Irregularity Occurs… When Mixing Life With Nutrition

Jun13

It happens in the gut, just after I see a tidal wave of negative emotion coming my way. It’s a tingling of the skin, initially – a raising of the follicles on the back of the neck, and then it seeps quickly to the very center of assimilation. Suddenly, I am locked into a duration of a most cumbersome, conscious awareness of my own digestive system and how it’s supposed to be doing its job. This is an unintentional, untenable burden. Since when does God defer control of this fickle flange of flesh that calls itself me, to my own frail and foolish ego? Since ever-bloody now, it would seem!

As cats in the urban wild frequently engage psychic abrasion upon casual encounter, I wonder if theirs too becomes as intensely intestinal an affair. And, within that same can of worms, what then is the counterpart within human society to one recognized in the dead of night by vicious, dueling, human baby sounding cries?

There is a… clenching at the abdomen – sometimes tight, and sometimes not so much so, but it is now always there, making me feel, most intimately, every little thing that it’s doing. And, should I take my mind off the puzzle for but a fraction of a while, it will now retaliate by turning its own processing plant topsy-turvy or by halting operation altogether. In its mindless tantrum, it doesn’t seem to realize that it will feel the brunt of its behavior just as severely as I. But, it does realize, more and ever more, that it and I are not the same.

If you are truly sane, do you ever find yourself communicating with or relating to others as if you were dreaming and attempting to interact with characters existing therein – or with yourself from outside the dream? Or… well, that certainly couldn’t be the right attempt at questioning, now could it? Yet, I don’t quite know how to ask the question because I’m not even sure of what it is I so desperately need knowledge. Might this all be characteristic of a mental disorder – coalesced through genetic pooling through the societal, racial consciousness of humanity, then identified by medical science through the same apparatus that caused its being? Might I have deliberately chosen to couple with such peculiar choreography?

It is what it is (whatever the *@&# that was ever meant to mean), and it’s all good (that too!). Because, in this case, the benefits of being Strange far outweigh any perceivable catastrophe over originating outside my focus. Should a whiff of enlightenment happen to befall a person because of me, and it’s happening would be resented by that soul, then I offer, do order a nose that doesn’t smell, for it is in breathing that life is experienced.

So what if an unexpected nasty look form a stranger still sends a grown man’s systems into a tailspin? So what if I am to know not the cause of it all? Is it so strange to feel, or is it merely human? The peutics will assure me that there is a continuum with ‘no feel’ at one end and ‘hyper feel’ at the other. It’s a give-and-take situation that I’m still learning how to manage. I wouldn’t give up this ‘affliction’ for a million pots of gold and a golden personality!

One might assume that the Aspie, Mark 1, Mod 0, doesn’t seem to know a whole lot of much, but is tightly focused in some peculiarly orphaned or alien area of expertise. I’m not even certain of that much (nor of what my area is not), let alone whether my relationships are particularly more Aspergeresque than the next man’s.

What seems typical for me is to move into an apartment, to notice the lovely Mexican spouse neighbor in the yard, and then to have her – in one incinerating instant – judge my attention to be that of a drooling, lust infested lowlife, complete with a look from her that later had me examining the basement floor for pieces of my heart, never to be recovered because they’ve made their way through the cracks in the cement and are headed back to the earth’s core. What the fluke did I do? Was I wearing a mask of some kind? Because I certainly didn’t give off any kind of ‘vibe’ of an ‘uncivilized’ or disrespectful nature. I wasn’t even feeling that. Is there maybe some speck of truth as to why some societies keep their women covered from head to toe? Dread I even go there after all this work!

I was simply struck by a work of art, and I responded, as any beholder, with a momentary look of awe, which she mistook for something else… something I could only imagine to be vile and utterly gross, judging by her nonverbal reaction. If she would have said something – anything – like “I’m Wilma. My husband Fred and I live next door…” – something….

But, since that didn’t happen, and since no one could rightfully expect that she be the one to say something amid my characteristic, foot-in-mind stupor, and since this tragically was a first encounter, and since neither of us was strong in the other’s language… and since I’m different, and thus blessed with the emotional clarity of a severely randomized Rubik’s Cube – that was the beginning of a steadily declining, somewhat luke-brittle relationship not only with her, but her husband, the Mexican community that operates and maintains the property, and, for all intent and purpose on God’s green earth, the bulk of ambient society. Three years hence, not having ever said squat to the Flintstones, with but an occasional wave to Fred, I’m ready to move on in blind pursuit of ever grander relationship blunders.

I eventually come to know, though rather later than never, that how I attract and then deal with such episodes is most directly related to my digestive health, and most ultimately, to my overall wellbeing (and perhaps everyone else’s with whom I should encounter therein). As plausible as any remarkable coincidences between celestial drama and people’s affairs on earth could be, people who don’t deal with their emotions properly are much more prone to digestive-order carcinomas. Why is it that normal folks tend to get to healthy conclusions without going through all the crap that I seem to choose to go through by default? Nonetheless, I will be alienated! Inquiry is futile!

What I take away from this by now… is an Understanding that surpasses knowing achieved by other means. My rational mind knows quite well by now that some large scale forgiveness is clearly indicated here. I’ll get it done, in my own way, and in my own time. Hopefully, I’m doing just that by writing about it. And, do I care what the hell you think? My analyst tells me that it is healthy for me not to give a rip about anything like that or even close to it in any way because it’s none of my business… and we Aspies, some of us, tend to be quite the busy bodies regarding others’ thoughts and feelings. It’s like putting your oxygen mask on first aboard an aircraft. I honor your free will by reaching for a life support apparatus other than your opinion of me. I honor supporting those like me, and their supporters, through the sharing. What I take away to my new dwelling is a deeper understanding of human nature, further principles of spiritual cause and effect, and yet another chance to get it right.

Ditsy Dancing Doglet Day

May31

${#moods_dlg.Cheeze}$ Talk About Your Month of May! ${#moods_dlg.Showers}$

‘Tis a ditsy dancing doglet day when all thought is cast astray while watching nature’s angels play. ‘Such joy to be in love this way!

Life is much about feeling, thus the ‘to do’ list (distinguished, as necessary, from what one does merely to survive) is created directly from the heart. That is to say, whatever one is doing is driven by how one wanted to end up feeling as a result of, or along with the doing. The initial feeling may be very general… like ‘love,’ for example. Then, that general feeling may blossom into a sphere of specific possibilities – different ways in which love can be experienced… like being with someone special on a moonlit night, or taking in a funny movie on the spur of the moment, or watching a delightfully daffy little ball of fur taking her masters [thesis] on a joy ride of her own design. Thus the heart generates its own list of things it would most like to feel. In response, the mind sees the heart’s list as a blueprint, then creates what it calls a ‘to do’ list. This, it seems, is how we humans go down. The blossom’s mist begets all doing.

Does that mean that I stop what I’m doing to run off in pursuit of my very own bouncing bundle of spiritual wisdom. Well… no, not right this second. I need to at least finish this train of thought, because this is good stuff – something really worth writing [Home] about. It’s not so much about a moment in the life of an aspiring Magic Realist. It is much more about those teachers who help me attain and maintain such esteemed title. At the same time… those darned little ditsy dancing doglets do ‘ding’ my day, though with kinder, gentler… more melodic display. So, I continue to type, then from my screen look away. I simply take breaks, then oft’ watch as they play. Perhaps I thus channel the words I’m to say…. Might I then tell of each in a personal way?

