Costs of Hesitation ⌛️

When the Winds Are Blowing

Physical combat reawakens dormant body technologies—and reveals why spiritual eternity does not erase the consequences of physical time. Through cliff fights, missed trains, fallen saddlebags, violent oceans, and shifting winds, Max and LuLu explore the cost of hesitation and the necessity of moving when life speaks.

Max: Welcome back to the Great House of Sri Lanka, which is the White House of America version.

LuLu: We are the House of Devil’s Rock.

Max: Today our discussion is about two things: feminine root and masculine root.

I wanted to discuss the dreaminess of combat. LuLu and I went to combat this morning with sticks.

LuLu: Physical combat.

Max: Physical combat, which is much more enlivening than purely emotional-verbal combat.

LuLu: It was friendly.

When the Body Technologies Come Online

LuLu: I was having this experience while we were play-fighting with sticks in the lagoon. I was experiencing how activated my body was becoming—like little lights and sub-technologies in my system that are normally dormant because of the non-physically-combative and intense lack of intensity that, as a modern human, I typically live in.

I was noticing these parts of myself that were coming online and, like, having these past-life memories, basically, of what it was like to be a human that was in training for your mission every day, all the time.

And I was having these, like, real-time experiences and memories of, like, holy shit, like, at that time—and now too, I think we just don’t notice this truth very often—it’s like one mistake could actually end your life.

Like, you’re fighting on a cliff, and one misplaced step, one unblocked attack, leads to your demise.

Max: And off with the hand.

LuLu: And I was thinking of this strange paradox. And first of all, like, that experience was part of the thing that activated me. That feeling of imminent danger, and that every movement counted—every bit of my awareness counted in that moment—that was part of the thing that turned on this other aspect of my body technology.

Eternity Without the Lower Chakras

LuLu: And I realized that that idea, that principle, kind of lies in conflict—or in paradox—with this modern ideology of spirituality that I think is basically spirituality just of the higher chakras, missing its lower chakras, that says:

“I am eternal. Time is infinite. I can’t miss anything. The universe is on my side. If I miss it today, it’ll be there again tomorrow.”

And that’s true, from, like—

Max: And then a horseman rides in and chops your head off.

LuLu: Yeah. It’s like, that is true from this eternal perspective. It’s like, okay, if you miss an initiation in this life and it doesn’t come again, like, there will be another one ten lifetimes from now, a hundred lifetimes from now. The potential of the evolution never disappears.

But in this body incarnation, as this divine being of God’s self living through this physical expression, as this physical color in this moment in time-space—when the baby cries, there is a consequence when you don’t feed it. Like, there actually is a real consequence.

You can die, and you will come back, but it will be different. You’ll have different codes. There will be different potentials.

The Train That Will Not Return

LuLu: And this feeling of, like, urgency throughout our mission that has been coming up a lot in the last couple months—of, like, I’ll get a body signal, and it’ll be like life trying to tell me something, and it is filled with so much almost, like, panic and intensity—I think that intensity and panic is true. It is real.

It’s just, like, a different part of the body technology. It says, like, if you do not make this initiation, that train will have passed, and that exact train isn’t going to come again.

Like, yes, there will be another train in another moment, but that train will have passed, and that potential—that, like, lifetime, that, like, timeline—will be collapsed, and you’ll kind of, like, enter into a new one.

The Cost of Hesitation

Max: And the worst thing is just hesitation. It’s much less to miss a train and take the next train than it is to miss the train because you were worried about missing the train or something, you know, or you were fucking off.

Like, if you’re on mission and you miss it, so what? Nothing you can do. If you’re off mission and you miss it, that’s shitty.

If you’re eating pizza and then you get stabbed—this is in the old days, say—you know, you’re lounging around eating pizza or something, and then someone comes up and robs you and stabs you and takes your family jewels that have been passed down for generations, and they’re gone. They’re gone. That’s it.

Now, if you were riding and you were on the way to deliver a note to an emissary or something, because that’s your duty and things, and your horse saddlebag falls off and you didn’t notice, and it landed in a bush on a hundred-kilometer ride—what to do? I mean, it’s just gone. You can go back and look for it, but it might just be gone. There’s nothing.

It’s a different situation versus if you’re hesitating. Or if you were riding along and you saw that your strap was falling off, and you’re like, “Oh, I’ll just tie it up later. I’ll fix that thing later. Don’t worry.” And then it falls off, and you go, “Fuck, I don’t remember where it fell off.”

Even if you find it again, that delay has cost you a timeline. It’s cost you an opportunity. Like, strike while the iron’s hot. Like, do it now. Like, do it now.

Moving With the Natural World

LuLu: And I think this mindset has developed, again, from a neglect of being unified with the natural world, where people are living inside of AC or central heating. So the fact that it’s summer or winter outside—like, the thing that the Earth is doing outside—doesn’t feel true or relevant.

It’s like, “Well, I’ll just fucking turn on the heat. Who cares if it’s winter?”

And so this idea that the natural world is moving in some way—that, like, life is moving in some way—and you can’t miss anything is like this strange, false separation that exists between ourselves and the natural world and life.

