MBS invited JPB to be friends with him on WhatsApp. But friendship was just a trojan horse. And in a single message, MBS successfully hacked Jeffrey’s phone, accessing all of his private photos, and scandalous text messages.
It’s more than highly plausible that we’ve all been a witness to the impact of that friendship hack. By October of the same year MBS allegedly ordered the murder and bodily dismemberment of one of his journalists, Jamal Khashoggi. Within a few years, blackmailed Bezos steps down from his position, downgrades his billionaire status, and most importantly, changes his newspaper’s protocol.
I’m not saying that all of the billionaires are being held hostage by trillionaires. That they’re trying to stay alive, and under the radar because they’re in positions where they have to keep their mouths shut. I’m wondering how we apply selfless magic in ways that nurture others into bettering society. No demonization or idolization.
It’s what Hanzi Freinacht is asking us to consider, to see the humanity in each other, and take on the responsibility of that recognition. He asks:
“...the problems of society increasingly stem from deep layers of the psyche —and their interactions with the world—that are hard to access for us as individual persons…How do you make people have genuine solidarity with all people and animals?...How do you break the evil cycle of insecurity, commercialism and over-consumption?” (The Listening Society, p.127)
Freinacht then points to the societal need to deeply care for each other. And if we’re not there already, to become emotionally intelligent and existentially mature, keen to advance through the stages of adult development, and beyond black and white thinking and beyond nuance.
This Spring pick up your inked wands. Cast spells. Illuminate imaginations. Deliver your sweetest, targeted medicine. Send letters that arouse senses and reciprocal care. Emails that restore. Calculate your seduction for society’s benefit. Because we’ve entered the chaos, which feels like an invitation and a portal to alchemize the present anger and rage.
And I’d love us, masters of swords, to witness the outcomes of our own selfless cunning.
Thank you for reading! And may you pierce their hearts ever so deeply with your cunning magic.
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Danver Chandler is a Foster Contributor. She writes Icing on the Cake.