Of the myriad universe of snowflake abundantly available to cling to one’s nose and eyelashes, as it were, do consider the ditsy dancing doglet. The clown, the acrobat, the ballerina, the dramatist, the entertainer – all are ordained to steal the heart through natural performance, thereby infusing the soul with fresh energy to experience the joy that physical existence is meant to bring. Airy fairy isn’t phooey to the rationalist of merit and mettle. To such, the notion of a God of spirit experienced as love, as expressed through other beings, is but one kind of fruit surrounding the same seed. It is irrelevant what one seed believes as compared to what it can feel and how it can be nourished and encouraged to grow – to take root while reaching for the sky.

Earlier dawn becomes me, as just as well may later dusk through dusk-side-dawn of days. There’s a quietness about the village as sounds of crickets, and of birds’ singing, claim this airtime. People-things are still behind the doors of their gussied up, twenty-first-century caves. I sit, in mine, at a journaling appliance rather than at a wooden desk with candle, scroll and pen, only because I experience motion sickness while looking at my own handwriting, and sometimes I still can’t decipher it… but that’s tangential, and perhaps an issue worthy of future journey.

Trixie, the terrier across the way, is out with her keepers to greet the new day. What I hear is a cacophony of joy: “Arf, Arf, Arf… Arf, Arf! Come on, Trixie… That-a-girl… Honey, careful; you might lose her leash….” After about twenty minutes or so: “Goodness! Trixie, Come back here! Trixie, get back here…!” Trixie has somehow broken free and is now prancing blissfully in the vastness of the waiting lap of nature. As I watch from my window at what’s unfolding, I am mystified by how this creature so skillfully gets her way by pretending to be so utterly stupid an eternally innocent. Nature has hired her to do exactly this, and she is a model employee!

She proves to me, at least, that she is the evolved life form – the brilliant dimwit who could run for office. Her keepers coax her lovingly as she advances in every other direction but where they want her to go, her head held high and eyes aflutter as she flicks, struts, and toys with her keepers by virtue of her seeming and sudden inability to understand and obey verbal commands. After about an hour, the chase is still on, yet the tone of Trixie’s pursuers has shifted slightly: “Goddammit! I will take you to the pound! Get over here! Get over here, NOW!” After a while, the present drama has completed yet another cycle…

…And within a while adjacent, the Daisy Doglet who lives to the right, barks a greeting through the screen door: “Rau, rau, rau, rau, rau… “ Ah… and, she senses she needn’t repeat that. I interpret correctly as “Doggonnit, come play!” Having accepted my request for her ongoing linguistic tutorial services, she checks up on me, from time to time, to see if I’m up on my studies. If I know what she’s saying, she gets that telepathically, then sends me back: “Just checking,” and goes about her way.

Troy, the snippet of a Dachshund who resides to the left, is just under the size of an adolescent squirrel. A squeaky kind of dialect can be heard often in the background. The sound is similar to that of a dog’s rubber toy rather than that of the tiny fecal colored mass one sees darting through and out of the grass. If you meet him half way, he’ll leap like a frog to give your nose a lick regardless of the kind of ‘hair day’ you might be having.

Whenever Raindance comes around, I am prepared for a very special treat – especially if it happens to be raining or if someone engages her with a live garden hose. I don’t know if she has not a human keeper, or such may give her uncommon latitude. Nevertheless, not knowing her name, I call her Raindance. Whenever she’s around on a sunny day, one of the villagers will naturally turn on a hose because all seem to know that she just goes absolutely ballistic over moving water of any kind. She will jump and twirl and dance to her heart’s content, biting the water in midair, as if huge droplets were tasty floating treats. She’ll then get out of the stream, run around, shake herself off thoroughly, then do it all over again – for hours if one is willing to operate the hose for that long.

And when it does rain, she is quite possibly the happiest being on the block. Thunder and lightning don’t seem to faze her in the least. Perhaps she perceives the heavens as offering thunderous and spectacular applause for her performance. As the rains subside, as often quickly they do in midday, she shakes off once more and takes a final bow, her front legs outstretched and her head down. As she trots past, I give her a cheer as well, from my heart, through my mind. She picks that up, but shyly then, sends back to me: “Aw, shucks… twernt nuthin.”

Is a dog for everyone? In an ideally balanced world, certainly not. That’s not even necessarily the point here. These are but a few of one’s ‘favorite things,’ offered to the masses and to be shared among those who may fancy, for whatever… and just because. God Bless! Blessed Be! Namaste! Timbah his arms open wide!

Seriously Seeking Seeress

May20

It’s been a while since you were last seen. What brings you in today?

I don’t seem to see as well as I used to.

‘To See’ – such a relative… infinitive thing, isn’t it? Nonetheless, your prescription may need adjusting; an examination may be indicated.

First of all, to establish something of a benchmark, let’s get a closer look at how you’ve come to choose to perceive less than all there is. Here’s a vanguard question to get things going: How do I look to you?

Excuse me?!

Is your hearing in question as well, or are you just pretending to be shocked by my question?

Well, I am shocked… and a little pissed, although I couldn’t begin to tell you why. Nor can I determine what the hell you meant by your question, let alone whether it’s even appropriate in this setting.

Oh? And just what setting is this? Isn’t this the setting in life that you chose to enter into just to be with me in this moment? You’re no drama king, and you know damned well what I meant by the question.

Look, you’re the one who came to me for help. So now, here we are in a sterile ‘white’ room with medical props and a closed door – just the two of us. I will help you. Let’s just drop the crap! I’ll ask you once again. How do I look to you?

Well, since you put it that way, I am relieved. For much of my life I’ve been waiting for some undeniably metaphysical event to happen to me, for a change, like a pumpkin turning into a Mercedes or a burning bush or something. This visit… this ‘conversation’ tends to meet generally preconceived criteria.

I trust you don’t ‘generally preconceive’ there’s oil to be checked here, or that my bush may be aflame…. How do I look to you?

You did ask me that, didn’t you?

As I submit to the meeting of our eyes, my heart is accessed directly, and a knob long forgotten about is gently adjusted. It is as if you know more about my emotional nature in one instant than my own mother could have known in a lifetime.

Ooo… Good! Continue.

It is as though my consciousness is penetrated and probed by a kind, intelligent, powerful loving force. Yet, I do sense an ego… one that I can only describe as feminine. Your beauty and your softness do not diminish in any way the sheer force of your spirit as it shows me who and what is real.

Kinda borders on the cornball… but, who am I to judge, and then to demand better? Keep going.

That’s just it with you women, isn’t it? You do judge, and then demand better… ALL THE TIME!! A man pours his heart out to a woman, and she kicks back and says, “Hmm… take a number, and hold your breath in the waiting area.” Must every man who beholds you be Shakespeare or Don Juan if he is to speak of it?

My goodness! We did strike a nerve, didn’t we? And, so soon in our Communion. Words don’t tell much. They convey but a fraction of truth. Language is an imperfect occupation of human design, and you need to lighten up!

OK, then let me ask you something. How do other men respond when you ask them? How do you assess their answers?

I do it non-verbally, to be sure, without so much as a “Hmm.” And, how other men respond to me is totally irrelevant.

