Matching Intensity

Intensity in interpersonal relationships occurs naturally when chemistry is involved; personal, intimate, spiritual, sexual energy. They are all inclusive and of the same origins…The source of all Creation (God). A God’s-eye view of our fractal universe may not differentiate, for example, between the energetic signatures of violence and competition. It is not unrealistic to assume that, viewed from a similar energetic/fractal/vibratory perspective; we are seen as holistic “symphonies” of interweaving frequency. Each aspect of our being (emotional, sexual, spiritual. Intellectual, logical. Material, etc.) forms an essential part of the symphonic whole and lends each of us a unique and easily definable pattern. Failure to integrate all available frequencies and aspects of energetic expression presents a less dense, less structurally intense signature. Fully integrated individuals present dense, interwoven signatures. Density often equals intensity. Intensity promotes acceleration in ambient, as well as individually concentrated, vibrational forms. Individuals with extreme intensity disrupt not only energetic systems within the environment, they are capable of disrupting established structures on a cellular, energetic, psychic, sexual, emotional and even societal levels. Being intense sucks. Kinda hard not to shit where you eat……

Dustmakers can’t keep. I wonder how long I will be required to keep this up?

Urgency

I don't know what is coming, but I feel it in my bones. Huge. Dark. Brilliant and terrifying. The world is changing. I am changing. Soon I will fade into the hills, dissipate into the desert. I can hear the trump lifting to waiting lips. It is almost time now. It is almost time.

Abysmal Thinking

Do I create structure and space to promote and protect a delicate relation, or do I do so to protect my own deep fears of ultimate rejection? Can I survive if I do not run? Maybe I am trying to have my cake and eat it too. I may be left with crusty cake and still feel hunger in the pit of my stomach. I am afraid. And I am running in a different way now.

Pausing

Golly Gee.

A pause, a break, a lull in the lifelong conversation, time and space to breathe apart without the constant interchange of emotion and messages through the heavy air. Introspection. Silence. Waiting for the vibrations to silence themselves between. Thinking. Wondering. Hoping. Praying. Was it real, or sensory overload? Sounds and light bouncing to and from, reverberating from flesh to flesh.

It was real. I felt. I suppressed a giggle. Feeling without words the finer interchange of spirit and heart. It is there. Still. Strong. Piercing in the polite staccato of your voice. In your eyes. In the posture of your neck. I feel anew.

I missed your face.

Pipes

Far off goes
The piper playing
Tunes upon the empty air
Floating gently from the highlands
For me
For me

A jig as lively
As the morning
In the market
Sunday early
Clear and clean
Again its drifting
Cross the heather
For me
For me

This time closer
Still I listen
Not a jig
But dirge on the breeze
Full of sadness
Full of longing
Calling home
For me
For me.

Iconoclasm As Liberation

I examine the edifice, created by my own hand. It is listing slightly left and missing gilded trim about some of the edges. It is worn and tired, the paint chipped and rubbed thin by my venerating hands. I have worshiped there, seeking salvation through the mercy of another, seeking connection to my God, vicariously riding on the excess virtue of a plaster saint. Her smile appears sardonic now, mocking and chiding my naive belief and fervor. She appears transformed from flesh to clay before my eyes. Her light fades in the pale noon pallor. Incense wafts sickly heavenward, masking cracks and crevices of indiscretion. Once there was belief. Once there was faith. Once there was an ideal worth kneeling and pleading. Once there was love. Unconditional. Masochistic. Self depreciating. Humbling. But not now. Not anymore. It seems to have dissipated, like the green smoke before me on the alter, scattered to the winds as empty prayers to unfeeling Gods. I mourn the loss deeply and turn toward the bustling world...in hope of salvation.

So from Maria emerges Sophia.

On Being Bastardly

Sometimes I am a bastard. Sometimes I am not a bastard. As I age, I am more not than so. That said. I have been a bastard recently. Famously, perhaps in my bastarding of late. Dumb bastard. I gotta stop that.