And it’s like, we had this experience yesterday where we were swimming to Devil’s Rock, or Devil’s Island, this little island off of the coast of where we are. And how we timed ourselves—and the currents were crazy, the waves were fucking huge, the currents were intense—how we timed ourselves did matter.

Like, waiting for the ocean to say to us, “Okay, now go.” It’s like: wait, wait, wait—okay, go.

That matters when you’re swimming a really fucking chaotic ocean. That matters when you’re trying to escape from a burned building, and in certain moments the smoke is too high in one place, and you have to wait until the wind shifts a little bit, and then you go, and then you wait again, and then you go.

It’s like, these things are real, and the consequences are real. And, like, when life speaks to you, when the divine speaks to you, when the Earth speaks to you and tells you to initiate something in your mission—and you don’t take it—there is a loss.

The Dreaminess of Combat

Max: So for this topic, I want to talk about a little more dreaminess of hand-to-hand combat.

And Lydia and I spent the morning doing some hand-to-hand combat with strong sticks. Call them staves, almost—a little short, but almost like staves—in the lagoon, in, you know, calf-deep water.

And it just makes—it brings up a lot of dreaminess.

We might be off, Lydia and I, in the way that we connect on this, but for me, I’m looking at this dreaminess aspect of, like, the footwork required for this, the dynamism of the ankle joint, and the focus of the eyes, and the fast twitch of the eyes, and the presence that is created, and the aliveness that I felt after this.

And imagining these warriors that we think of—and I’ve always thought of them as if they were me.

If I look at them as if they’re them, in their environment, in their space, in their time, with those abilities, with that tactile capacity, like, it’s a totally different understanding of a human.

Not these dumb brutes, but instead these, like, dynamic, very intelligent, very body-aware people who slept, ate, and breathed, like, body awareness in order to stay alive.

The Kobe Bryants of Their Era

Max: If you’re a soldier in a marching army, like, you gotta be on. Like, one day you decide, “Oh, today’s not the day,” you get ambushed, and you’re dead.

And it happened all the time, for sure, but not with the elite.

I’m sure the elite warriors, the elite people were—they practiced. They were Kobe Bryants of their era.

Kobe Bryant woke up at 2 a.m., went to the gym, trained for two hours, ate breakfast, took like a 30-minute nap, trained again for two hours, went back out, and he just—a third two-hour training. He trained six hours a day in times of his life.

And that’s why Kobe Bryant was Kobe Bryant.

That’s how these elite people—if you train six hours a day, you do two hours of wrestling in the morning, two hours of, you know, fast twitch or archery or something, and then you do two hours of, like, hand-to-hand combat with wood swords—like, you’re gonna be on.

When that fight comes, you’ve been practicing the whole—it just, it happened that morning. You’re doing something that happened that morning.

Not like, “Oh, fuck, three weeks ago, that’s right, and—you know what I mean? Okay, here we go, boss says.”

It’s like, no.

This is the thing that I do. Like, I live, breathe, and I am this.

Training in Every Moment

LuLu: Yeah, I was feeling that a little bit too of, like, when we were out there, also just noticing the increased awareness that my body had of, like, where the trees were, where the rocks were, how high the water was, and, like, my body in relation to these things.

And also, again, having these memories of, like, oh, shit, these people were training for their thing—these warriors or whatever—they were training for their thing in every moment of the day.

Like, how they sat while they ate, how they breathed while they ate, the rhythm of their eating, their awareness of their surroundings while they were eating, how they walked, how they slept, how they conversed.

Like, every single thing was a moving meditation practice directed toward this mission of, like, becoming at a higher and deeper magnitude and, like, a more articulate expression of this thing that they were.

Movement That Makes You Alive

Max: Yeah, as Lydia and I maybe make this a lifestyle—we’ll see—of movement, of movement dynamism, is merging mind and body, of merging these things.

And we’ve been doing the body part, but we’ve been doing it not intuitively or not based on what we feel we wanna do, but instead because, “Oh, someone said, oh, like, lunges are good,” or “squat lunges are good,” or, you know, “this is good or that.”

Going to the gym’s good and doing these reps are good.

Not like:

I feel alive doing X.

I feel more profound doing Y.

Like, it leaves life out of it.

It’s like, we forget that life, this incredible algorithm and matrix, if you wanna call it—we, as divine beings, we designed it perfectly to wake up our bodies and wake up our consciousness inside of our bodies.

We designed it perfectly to be this simulation, this interaction with this living, organic game, if you will, that would bring out every code that we are.

It’s already designed to do that.

And I think the feeling of, like, aliveness when we do certain things, that is the sign that shows us it’s activating some part of our technology.

From Movement to Embodiment

Max: Going into a gym and repeating the same bilateral movement 15 times, four sets, in an AC, does not place your consciousness inside that part of your body technology.

You lose the opportunity to merge mind and body in that moment.

Probably actually have to take that tissue away because it’s dumb tissue, improperly wired tissue, and then rebuild.

LuLu: Absolutely. You’re probably getting further away from the goal.

Max: Probably, yeah. You become a meathead, right? You don’t, you know.

It’s very different.