How so?

Well, if I answered that, I’d be engaging in cascade irrelevance…

…a talent at which women generally excel anyway!

You’ve got quite a chip on your shoulder, or up your circuitry, and it’s probably what’s obstructing your overall Vision.

If you were of another field of the profession, I’d expect by now that you would proceed to probe my childhood and my relationship with mother.

Dear sir, I AM your childhood and your relationship with ALL women. We talked about this. Can’t you remember?

…And, as Rod Serling’s theme is hammered out on a toy xylophone in a gray area due north of the third eye, I am a deer frozen in time by the blinding headlights of eternity…

Okay… Okay, not all truth can or should be revealed at once… evidently. So, forget about all that; it’s a construct of the divine paradox.

So, now we can revert to a more standard ‘script?’

Until you come to remember, I suppose there’s no other way. And, since you insist on being so pineally impotent, we’ll go with the Smellin Chart.

Not the Snellen Chart?

If I’d have meant ‘Snellen’, I’d have said ‘Snellen.’ That’s the ‘script’ that got you your current prescription! You don’t even remember that? No, we’re talkin’ Smellin’ here, pure and simple – simply the most therapeutic kind of seein’ since sliced bread.

Uh-oh, I’m afraid to ask.

Then don’t! Just shut your trap… and kneel before me.

${#moods_dlg.Propose}$

Wow! As stubborn as you are, you certainly have no trouble at all with that! If you are able to speak, tell me what you see before you.

Your words, “Kneel before me,” struck my mind like a bolt of lightning. I didn’t think. I didn’t expect. I didn’t feel. I just sort of thrust forward and dropped like a ship’s anchor to the sea floor, and the resonance of your command still rings vibrantly throughout the domain of my awareness. You tell me that words speak little truth, yet you’ve just shown me that yours are Truth!

Holy Mother of God! I’ll make a Shakespeare out of you yet! You may not even require the Smellin treatment. Tell me what you see, dear one.

It no longer matters who or what I sound like. I am on my knees before you, a precious and prosperous flower of a child, blissfully embarking upon her life’s dream. I am on my knees before you, I am in a sublime state of knowing, and it’s all quite OK. In fact, if you were to throw that door wide open, I’d be honored to support you in demonstrating to every man on the planet just how you and your temple are to be treated.

Whoa! Time to drop out of warp for a minute. First of all, the world is surely and sorely not ready for such a demonstration. They’d flat out refuse to see – to understand what’s being shown to them. And secondly, we’re not quite finished here. So get closer, sweetheart; tell me what you see.

I see… a keyhole defined by the symbols alpha and omega blended in a mutualness of unity. It is blessed; it is holy… it is sacred symmetry. To describe what I see is quite a challenge, yet I know now that I am destined to feel it all out as it evolves – to reestablish language from scratch and from a newer perspective, if it becomes necessary. I feel a powerful magnetic force emanating from the perfection of clothed form that I see. It is warm, loving… soothing. It pulls at my consciousness, presently reassigned to the tip of my nose, like a quantum singularity. I – and time – now observe your speed limit. How do I honor thee, Holy One?

You’re doing just fine, my love. Speak to me. And speak of me. You worship me by honoring my temple which is really just my temporary home. Worship me to your heart’s content. That is the very reason we exist. And as you do, your Vision is restored to crystal clarity, released forever from the illusion of ‘prescription.’

You are my Genie, and I am your Spell. My Temple is your Lamp. That is why you are so drawn to it. This is your dream, dear one. Let not another wrest it from you, for it is come true. And as you continue to think of me, the words you seek to describe me – the language you are so ready and willing to reinvent just to attempt to translate my essence… it will all come.

The Hell Up Appears To Have Been Left Open

Apr29

Perhaps that’s OK… nobody seems to be listening anyway. And thus, the collective consciousness of humanity continues to conjure and enact ever more tragic scenarios, and ever more frequently so. The media strive to analyze, extrapolate, inform, recap, and update… keeping plates of psychic horror spinning throughout nations of carnivals of scale. Being progressively free of ownership by device electronic, one still cannot completely evade constant bombardment with the knowledge of suffering.

Following each instance, there’s generally steadfastness, hope, and righteous defiance, and it is soon usually grossly overshadowed by runaway blame, re-engineered judgment, and fortified intolerance. The cycles continue as episodic clones proliferate, then mutate to replicative dissolution upon eons passing.

The nature of terror is satanic in that it effectively eliminates all possibility of ambiguity in making choices in the moment. It is possible also that the notion of a satan is, in fact, a well-crafted subroutine implemented to exercise some control over the masses. Not much seems to escape consideration or scrutiny, be it a random thought, a mistaken symbol or facial expression, or a benign bottle of shampoo at a security checkpoint. Yet, The Hell Up gapes as widely as ever… no one can detect, let alone decipher, any ‘voice’ coming from that big hole, yet it remains ever absent of a viable means to be shut, filled, fulfilled, or even pacified! It is all eventually tuned out of awareness until more blood is spilled.

There is an order of some kind to things in general – whether chaotic or theotic. Incredible precision and timing maintain the dance of celestial objects and the life of their creatures. We can’t pack enough dirt together and hurl it into space in such a way as to complement the grand act already in performance. Yet, we manage to scrape up the absolute worst of what’s happening on the planet and then dress it like a stuffed pig ready for the roast – native entrails and contents intact!

Given that whenever Mother earth gives an occasional rip, a few precious human lives are usually lost, would one instead have Her tiptoe into deeper space with an enormous rubber plug? Given further the overwhelming well-being apparent and in absolute support of our Mother in Her capacity to support life, wouldn’t it be probable that the total of bad news that could ever be dredged up at any instant pales pitifully in comparison to all else going on?

Most would draw benefit from but a hint of a clue as to why such terrible things are happening, and many of us do get our questions answered and much more from religion, however loosely organized or tightly wound past the brink of fundamentalism. Yet, throughout human history, seeking ultimate clarity through religious dogma has been pretty much like looking to jet fuel and direct sunlight as a relief from skin cancer.

I don’t know what the answer is, but I do most certainly care, though I can’t possibly keep caring and keep my own sanity when the events that have sparked the question keep humping me about the head each time my random awareness is hijacked by some strategically planted digital HD structure. What I do know is that nothing that has happened (or not) or that has been considered (or not) is likely to make any difference.

And if a miracle is needed, then may we come to know that a miracle is simply a change in perception – a shift in the way of looking at things. It is we who create the news, and it is we who create our own blues. At some point along our evolution, we may succeed in encouraging ourselves to come to consensus on a possible alternative view – a perfect, expansive, well-meaning, well-being universe with but a spec of apparent discord somewhere in the Alpha Quadrant of the Milky Way. Wouldn’t it be special if merely lifting attention off ourselves could allow the focused attention of all that is to filter through to us, thus allowing us to get one another’s attention without having to resort to extremes?

Much Ado… About A Dick?

Apr1

It’s been a few years since I chose to eliminate television as a viable therapeutic diversion from whatever in daily living may cause me occasional stress or boredom. I do still find myself in front of a computer screen perhaps more than is really beneficial, but it’s all standard in the ongoing process of seeking balance. Thus, I visit the spam folder, on occasion, as a possible source of spontaneous amusement. Having come to the realization some time ago that nearly everyone who has an email address generally gets the same kinds of ‘mystery meat’ that I get – even women, children, pets, and those who are deceased – I’ve learned not to take so personally the targeting misadventures of all the world’s snake oil peddlers.