Perhaps my manners will improve to jerk, or douche bag. Maybe aspire to dork or ass hat. I doubt that. I don't know what ass hat means.

For now. Bastard. Captain Bastard. Strike a jolly pose.
And wait 24 hours before emailing
And texting
And try not to talk
Or think too much
Bastard

Oscar Knows

All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
Oscar Wilde

Look my way
Turn your head, a tilted ear
To the wind
Listen in the crowd
Feel my eyes searching
For yours among the plastic poses
Sense your way
To me with your whole
Body and soul
Till the small softness of your fingers
Traces the contours of my face
And you exhale
Recognition

And so it is.

Memory

Faint and ghostly
Echoing
Breathing synchronized
Skin on skin
Warm scent of vodka and cherries
Her taste on my lips
Her breath on my neck

Was it a
dream?

Pray for sleep then.
And never wake.

Never
Wake.

Weighing Paths

To stand firm in the storm and see the colors of life swirl and collide, or retreat to shelter and hear only the frenetic wind outside of an empty, dark room...

The storm is for me. Beauty. Drama. Pain and pleasure. Living. I am alive. BTW I did find my balls, I will be using them from now on. What is to be feared? Is it gonna kill me? What if it does...I'm already dying. Some things are well worth the risk, especially when their absence drains the very joy from life and replaces it with drudgery.

Dance with me again. I won't run this time.

The Kali Shiva-Equation

Kali is the ocean, powerful, beautiful, destructive, dangerous, unpredictable, fertile with life. Shiva is the vessel upon the unfathomable force, attempting to navigate the storm and stress, attempting to remain on course despite the random chaos of the swell beneath. Kali is darkness, Shiva is the light. Chaos and order. Feminine and masculine. Neither may submit, neither may rule entirely. Struggle. Passion. Cosmic fucking. Both forces continually wrestling for balance and superiority, both seeking submission and simultaneous domination from the other. Therein lies the essence of life. Therein is the purpose and drive behind authentic existence. Penetration, submission, yielding and resisting, push, pull, love me-hate me, hate me-fuck me. Kali/Shiva locked in erotic combat, never exhausted, never satisfied.

"To get back to the calm stillness of the Source that is Brahma, both Shiva (masculine principle) and Kali (feminine principle) need to be united or fused together into one single whole, and this is further symbolised by the mutual orgasm reached in their sexual union. Now we can see the reason for the Hindu Lingam and Yoni symbol - meaning that the processes of consciousness - which governs physical phenomena - are in essence the same as the procreative process - the union of opposites."

"My eyes are not eyes, beloved, but arrows of light;
My eyebrows are not eyebrows, but swords for your Destruction."

Sounds a lot like dating to me. Maybe I should just relax into it....

Shiva, we must remember, keeps Kali from trashing the cosmos through patience and apparent submission. I think he does it out of choice, knowing that if he, like Kali, allows himself the luxury of total emotional immersion the very fabric of creation is in danger. Shiva stands for strength of purpose, steadfast energy and a grounded disposition, even when Kali is tearing off his dick and using it to impregnate herself...a sobering thought for any man thinking about entering into a relationship with true femininity.

Saying Goodbye

Sometimes a connection is so powerful and intense that it is actually painful to remain close to it. Though it leaves a gaping emptiness inside, it may be beneficial to sever the connection in order to focus and survive in everyday life. Ironic. The absence of the connection makes everyday life appear lifeless and without color. I wonder what is next? I wonder if I will ever feel that again? I wonder if I want to... connections like that change a person forever, it seems life would have been easier not knowing that something like that is truly possible. Very rare. I may never have that again. Is it really living, then? I suppose if I stay open to the possibility of finding it in the future, then the mystery remains and hope can find a toehold.
I am a husk in the wind. I am a dried reed. Has anyone seen my balls?

The Prayer is Still Good

Outcome supersedes the means, specifically as it pertains to manifesting thought and intention into three dimensional reality. The primal impulse originates within the psychic centers of the individual consciousness, spurred perhaps by movement within the holographic collective. The impulse gains form through distillation into thought and intention. When the impulse is stated verbally, visually or through another expressive medium into actual physical reality, it begins the process of physical manifestation into physical reality. The vehicle is irrelevant. The message appears the same vibrationally regardless of the specific manifestation.

In the case of "right and wrong" modes of manifestation... I have seriously misjudged certain individuals and their intentions because I projected my own internal processes and means of manifestation on to them and extrapolated probable internal processes according to my biased inclinations. I was wrong. The thinking errors are mine. Drumstick or rattle, the prayer is effective.

Dissipation

Things fade...

Situational Schizophrenia

I'm fine, really. I clean my house, pay bills, go to work, cook, pay taxes (not really) and maintain a normal, scheduled life. I shower, brush my teeth, wear clean clothing and appear fairly normal and grounded. Generally I am quite simple, I prefer clean, somewhat reserved surroundings and furnishings. I eat simply. Moderation is my mantra for most things. I don't drink much. I don't smoke anymore. I walk thirty minutes a day and work out three to four times a week... I'm emotionally stable (actually boring if you ask a few exes). So......
Why am I channeling Amy Winehouse? Why did I pay rent late this month incurring a $75 late fee (I have not paid rent late since 2006), walking around on a sprained foot gorked on pain killers, forgetting to show up for a scheduled shift at work, tearing my co workers a new one when they approached me oddly about a shift change, sleeping till noon, allowing my dishes and wash to pile up, not going to bed until 3 AM or skipping sleep all together for days, drinking nothing but coffee for days on end then devouring entire stores of ding dongs and cheese whiz, sending sexually inappropriate emails, writing rambling, Manson-like letters on the back of Jiffy Lube receipts and delivering them after midnight, and acting generally erratic and altogether nucking futz? Maybe I have a lesion on my temporal lobe. Maybe I am chemically imbalanced. Maybe I am experiencing early early early onset dementia. Maybe I am in love.

In the case of the first three possible causes, I would hope to seek professional help in controlling or eliminating the condition. In the latter, I hope I never recover.

Suspended in the Snare of Karmic Agreements

Acting upon a pre-incarnational agreement is tricky business. It isn’t exactly a contract and, as a lesser agreement, is considerably less binding in nature…almost voluntary in contrast to the obligatory nature of actual karma. Tit for tat on a cosmic level, this lesson for that lesson, my gift for your gift. Sometimes it equates to mutual slapping and eye gauging in favor of a mutually desired, though often individually exclusive, set of learned skills or behavioral settings, insights or fallow talents. Why? I don’t know. The draw equates to love. The outcome to agony.

Lesson learned. Objective reached. I need many beers and more than a few titties to get past this one. Nearly lost myself there in a fucking bowl of crazy noodle soup. Lost myself willingly, mind you, and without power or will to resist. Selling of souls is less perverse and more rewarding it seems. (If only I still had mine).

That last intertwining was very destructive. I am injured deeply and fatally by its passing, a razor slicing through the viscera in my chest, a screwdriver pushed deeply into the grey matter of my squirming thoughts. I am the parched earth. I am the bleached bones. I am the slab beneath the emaciated corpse. I am ash. From this I will be reassembled and will live again. I hope I have a bigger wiener this time.

WTF

The Relative Advantage of Occult Foresight

Seeing the future course of events through a divinatory window does not necessarily alleviate related existential friction or allow an individual to change, to a great degree, the outcome. Sometimes it is better not to know what is around the bend, but to enjoy the moment. Foreknowledge may actually nullify essential experience by focusing the psyche on a coming nexus and detracting from actual in flight entertainment. How does one continue on a path whose predetermined outcome is negative? Faith I suppose. I know where my road ends...I've seen the end. It has allowed me some peace, but has lent an air of devil-may-care irresponsibility to my approach. I'm not sure that is a good thing. Why pursue a relationship (for example) when the known outcome is not a positive one? I don't know...but I am being drawn along toward the falls. Any day now, but I feel resigned to experience the conflagration. Its in the cards anyway. This will end badly.