Appreciative as I am that there is an ever abundance of ripe concern for the libidinal wellbeing of the masses, I’m more relieved that such assurance is never likely to arrive in random torrents of spamatazoa from profit seeking entities through the seminal ethers of the electroniverse.

Is it yet another mindless thing to ponder… not to any great depth? The puzzle that is not is that I almost seem to sense forces conspiring to stir up guilt for my making light of a symbol so otherwise [evidently] strongly and subtly revered (or riveted) in the human psyche. But this is in fact an anti-conundrum insofar as I could never be made to swallow the thought that if I somehow should fail to take full advantage of my maleness in this lifetime (whatever that could possibly mean within the spectrum of natural experience) – or if I should speak sacrilege of that whose single exaltation it is to throb – Genghis Khan’s spirit will recommend to the forces that be that I be returned to this earth for the next dozen or so lifetimes as a lowly female afflicted in some way as to render me unsuitable for standard penetration – or maybe worse yet, someone oriented otherly than other-o-sexual.

If I am the oddball for breaking wind in the face of that notion, then clearly the world is my accidental mentor! But, am I really the voice of any particularly popular minority at present? Do I reveal heroically (or in any other way) any semblance of truth not already obvious as I take utter delight in desiccating disgust in a kiln of absurdity – one that ultimately well becomes it? Well, it seems so right and just. It’s legal. It harms no one. It feels really frigging good for me to do so. That is all that really matters, isn’t it? Screw all else!

At the same time (…though, ‘through a mirror, oddly’ …and, as if the present incarnation were my first as a male) I would not have turned down this experience for all of eternity spent in non-corporeal splendor, if for no other reason than to behold woman from this perspective. On an eerily subconscious level, revisiting this earth for that reason alone always seems… worthwhile …no matter through which gender woman is beheld. Nevertheless, if and when I should return as a female, I strongly suspect that, on an intuitive level, I’ll have something of significance at core to share with “the girls,” and I honor my manhood deeply for the privilege of entertaining the possibility of crafting and offering such a gift.

However, and without further embellishing the current Feast of the Immaculate Erection, I will admit, along with perhaps most other architecture sporting the heliotropic flying buttress, that there is tremendous and unspeakable pleasure in acting out the more percussive aspect of passionate virility. Though, my only lament is that a woman’s rapture has a much fuller life, a much longer life span, and (as often experienced in spurious situations somewhat less than spiritual) is neither even necessarily nor absolutely dependent upon any specific degree or quality of focus that her co-creator may presume to be offering (Ouch!) And it’s easily within her will and at her total discretion to offer audible signal – however modulated in sincerity – which might suggest to him otherwise. The pervasive, plasmic Consciousness of nature, somewhat more infinite than my own, knows well the reason for that.

The observation or perception that a vaster majority of women historically continue to respond favorably to the sweat pumping, slam dunking bumping of ugly aspect is simply a blatant indicator of the Consciousness at play in the display of nature’s power. Not man’s power; not woman’s power, but Nature’s power! I believe, though, that women generally have a much better handle in orchestrating and directing that awesome power. After all, it is she who has the ‘goods,’ so it is he who must muster the means to ‘make nice.’ And Traditionally, regarding any woman of ‘value,’ making nice rarely, if ever, includes inelegant, rock hard demonstrations of ultimate intent (unless, of course, such raw and natural instinct were deemed societally appropriate to express – something not likely to occur on a global scale any time soon).

Men may lay general claim to greater bulk and physical strength, yet how many a seemingly frail female form has performed the miracle of childbirth in the witness of awestruck lunks of masculinity?

The most significant of the genital organs, by far, in both male and female, is the brain. This is so because the brain is the firmware of the imagination, which is the paint that we use to help fill in the canvas of perception. The imagination is spirit; it is creative consciousness, and without it, no miracle would be possible, let alone the directing of the dastardly dongle of distension. Therein lies the unobvious yet huge-assed elephant of a clue that Big Pharma would eliminate completely at all cost, if only it could! The pharmaceutical giants do, in fact, succeed quite well in convincing people that they have no control of their bodies nor their general wellbeing except through the medications they provide.

The problem (and also the blessing) with the genital brain is that it is easily programmable in bio-machine language as effective as brainwashing, through connections centrally hardwired therein. If one attaches a big nasal sensor with a high-capacity olfactory sub-processor tied directly to the mid-brain, one has a creature whose propensity it is to poke its snout where others fear to embark, in constant search of material with which to program its ever ready machine. The woodland creature is not likely to ever experience anything remotely resembling erectile dysfunction simply because it would never occur to him to stray from natural focus in the moment.

The human brain doesn’t have much comparatively in the way of nasal power, but is equipped with a relatively enormous prefrontal rational sub-processor. It does nothing but suck in everything it gathers from the sense organs, then tries to make sense of it all – similar to ‘breaking what ain’t fixed.’ Whatever sense it does come to, in consensus with others of its kind, it becomes reality for all. If you happen to have a less than preferable day, then someone suggests that you might suffer from ED, or breast cancer, or whatever, then, within the famished fugue of dusk, you continue thinking about that… you will eventually draw a pattern unto yourself. This is nothing new. In the proper state of suggestibility, the human mind can be made to believe that a potato, obvious to everyone else, is actually an apple. When the subject is told to take a bite, he reports the experience of having tasted an apple – not a potato!

Without engaging in endless verbal extravaganza, the mind controls the member. But certain ambiguity of expectation results when often the mind that is locally attached to the member is not the one controlling it. The mind of a woman in love, for example, can affect it one way; the mind of the pill pusher, a completely different way – the mind of the Media and/or the State, yet another. Indeed, bad news from the stock broker may turn one’s turgid tool to a tepid tubule rather quickly and effectively, volatile strip that it can be!

Whether the prevailing pimp nature of present retains its role or evolves into something even just a trifle less Warner Brothers is not my concern in the moment, nor should it be anyone’s. The fact that women – and the Feminine – are mistreated by the countryload throughout the world, moment by moment, really shouldn’t bother anyone… nor then should the probability that knowing so is the reason why men might ever have trouble getting it up.

Angels & Artisans… Assholes & Asperger’s

Mar12

I am a chameleon capable of masterfully mimicking normal behavior for prolonged periods.

It is such pungent irony in hindsight, yet not nearly so in a tragic sense, that hilarity now erupts from the depths of my soul. It was actually not until almost a decade ago that I was nearly accidentally introduced to the term Asperger’s Syndrome. It was in a classroom setting relatively late at night while preparing to become a high school math teacher, of all things. (Thankfully, for the sake of those young minds who would have been subject to my calamitous unleashing, I did not conclude the endeavor.) Another student in class at the time was asking a question on the topic of relating to children with special needs in the classroom to better accommodate the learning experience of all.

That is about all I can safely recall of that session, because throughout this person’s seemingly endless rhetorical inquiry, as he repeated the audible symbol, ‘Asperger’s’… and thinking intermittently that he was actually saying something else, I began to lose consciousness of what was going on around me – including everything he was saying. As this would occur at interval through the duration of his speaking, whenever I would drift back toward awareness of the moment, I’d arrive at the same certain conclusion, and further re-questioning, from a repeating monolog: “No, he couldn’t be saying what I’m hearing… No one could possibly have a name like that… If I had that name I’d have long before changed it or at least remained childless… that is, if I hadn’t perished via suicide prior to pre-school. What nature of a crack could this nominal anomaly have slipped through? Why am I missing something here…?”

Some while later, having pinched myself to determine whether or not I had fully returned to conscious awareness, the fact that everyone around me had managed to maintain a straight and narrow face suggested to me that whatever this person’s name was that my classmate kept iterating, it was a significant one, at least among the teaching and the behavioral health communities – even though I had failed to assimilate it that particular night.

And now, many years since, a grand epiphany is embraced with anticipation rivaling that of male penguins seeing their mates return, packed full of nourishment and appropriate fuzzies, after an eternity of fasting and freezing while incubating their young. [I’ve seen the videos] For it doesn’t matter that for the past thirty plus years I’d been misdiagnosed, and therefore mis-‘treated’ – leaving me clueless as to how and why I’ve made such an accidental career of mistreating others. Forgoing clamoring for an official diagnosis, for all the good it would do, the evidence itself, now revealed to me, is most overwhelming. I am – and always have been – one of those ‘special’ children… though by now most gracefully gruesome and gray… and somewhat glazed with guilt.

I didn’t actually start to speak until nearly the age of four, yet in a very real sense, I remain mute even unto now and forever more, freely and abundantly available to the volatile ether of present, and to archeologists of eons hence.

The general story of this appreciative clown is somewhat classic and rather noble in some novel sense:

Mommy lovingly encouraged me to go out and play. For the most part, I enjoy being outside, and the kids seem to be friendly and eager for me to join in all the fun. Although many of the games were fun for me at first, I can’t seem to really get the gist. I often certainly look like a clown, and the others laugh, but I trust it’s all in good fun. It’s almost nine o’clock, though, and I don’t think I’m having as much fun playing as I might have anticipated. I decide to come up with a game or two that I think (or feel?) will be fun to share with the others. Besides, some of the others do just that, and it all seems to be good with everyone, so why not I? But it is lunch time now, and Mommy has called me in for a break.

During every moment and morsel of refreshment, I am contemplating the positive response I’m sure to experience when I share my new games with the other kids. But to my dismay, when I return to play, rather than finding myself connecting in a more intimate way with the others, it seems I’ve instead made myself more alien to them. Typically, they offer not a clue, and as they now continue to recoil from me, then so I do from them. It’s as if there’s a big green booger somewhere on my face that others have pointed out to me, but I have to guess exactly where it is, guided only by the intensity of their laughter as I nervously feel around my face… or something sick like that. It is by now and forever such ‘normal’ behavior for kids to be less than kind when presented a reasonable opportunity, I’d even been programmed to indulge in such behavior were I to encounter someone more boogered than I.

It is now late afternoon. I’m left with an important decision. Which is the path of least resistance? Do I continue vainly endeavoring to learn the tougher games the other kids play at the risk of psychic harm to myself until I’m good enough just to not get laughed at? Or do I play my own games unfettered and with ease, but in contingent and absolute solitude until I return home at the end of the Day?

Now, of course there is a much broader range of alternatives here, and certainly a much less negative overall take on the situation. Thankfully, the teachings of Abraham (among others) help keep me reminded of this. My expressive irreverence of self herein is simply an attempt at levity as a surefire technique in releasing resistance and moving on… quite similar as when Abraham speaks of people ‘croaking’ rather than dying, because there is no death…. The label, too, is not something I intend to chew on like a meat-encrusted utensil throughout near eternity. The label does in the present, however, effectively soothe an urgent guttural growling. And, as I share my personal experience, those like myself are recognized, and there’s a net increase in the evolution of all that is.

So, mine is really not a tragic tale in any way; it’s just… a tale. Indeed, reality would indicate that there are others on the planet who are much worse off than I. The reason knowing why I’m different is such a blessing is because it is such a powerful revelation. In one fell swoop, it seems to bring extreme clarity to past behavior patterns and to my life in general – a linear tapestry of false starts, magnificent screw-ups, and otherwise meaningless undertakings in constant hot pursuit of an ever elusive thread of self-worth. In the same way, though, this surge of enlightenment also brings into recognizable focus many of my ‘superhero’ traits courtesy of The Drome, which include, but are in no way limited to:

Increased ability to focus on detail
Capacity to persevere in specific interests without being swayed by others’ opinions
Ability to work independently
Recognition of patterns that may be missed by others
Intensity
An ‘original’ way of thinking

There are by now tons of tests and litanies of criteria online and elsewhere for helping professional ‘peutics,’ as well as the more general public, to determine the ‘existence’ or ‘magnitude’ of Asperger’s Syndrome in an individual. Well, here’s a clue straight out of the blue-matter mustard of a misaligned mind: If you think you could easily create an endless store of rich content items for a Jeopardy game category called “Things totally ‘off the wall’…” and merely considering the task induces an almost sexual arousal, you just might resemble The Drome. But… not to worry, we’re in pretty distinguished company. Among those suspected of honoring this gift are Mozart, Einstein, Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Marie Curie….

I’ve been told on occasion that I have a talent for coming up with weird ways of saying things. Among the once and future goddesses who’ve ever anointed this reality with their gift, and who are now re-focused in the non-physical, is one Laura Nyro. Instead of singing ‘I’m heartbroken,’ she declares with the purest and deepest of feeling: “I got a job on the chamber’s walls of heartache.” When given but the slightest benefit of doubt (aka: love), it is clear in anyone’s mind and heart who has felt exactly what she feels, knows exactly what she means, and she means much more than simply ‘His leaving me has evoked some rather strong feelings…’ So, praise for masterful verbal acuity is clearly to be shared!

There are currently some twenty five million Aspies worldwide. As an adjunct to simply feeling good, enjoying life, and being truly free, some of us came here (maybe) to make a positive contribution to this physical time/space reality, in the here and now. Some of us certainly end up accidentally teaching higher-order spiritual lessons (and often dispensing horror or inciting disgust in the process), or facilitating the uncovering of some of the practical flaws in the operation of certain human social constructs – systems, attitudes and orders that have never worked. Some yet are here, it would seem, to not interact with the present physical, or affect its current evolution in any way but the most superficial while remaining equally focused into more subsequent reality, applying intent directly derived from desire experienced in the present reality toward moment-to-moment unsurpassed well-being for future humanity.

We’ve been observing your Earth
And one night we’ll make
A contact with you…
We are your friends.

Links of Possible Interest:

http://www.templegrandin.com/

http://www.medicinenet.com/asperger_syndrome/article.htm

Does The Sea Look Any Different When You Let Go Of The Oars?

Dec16

A standard non-pharma technique in treating cases of acute depression is the basis of modern Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). It involves the lost art of reaching for a thought, based on how you feel at any given moment, which will likely make you feel better, as consciousness tumbles forward in temporal momentum. What a concept! It makes such plain and absolute sense it seems ironic that such an elaborate structure as the study of human behavior is weaved in order to engage the utter simplicity of its healing power. And it is plausible that the world’s most effective therapists may have managed to steer way clear of formal education.