Rediscovering Self

Wow. There I am. Haven't seen me for awhile. Is it possible to feel like me again, seems odd after so many years of hypnogogic movement. I feel my heart, kinda tight and unexercised. What do I do with this now? Not really sure, so much to see and feel...pouring into my senses like rain on alfalfa fields. Something smells like popcorn. Something feels a bit like mud between my toes. Something warms my back like sunlight through a break in the summer clouds. I recognize me again.

Acceptance and Surrender as an Act of Transfiguration.

Free falling into the void; allowing the bottom to drop out and accepting, as a powerful force of unavoidable destiny, the visceral, bone jarring step from the rationale of perceived control allows the mind to jettison its own inky flotsam and surrender all conscious processes of internal dialogue and intellectualization in favor of a zen-like, lack of control. It gives up because it is unable to do otherwise. With this surrender comes a peace, a full acceptance of the power of destiny and of the complete powerlessness of the individual ego to alter, in any way, the sheer force of the energetic torrent. "Be still and know that I am God".
There is peace in sacrifice. There is peace in surrender. We often note, as the initial shock wears off and we become accustomed to the fall, the falling away of landmarks, of anything against we can logically measure our velocity. Signs and landmarks fade. Without reference, we feel weightless and buoyant, warm and free. The ego dissolves, faith emerges. We realize, with a degree of shock, that our everyday lives are filled with senseless worries and artificially invoked priorities. We can hardly see them now as they fade against the vastness of the healing void. We are dissected from the inside out...paradigms, ideas, theories, beliefs...all strain and dissolve, then our skin, bones, sinews, organs and tissues. We are left with only the shining intelligence of our core being, yet we live and breath and find ourselves able to comprehend, feel and function. We die and are reborn instantaneously into a paradigm of eternal parameters. We are eternal. And this life is only an illusion. The Watcher stands at the edge of the abyss, holding in its taloned hands the eviscerated corpse of our mortal existence. He will return it to us in short order, repaired and cleaned, but only under the condition that it be used a a vehicle for further experience and not worshiped as the actual self.

The Power of Diconnecting

I am letting go now. I am being still and trusting in the justice of the creator. Everything will work according to the higher good.

And so it is...

Social Concretia

Knock knock.
Who's There?
Whydoo.
Whydoo who?
Whydoo I post ebombs and vent out loud, naked, and in writing when I should patch my pie hole with several linear yards of tact, spin my thinkerbox, write it out in word, actually review it, highlight, click and obliterate any and all posts before unleashing them on no one in particular? Why? WHY? WHHHYYYYY?

OK, on a totally unrelated note, when you hear a loud pop just behind your right ear and start to smell bacon, that's probably not a really good thing, right?

Exorcism

I had a horrible epiphany today. I am still disturbed by it. I have no idea why it carried such energy for me. I don’t generally believe in evil, but I may have stumbled upon it inadvertently. Very unnerving. Dark disturbing things are being dredged up. I am in utter despair. I am lost inside of my own thoughts. I am tortured. I am unable to shake it. WTF?

I pass and glance habitually,
In the corner, a figure tattoos itself on my retina
I watch it there horrified, grey and squirming
Writing naked and shining

Glossy in its own juices. Shiny like a black beetle emerging from a corpse.
More insect than man, barely discernable amidst the filth.
“Love me” it cries “Need me”
The sound of death, sticky and shrill, tortured and gleeful. Entitled and threatening.

Greasy head on nervous lap
Curled and crippled.
Cold clammy hands searching for others to wring the warmth from.

It lies contorted in orgasmic shudders, grasping at breast and arm, clawing at the empty putrid air made even fouler by its cries.
All the while gurgling and mumbling softly through a mucus filled purr.
Ceaselessly seeking suckle and warm embrace.
“Don’t leave me. Take care of me…”

Dark eyes glaring angrily, boring holes
Through any and all perceived competition
For mothers attention.
“Hold me” it pleads “Comfort me”.

Its mother shivers in disgust and comforts it with
Her unsteady, strained voice
Barely suppressing the urge to crush it
To end its slithering life
And bury it in the dirt somewhere far from her clawed bosom, far from all life as not to
Pollute the fertile ground with its seeping filth.

She sits broken and resigned to fate, unable to carry out her thoughts,
Unable to escape the horror draped over her own body. She created it; she must sustain its life. She must suffer. She must suffer. She is not worthy of
Freedom or
Redemption.

It shifts and our eyes meet. It hisses at me and postures aggressively. Then relaxes and Smiles.

I realize
With utter revulsion
My own soul reflected there.
In the mirror.
And I despair.

Matter-of-fact-destiny

What if the destination, the nexus, the destiny of an individual path lies ahead and is, fundamentally, unalterable regardless of choice or action? What does that mean? What are the implications of a predetermined outcome? What of choice? I suppose behaving badly or refusing to allow events to coalesce through intentional poking of the emerging form may, to a degree, alter certain aspects of the outcome...but it appears to have little effect on the energetic structure, the basic quantum form of the events culmination. We can change how it looks, but we cannot change the actualization of the energetic process. Shockingly enough, source does not appear to discriminate between physical manifestations of emerging energetic form. It looks, to me, a lot like poking a finger into a basin of water. The water returns to the vacuum left by the withdrawn digit, but is not in exact molecular configuration it assumed prior to the event. To the naked eye it appears the same. The essence is restored and is made manifest through a realignment of elemental structure, altered as it may be, but the form appears unchanged.

I would argue that a Gods eye view of our particular fractal may be of a process only observable in terms of energetic vibration and frequency, that the actual physical manifestation of form is observable only to those living within this specific wavelength. It is, therefore irrelevant in a pure cosmic sense. If this is feasible, it suggests a total absence of externally determined morality and order. Victim and perpetrator share the same spectrum of energy, if not the identical signature. My head hurts.

Atonement and Self Destruction

The human soul is not predisposed to guilt. It is not predisposed to anguish and fear related to existential pressures. These are learned responses, a result of suppressed instincts and inherent spiritual connection to the creator. We are taught to fear punishment as a way of controlling our behavior and belief, of ensuring our adherence to prescribed law and dogmatic form. We are raised as slaves. "Be ye as children" rings heavy and visceral, not as a mantra for foolish trust in a power wielding superstructure but as a guide for living and breathing in this hologram. It allows an avenue of escape, a path of wonder and gentle disenfranchisement from the world of control and entrenched dogmatic vomitus. We are free. We are children. We are incapable of acting contrary to the will and design of the creator because every possible action and behavior conceivable by man is allowed to exist through the creator. There are no taboos. There are no boundaries.

This is a game. Just a game.

It effects us only when we allow it to become real to us in our own minds. We are the source of our own discontent. We create our own guilt, pain, regret...maybe we feel we have really fucked things up, or are somehow responsible for inflicting anguish on those around us. Maybe we have done some things we are no proud of. That may be the case, but everything we have done was within the framework set in motion by the creator and is, by its very design, in perfect, succinct orbit with the will and intention of God. We are biological pulse engines. We are fractal cells in a higher organism. Does a germ feel remorse for acting within the parameters of its creation? Do meteorites feel guilt when they annihilate life and pollute upon impact? What of volcanoes, storms, sun spots...? Do each, in turn, feel the result of their actions with a degree of guilt and uncertainty or are they content to move within the scope of their creation? We, as pulse engines, are meant to illicit responses in one another. We are meant to project, observe and report back any and all interactions and subsequent reactions so that source may increase in understanding and intelligence. We do what we do because we are created that way. We do what we do because we are incapable of moving beyond the parameters of our prescribed programming. God wrote the program, who are we to question it?