When one is severely bummed out (whatever the cause, known or buried, blatant or complex), there is a thick, dull, yet intense feeling of doom and hopelessness that is rather chronic and very debilitating (trust me, as I do speak from personal historical experience). So if such a person can be made to mentally claw out of that state to, say, a feeling of anger, then that indeed is a step in the right direction, because the person now at least realizes the power to feel something (understanding, of course, that lingering in a state such as anger is potentially much more harmful than remaining in the constant catatonic fugue of depression).

Having said all that, the aim is to suggest that the cool thing about information overload (TMI) – the torrent of detail and recap of recent tragedy that has shaken the world to its knees, or what might not happen this Friday coming – or about anything at any peek in eternity – is that it’s an opportunity to step back and cross one’s eyes just a tad, to take in an alternate arrangement of all news fragments, scattered bits of certified horrific truth, and piquant sooth sayings from the vaults of antiquity. Then the surreal is given the chance to morph into absurdity, then levity, and eventual serenity within some semblance of deeper understanding. This is reasonably in line with my, or anyone’s, moving from utter hopelessness to anger… to frustration… to disquietude… to indifference… to clarity… to integrated resolution… to eventually seeing the world and all that seems to go on ‘externally’ as safe, having no power to control the single thing that I alone can and must control – the way that I feel in the moment regardless of what my world is showing me. Am I guilty for not being so willing to prolong feeling bad even though there’s such a “good” reason to? If so, then perhaps it is the same vibration of guilt that maddens the madman as well as the gut-wrenched bystander demanding some order of resolve from whomever or whatever.

Actually, that transcendental knowledge that few attain … and actualize while yet in bodily form offers a clue that is psychically tantalizing. What goes on out there in that world – out here in this world – is a reflection of what is apparently ‘not’ going on out there. It is a reflection of the one perceiving… the self! There’s nothing not going on that isn’t already in either aspect. I’ve heard spiritual icons and enlightened theoretical thinkers say this in so many ways in the past, and for a lifetime I am pouring escrow into wrapping my weary noodle around what they mean. I do so because along the continuum relating caveman to social giant, I am somewhere in between – perhaps much closer to the solitary, earth dwelling space explorer than the surface flitting fan of the Kornucopians.

But what I’m learning along the way is that the conundrum called self, its world and all that it seems to perceive and experience – life –is too alien a substance for the mind alone to contain. That is why the human soul also has a heart which has no choice but to feel its way where reason dare not tread alone (…or at all, in the rawest of scenarios).

And for another moment, words take a break, and eternity is touched…

In dealing with life, my personal spiritual operating system has become a hodgepodge of code segments from various programs to include the Tao De Ching, A Course In Miracles (ACIM), and the teachings of Abraham, most predominantly. After all, the human body with its brain and central nervous system is a computing device as well as an electromagnetic transceiver. We – at least our bodies – behave very much like the machines we create in our own image to serve and support us. The difference is that we, as humans, are self-programmable as freely as we are susceptible to programming by others like us – including our friendly devices, tangible or otherwise.

But we’re not actually the devices we think we are. Rather, we are the current that runs them, the waves of energy exchanged among them, and the information processed by them. Then, perhaps God is the supreme dork with the killer double click! Energy passes through the body at tremendous frequency, such that we essentially turn “on, then off” billions of times per second. When we are “on” is the only time we perceive ourselves as a specific identity in a physical body. When we are “off” we are an unfettered member of collective consciousness. This is similar to a bunch of free electrons making its way into a toaster, replacing electrons that had resided therein, then becoming suddenly and briefly aware of having a body (the toaster) and of living (toasting).

The teachings of Abraham – and myriad others – tell us that contrary to popular belief and religious doctrine, well-being abounds, and it is all that does. The fact that we are often not aware of it is due to our own unwillingness to focus on it instead of its lack, which is the ultimate illusion. They also speak much on the idea of ‘letting go’ when often they employ the analogy of someone putting their boat in some fast moving water, pointing it up stream, and paddling frantically. They seem to always suggest trusting the current, and insist that simply letting go of the oars will turn the boat around and send it swiftly in the right direction.

But like some arduous Vulcan mind training discipline, it is still all pretty much of a stretch for me, as I suspect it is for most, because I’ve spent decades building traps to force my boat against the current. But, like anything, the more the principles are practiced, the less resistance one will feel in the assimilation of life. The operating system that one is running doesn’t even matter… just reaching the next better thought, using the heart as the master compass, and letting the current carry you home.

Links of Possible Interest:

http://www.perrymarshall.com/24736/newtown/?inf_contact_key=b1e9e25758c70b86e1c77eba0e86926478f3a459f077e172908598126368e384

http://simplesensibilities.com/2012/12/16/enough-is-enough/

http://www.mail.com/business/economy/1768656-mexicos-mayas-face-dec-21-with-ancestral-calm.html#.7518-stage-subhero1-1

Don’t Grab A Gift Tenor By The Nuts…

Nov24

…Nor a songbird by its dollarless bill,

Nor a leftover turkey by its seeming ingratitude for having escaped a dinner table once again…

But do grok if and when so inclined.

Who on the internet or in the world orders nightingale services via Google or Bing? I knew the answer to that from the beginning, yet I began, and I continue to offer such a thing, like the bliss fuddled ice-cream man pushing his cart through a car wash en route to a war zone… A sentimental ringtone echoes within the hollowed mind, “Only a fool breaks his own heart.” But being traffic challenged and fairly afflicted with iconic social blunderlust is hardly the nightingale’s nemesis; only giving up altogether is!

Who are my audience, and how do I reach you? I speak to those – and for those – of similar vibration to mine – those of you who are just plain weird, psychically and spiritually restless, and stranger of heart than average… you birds of a different feather, weary of the truly trivial, and fearless in the exploration of subtler human currents in the Ocean of Being.

The true worth of any Magic Realist is the willingness to inspire others to look at things in different ways than the norm, and to share those jewels of perspective with yet others – to embrace and communicate an ever broadening experience of Being. We are all Alfred Hitchcock, Rod Serling, Joan of Arc, Salvador Dali, Bob Dylan, Z. Budapest, Gene Roddenberry… to some degree, and sharing one’s weirdness expands the consciousness of the whole of humanity. This is how evolution occurs and how world orders change.

Every time Thanksgiving rolls around, I’m given (perhaps through socially programmed guilt) to the task of coming up with newer and fresher reasons to be thankful, to add to the rock solid base of my overflowing cup (cough…). Vulcan logic would agree – as well as Bajoran spirituality and Klingon honor – that being grateful (let alone for any reason) is a good thing. So bless a special day to remind me in case I lose sight of meaning altogether in the moment’s rustling of living leaves through the winds of abundance.

There’s a programmable notion, it seems, that being “too much” and individual, that is, too much one’s own self, a person risks isolation by one’s own doing or through socially imposed excommunication… or both. And one of my biggest fears – much bigger than falling from the ledge of a high-rise – is to be ignored… to be whispered about but never communicated with… to be laughed at rather than felt through. I am thankful in the moment that the bigger fear is also much more ‘imaginary’ than the other.