The idea of punishment for perceived transgression is a learned response triggered by a system of thought and belief meant to control behavior. It is not part of the original code, but a subset of subsequent commands written in to the program by entities living within it.It is an illusion within the illusion and has no real basis for adherence. Once the mind grasp the concept and observes the illusory nature of the entire construct, the sheer absurdity of the sub programming becomes humorously clear, and Ganesh laughs. There is no control. There is no choice within the construct. Step out. Get a birds eye view. Only then can you reenter and truly become the master of your destiny. Plus its a lot more fun to deal with people when you see them as 2D projections and fuzzy data.

Benjamin's Religion of Destruction

Capitalism is probably the first instance of a cult that creates guilt, not atonement...The nature of the religious movement which is capitalism entails the endurance right to the end, to the point where God, too, finally takes on the entire burden of guilt, to the point where the universe has been taken over by that despair which is actually its secret hope. Capitalism is without precedent, in that it is a religion that offers not the reform of existence but its complete destruction. It is the expansion of despair, until despair becomes the religious state of the world in the hope that this will lead to salvation." Walter Benjamin

When we pray for abundance, our financial world begins to disintegrate. Abundance is not compatible with the monetary system which is, at its fundamental core, based on a philosophy of scarcity and transient worth. Reaching for and attaining a true state of abundance will require of every soul the complete renunciation of the current, or argue ably any, fear based token monetary system.

Let's set this fucker off.

The Trap of Over Intellectualization

A well developed, personal connection to Source is essential for day to day navigation through the minefield of contemporary existence. In its absence, the higher chakras can be over stimulated and we may find ourselves without the direction we require. Intellectual navigation relies on expressed information as guidepost for decision making. Expressed information is extremely subjective, even deliberately misleading and corrupt. What do you believe? Whom do you trust? Excessive reliance on cerebral processes will leave us confused and unsure of the path. Navigation must be done through the lower chakras, through a connection with the sensate, intuitive energies that bind us to the cosmos. A gut feeling. Instinct. Ideally, all of our power centers must be functioning a optimal levels in order for us to feel our way through the maze. We should “see” the information with our intellect, “weigh” the variables for truth, “process” the course of action and its relationship to our true, internal orientation and “decide” the most logical course of action to carry it out. We are endowed with sentience and instinct. Our temporal navigation must include balanced amounts of both. We are beings of light encased in suits of flesh, bone and hair. We are angels in monkey suits.

Archetypal Onions

Forget incremental peeling away of psychic and emotional layers. Forget gentle, nourishing counseling sessions. Chop the onion in two. Drive the cleaver into the block. Get to the root now. Lance the boil and drain the sore. Some things require it, or they fester and pollute the entire organism. Maybe that’s what the Christ means by amputating or plucking out the offending member. Better the fractal part than the organic whole.
I offer thanks to Wakan Tanka, The Great Spirit and for the willing embrace and much needed service of Jorge and the Lakota traditions. Thank you for sitting with the pipe. Thank you for keeping essential ceremonies alive and open to seekers and those in need of healing.
The onion is cleaved. The issues and intentions are coalescing. I can hear the cosmic laugh again and there is peace in my heart. And So It Is....

Resignation as Repose

Chaos reigns in the homestead these days. I'm done for I think. Just when things were beginning to look so promising...I am completely exhausted. I am stressed to my limit. I suppose now would be a good time to practice what I preach and sink back into the stream, maybe I should trust that all of this is actually taking me somewhere and just allow it to happen. That appears to be the natural default, as I am experiencing it. I enjoyed a pretty good stretch of peace. Much needed. I allowed myself to dream a little. That too was needed. Plans were formulated, ideas were formed and dreams were allowed to play out in my mind in hopes of finding their way into physical manifestation. That was a nice thing. Very nice. Time to thank the fates for a brief respite and turn, once more, toward more achievable goals, like putting food in mouths and paying to keep the heat on. I'm cautiously optimistic about the future. Just a bit less excited. I will miss the dreams...