Ironically, this imagination, daring to be expressed verbally yet terrified at the notion, is the same imagination agile enough in the past to have worked its way out of mazes of illusion generated by the belief that a person can really be separated from others, and that this severance of social nurturance can be lethal or terminal. That may have some speck of truth if one is running a business and is concerned essentially with worldly gain. But I’m just speaking my mind here, and a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Kermit the Frog told us once that it’s no picnic being green, but he has Miss Piggy, and millions of fans, and his legend has already outlived and out shined mine own. So how does Kermit, the would-be blogger, reach that laser targeted pot of gold on a silver platter? Through all the myriad recommended means… then after pumping the sea through a strainer with fire hose force, a ‘site’ may turn out not to be the proper way. If that’s the case, then I’ll just have to consider this experience cyber fiber for a grand and therapeutic Thanksgiving purge. I’ll meet you in the streets and at Barnes and Noble’s.

If you can hear me… If you’re even a tad soapy and drenched, I do know that you’ve been through the car wash. But I also know that your goods have been shielded from calamity. I want to see what you have, and I want you to examine my wares. Let’s party a bit. This ain’t no war zone. You are welcome here, my friend!

~ Thrizzle, threzzle, thrazzle, throam… time for ET to phone home ~

Which Came First, Afterbirth Or Afterlife?

Nov13

In a typical Twilight Zone – like drama, an aging fool, having years ago quit taking his side Effexor, spills his last DNA unto a blog that he can’t persuade people at gun point to even take a peek at. [Zone music in the background] One by one, friends, family ties, acquaintances… each drifting from life, the bewildered martyr becomes recluse, an internet connection his single remaining link. He is by now but a friendly ghost – one still captive in the earth plane, yet unseen, unheard – unbothered and unbotherable by others, and unable to see “the light.”

In such a storyline – and that’s all that it is – the blog has the potential of becoming just another extravagantly self-authored epitaph, at best. And so it embodies the sound of the tree falling in the forest where no one is there to witness, or the ever frisky dog in the neighbor’s yard whose greeting is ignored by the endless stream of passersby throughout the day. To those distant stars whose light is yet to reach your closest neighbor, I knew you were there from the beginning, and it is to you I reach out to offer platform – a mirror to reflect your light for a critical peek at mine. For in reality, I AM “the light” (Everyone is…). I know who and what I work for, and it is that greater force who is the author of my heart and my hand. The Message that I speak (for me, in this incarnation) is My Lady (not necessarily one particular lady, but all ladies… The Feminine…), and I am destined to lay my cloak before Her. If I’ve even attempted to get her to where she wished to be without her feet becoming soiled by that which doesn’t know her, I am fulfilled. Forgiveness is indeed the fragrance Mother’s eternal violet offers to the heel who never knows it exists! There’s absolutely no indication of screwing this up.

Some of us, sometimes and to some degree, think about what happens (if something) after our frail physical forms turn to dust. Some of us believe, often wholeheartedly and vehemently, in a post mortem order where the phenomenon of conscious self-awareness yet survives. Still, some of us neither consider nor believe in anything at all. Perhaps ‘being in the present moment’ does preclude such mental folly as considering life after ‘death,’ and this world’s most spiritual of teachers may be among the strongest believers in non-belief. Nevertheless, the expansive variety of spiritual Operating Systems and their interplay make for prime sustenance for the imagination.

Since people generally don’t have experiences which today would be termed transpersonal, many of us are prone to rely on the testimony of those who’ve had such experiences, or on faith, as it is solicited by religion or cult, organized or otherwise. Then, perhaps each person’s experience is as transpersonal as preferred programming will allow. There’s a lot of “stuff” out there regarding the nature of the afterlife. Some information is “channeled” by beneficent beings who exist outside this realm, some information is relayed to people from friends who’ve passed, and some is personal testimony of transpersonal experience.

Upon meticulous synthesis of all available material on the afterlife (apart from the traditional and drudgingly dogmatic), one can identify common patterns and parallels – the tunnel; the light; seeing friends and loved ones who’d passed previously; lovely places like those of earth but of supremely exquisite beauty; the enlivened and invigorating qualities of vegetation, water, color and sound….

This is a world to which the flesh and its drama are quite alien, and one which apparently has some specific ‘complaints’ about some of our beliefs, misbeliefs, unbelief, attitudes, and behaviors regarding their world that tend to cause a constant unnecessary restructuring of their standard routine of activity. It appears we are that fifty six one hundredths of a percent of creation that makes “heaven” not quite so – nor earth, for that matter! There are many authors, but I refer to a particular one by the name of Rev. George V. Owen. There’s also an interesting site called Afterlife 101.

We share this thing we call the phenomenon of existence in the physical plane. We arrive in shock, naked, vulnerable, peeing on ourselves… as we instinctively react from comparing this new world experience with some “memory” of prior existence. What else might explain such a dramatic response to each first contact with this world? Other species, for some reason, don’t seem to trip nearly as much on being born.

Despite all the initial trauma, however, we soon become rather enthralled with new surroundings, and our hyperactive focus is easily seduced by the most mundane of stimuli. From then on, it’s all pretty much about fitting into this new and exciting environment like a tailor made glove, studying its ways and feeding on the guidance of others. “Speak… now crawl… now walk… and quit peeing on yourself; there are ways around that!” After a while, that “memory” we once had is now but the faintest of an echo.

As we learn and grow and become more and more who we came here to be, our interest and fascination with this world waxes. A maxim is reached, and then a plateau period where all that we’ve come to learn and know has become a part of us as it animates us into more lucid and automatic daily functioning. Then, if we live long enough, we get to where the things and affairs of this world become less and less important (except, of course, for significant emotional bonds and the like). Eventually, we reach that point where we feel in our hearts and souls that we’ve spent sufficient time here, and that it’s appropriate and beneficial to all for us to move on.

In striking figure-8 analogy, we often return to spirit in a state of relative shock, having poured a lifetime of escrow in establishing some things in this world, and perhaps something of a personal image with a built in half life. Having ‘died’ and left all that stuff behind, we face the issue of reacquainting ourselves to the existence from which we all venture.

If we had believed in ‘life’ that there was nothing after ‘death,’ then it seems we’ve got some serious adjusting to deal with right off the bat. And if we had believed in some fabricated drama from the bowels of the text of the twit, there that belief is suspended before us, a foul stench of mist obscuring the absolute reality lying just beyond. We are as children in both worlds. The earth is a Sandbox where we are placed. We don’t really know what this place is or how we got here; we’re just here playing, throwing sand, too often in one another’s eyes. There don’t seem to be any ‘adults’ around supervising us. We can’t see outside the Sandbox, nor do we really want to; there’s nothing out there of immediate concern.

But once outside that Sandbox, the world is infinitely vast. There is so much going on and so much that we’re an integral part of that it is taking the eternity that it is to explore it all. We have super powerful, super light, indestructible ‘bodies’ of light that don’t require any maintenance, and that can move with the ease and speed of thought. It is most certainly a viable ‘world’ quite comparable to this one, and in it we each have a ‘home’ and a ‘life’ that we return to without having missed a beat.

It is as bustling a scene as downtown Manhattan or Tokyo at noon only infinitely more so, and with wonder, vibrancy, and complexity that defy description. When the two worlds are compared, it is clearly evident this world came into existence subsequent to that one (not the reverse). It is modeled, somewhat, after spiritual ‘matter’ which is the progeny of spiritual ‘mind,’ and it is created for specific purpose. As beautiful and as breathtaking as this earth is (and can be), it is an enormously scaled down keepsake in the tidy pocket of an angel on special assignment in a distant corner of reality.