Zen For Now

I am in a strange place right now. Torn between internal wishes and external circumstance. I am still. Not paralyzed, but perfectly still inside. I am calm. I am assured that the outcome of this present path is exactly what it is supposed to be. I am where I am supposed to be, doing exactly the right things at the precise time and place. All is as it should be. I release all attachment to outcome and step into the void. Let everything unfold according to the highest good. It is out of my hands now. I will accept it as it comes without judgment and without expectation.

I'm trusting you God. Please don't punk me.

PS: I release all attachment to the possibility that being punked by God is a very real probability. I still expect, without really expecting, that my happiness figures in the equation somewhere, even if punking is a nasty, but necessary, prerequisite.

You're totally gonna punk me, aren't you...

I'm just sayin... if this is one of those tease-the-cat-with-the-laser-in-order-to-lure-him-into-the-car-for-a-neutering-at-the-vet type of things...

Existential Crisis

I am bald. I have copious amounts of nose and ear hair. What's the meaning of this?

I am in limbo. This limbo is made from my own indecision and ultra dogmatic, super rigid concept of honor and integrity. I feel simultaneously obligated and disgusted by my own intrinsic drives. Interesting. Horrifying. Like viscera leaking from a wrecked car...is that a hand?

Confessions of an Insomniac

It seems a bit of a pickle. Inaction has stalled karmic progression. Had I known that the eventual success of certain fated associations were predicated upon the exercise of swift, decisive action, I would have taken it already...and would be able to pursue, unencumbered, without the ponderous Taurean predilection toward mired down resolve and rationalization. I didn't know.I really didn't. Maybe that's the git. Maybe that's the lesson...that inaction and indecision, regardless of the intention, lead to stagnation. That is, like, the shittiest lesson ever. I am really hoping for a do over here. I think I may have missed the window. A window? Who knew? I am baffled. I am grumpy. I am hosting a small pity party.

Conundrum of Synchronicity and Implied Destiny

If events are linked, inexorably, by apparently chance coincidence and, taken together, appear to lead toward a predetermined climax along the continuum, then they are, by definition, no longer coincidental but represent a logically calculated and seemingly preconceived pattern of linear progression in a programmed equation. This would render the coincidental calculated and the synchronous succinct. If not, we are demi-fools wandering the unfathomable cosmos desperately collecting random flotsam and assigning definitions according to subjective observation of imagined correlations.

Why do we search for meaning? We might all be fucking nuts.

Sometimes the prophesied path that leads to a goal finds the goal to be hint or clue for the next piece of the puzzle...often stirring an insight and leading to even greater insight and understanding. Sometimes it baffles us. Sometimes it causes discomfort or shatters the ego.

See, the problem is this...if we planned this life before we came here and surrendered our choice after the initial planning in order to experience this life as a series of related coincidence, then we basically bent ourselves over the cosmic sofa in order to learn our own planned lessons. That makes us sadistic bastards. Or retarded. One would think it unnecessary to lobotomize oneself in order to study the phenomenon of lobotomy...wouldn't one? WTF? Or, heaven forbid, we actually have the ability to choose and our course of action is not predetermined, does that suggest that we have, essentially, designed a vacation into the wild, burned the map, scooped out our own brains, super activated our gonads and plopped ourselves down in alien territory with absolutly no guarantee of a safe return. That's pretty fucked up. Must have been passing the herb at the contract signing meeting.

Ok,ok as long as were looking at cosmic tom foolery...If the cards predict a gift as a destination or nexus for a prescribed path (for the sake of shits and giggles, let's say a pony) and we find, upon reaching the nexus that the gift is in fact a pretty box containing another path suggestion or insight (let's say a large turd), were we, as the architects of our own destiny, horrible and altogether ill tempered in our planning? No one wants a turd. Everyone wants a pretty box. What if all the boxes are really covering turds...is that why the cards predict pretty boxes instead of turds? I don't want a turd. Good thing that next one is a pretty box. Maybe it's a pony...

Just a Spark

Anarchy is not intended to be sustainable. It is not a system of government, a codified list of rules and beliefs, or a mind set geared toward cultural constructivism. It is a spark, a flash, a small flame that ignites a paradigm obliterating explosion. It is destructive by nature. It lies dormant and, like diesel fuel, can only be ignited by tremendous pressure. It deconstructs. It strips flesh from bone and grinds bone to dust. It is doomed to consumption in the conflagration instigated by its own primal spark. It is a catalyst. It is tinder. It is powder and fuse.

Mass Delusion

I attended a local Christmas Mass last night, I thought that my sense of disenfranchisement from, and general dissatisfaction with, religion may be due, in part, to my stubborn refusal to attend any gathering remotely smacking of religiosity. I decided to be open and follow my internal nagging. I was going to give Jesus another chance.
I was seeking a message. I was seeking a confirmation of my path, or an alternative view that could somehow supplement my present course or, at the very least, expand my vision beyond my irritating tendency toward the nihilistic.
So I prayed. I sang. I lit the candle. I greeted my neighbors in the pews. I smiled at the priest. So far so good…then the pastor rose to speak. I weighed his words carefully, sifting through them for deeper meaning, for a message tailored just to me.
Is it there? “No”, a small dark pressure pulsed behind my right ear urging me to wait. “Be still”. I shifted my weight and listened again. Is that it? “No”, the pressure came again. “Be still and now that I am God”. I cleared my mind and exhaled softly. I listened differently, allowing the words to enter my mind and drift about unmolested by pretense or logic.
Then it came. Softly at first, wound around a rather innocuous story, then ever more bold as the narrative unfolded…bursting forth in contrived flamboyance and a rising baritone falsetto…”individuals cannot receive messages from God. Messages from the Almighty God are only given to groups of believers, and only through an appointed shepherd. Beware” he continued “of any man claiming to receive such communications, for he is being deceived”. The congregation nodded. A few moments later, ushers passed the collection plates. I dropped in a twenty.
There is was. My message. A quick confirmation through my own, direct access to the creator left no doubt in my soul of the total, intentionally deceitful nature of the comment. Of course he would say those things. It’s just good business. Job security.
I sat awhile longer and observed the crowd, choir and assorted staff. I witnessed the nodding heads and the smiling, flat affects of the congregation in the sea around me. A peace descended on me. “Am I free to go now, has the message been given?” The warm pressure in my left temporal lobe assured me that it was time for me to go and that the affirmation had been delivered as intended.
I stood and left the building. As I walked back to my car along the snow packed sidewalk, I thanked my creator for the privilege of direct communication, and for the confirmation I had been given that my path was the correct one for me. I expressed thanks for a wink and a nod, a cosmic chuckle and a peaceful assurance that I would never be required to leave the course of my spiritual direction in the hands of another.
Again the warmth in my left temple, and Ganesh chuckled.

Borrowed Light

We cannot exist on the faith, or word, of others anymore. We cannot put our faith in ancient, stagnant codifications of belief and behavior. Spirituality must be dynamic, instantaneous, individual and universally accessible if it is to be of any good. Spirituality is a map through the morass. Outdated maps do us no practical service. Real time spirituality is the only path to survival in these uneasy times. Who do we trust? Where do we go? Everyone has an opinion. Most are misguided. Some are intentionally spreading disinformation. Each of us is privy to DIRECT, instant, two way communication with the source of creation. Each of us is born with this connection, this ability, this essential sense. We must now learn to develop and trust in it. The time is rapidly approaching when we will no longer be able to trust others, only our own internal voice, our own secure connection to the cosmic mover. Those mired down in codified, non dynamic systems will search in vain for answers to issues not even imagined when the ancient texts were penned.