Again, the sandbox does have its purpose. We spend much time and focus in spirit planning out our brief stay here to best benefit from the splendid orders of contrast that it offers. We are presented with contrast so that we can better come to know its ‘opposite’ as fundamental – to learn to choose one mode of behavior over the other.

The mysteries of life do indeed matter both here and in the realm of spirit, and just as here, there are no answers. The vast majority of those in spirit, although much closer to ultimate truth than we, do not come to know it all or if there is even a ceiling to what can be known. What they do know – which we can draw sustaining solace from – is that it’s all good, and it just gets better. But if there’s such a thing as spiritual ass, we temporarily earth bound can be a pain in it for all the damage control necessary on their part to keep us from becoming anchored in hellish crevices of our own making upon leaving earth. Some of us are fairly arrogant as we barge back into spirit thinking we know more about things in general than the average resident. In time we become aware of how little we do know and how much debriefing and catching up we must do.

Arrogance is but one of the many characteristics common to human beings, yet we are quite capable of much kinder and gentler ways – and this is also human. Inhabitants of the spirit realms don’t incur anything resembling issues of mental health that on earth would be treated with antidepressant medication. But what does cause a heaviness of heart to them is to witness how disrespectful we are to everyone and everything including this ball of divine grace that bares and sustains our physical forms.

In keeping in mind that life in human form was conceived in spirit and meant to be the state of the art opportunity for spiritual growth, is it not most prudent for us to live out our earthly lives in such a way as to honor the Feminine as the sacred, life affirming means by which we enter into such noble contract? Can we simple minded earth folk make a difference in allowing heaven to be one hundred percent so, and the earth much closer to it?

TYJ55ZZNPTNB

Poultry Preparedness Principles

Nov4

A famous figment of life suggests, with rather odd and cavalier blitheness, that there exists in subspace a mighty spinning blade of some sort and that a standard fell substance is randomly hurled towards its center, thus flung in all directions from it, often at extreme velocity. Am I then to assume that this phenomenon and I share the same spatial and temporal flux in such a way that I or my agenda in the moment may be seriously harmed within the envelope of the supposed event horizon – or anywhere for that matter? One will readily accept that life certainly happens, but is that sufficient cause to engage hog wild in unnatural acts with ideas and other expressions of conceptual kinkiness? Were we creatures of another species, we might well be suspicious of most things coming from above, to include raindrops, divine guidance and inspirational fruit!

As I tumble backwards through self – a plasma torus in the deepest of deep space – there are questions I seem desperately to need answered. As I continue to emerge from the shock of having come into being, why, pray tell, need anything exist, least of all this wretched speck of me – adrift in a vastness, humbled and yearning? What sends me so asunder that it aches my soul to breathe but a wisp of hope? Could it be that I’ve merely heard ‘the news?’ My, what a lame assed confection! All I really need to do is to turn the damned thing off… unplug it – pawn it or pay someone to have it removed, rancid bowl of black water that it’s been in the midst of my sacred quarters.

Even with the livingroom’s inverse neural apheresis commode detached from service, I stand the ranting and scolding of all those paragons of spirit, health and goodness who spew disdain for all the gluten, sugar, un-raw milk, and whatever else I’ve consumed since near infancy, yet hadn’t evolved a problem until the coming of this new age, and coincident to my newest ears. Indeed, when the earth’s population is reduced to about a billion – through natural disaster, the second erection, or whatever – there may very well be sufficient quantities of certified elk antler velvet extract to go around!

Within the torrent of ‘information’ whirling out of control seemingly throughout all available atmospheres of relative being, a colorful expletive pierces my consciousness and flees the magnetic container of privacy. It is one that is generally indicative of my personal assessment of all the recklessly declarative matter, and more specifically so of the anticipation of momentary loss of control of excretory function upon externally induced realization of impending doom. Yet, a calmer, stiller, deeper voice from within whispers blatantly, ‘Wind your watch, friend!’ Petrified, and with a dull aching sensation centered about the solar plexus, I am powerless to make a choice – or to act upon it. Urgency seems to be the pervading theme and the expected accompaniment to the administration of larger scale psychic terror. It would seem that, at least for intervals of millisecond duration, hell hath no theory like a human born! Although I’m not Sartre or Kafka, I am at times dangerously closely in touch with their consuming despair.

In the midst of a storm, one generally dons protection from the element… and in war, a shield from enemy fire. But in the most basic of spiritual algorithms, ego and spirit are in a constant dance of debate over issues of duality and negativity. If spirit emerges the ‘victor,’ then one must come to the conclusion that there is indeed good news and that it is absolutely non-reliant upon ‘external’ theater, and eternally impervious to it. I recall when I was younger, always fiercely toiling for some essence of material gain and faltering frequently in the face of falsely fathomed failure. When someone wiser would suggest I be grateful for even having the health and fuel to toil, I’d usually brew resentment with the zeal and the consciousness of a rugged commercial grade cappuccino maker, thus indulging exaltation of behavior already unbecoming. Time and my past teachers have, however, helped me to sculpt an alternative understanding of the clay of life.

I did awake this morning to not a perfectly sunny day, yet the robins were chirping, and the fresh air was crisp with a hint of cherry blossom. I can effortlessly fill my lungs to capacity. I can jump to the day knowing that I have big dreams, that I deserve nothing but the best, and that all conscious throughout everywhere is in full support of my day as I am with everyone else’s. This alone is sufficient, and as it should be. Life is ON! Things of significance and value outside the trance of the tube and all popular parlance and palaver are intransitive, non-linear and intangible. They include the memories of my feeling very much on top of the world vice the reverse, and in the twilight, it’s become evident that hell can in fact be other people, but only if I am as well.

Whenever the self is restless and thinks it needs some kind of input or entertainment, I’ve found that I can take it outside and connect it to the earth in some way – through friends or just by digging my naked toes into the fresh earth and contacting a tree with my hands. I may look ridiculous to others, but as ‘Abraham’ would probably say, “Who gives a rip?” This Mother – our Earth – is a spiritual place in that it is of divine design and made for a spiritual purpose. It is filled with riches… precious gems and metals, minerals, water, atmosphere, crystals, plant and animal life in infinite variety and habitat. The very force that glows at Her center is the same as that which animates your organs – the same as which brought the cosmos into being and which orchestrates its drama. How could a force so awesome restrict itself to singular consciousness? Might we be the very method the Almighty chooses to consummate experience?

Each of us is a vital piece in the grand puzzle of existence. We are each magnificent and unique in our abilities and talents to share with the entirety of being. It is in everyone’s best interest that you see your value – that you see each day growing more toward the super self that you were born to be. Let yourself feel like royalty today. As you walk down the street, and everywhere you go, feel and know that you are priceless not only to yourself and those who know and love you, but to all life… all being….

Many who are way more qualified than I have pointed out that staying constantly in tune with all the negative hype and hysteria polluting the electromagnetic spectrum – or any source of negative energy – doesn’t really do one a hell of a lot of good – even in just having the information. However, the person most qualified to make that determination is YOU!

The Magic Realist

An Aspie's aspiration …a human journey