When I pay attention to the world at large I feel crippled and sick. I need to keep my scope smaller. If I watch those around me, my friends, they are making their dreams come true in real time. If I need to find inspiration, it is not much further than those closest to heart. Television brainwashed me into instant-gratification, the clean and quick resolution. Yet, I’ve come to realize nothing is more regal than time. Shut the television off and become entranced by real time.
My intention for the new year is to focus on what is in front of me. The big picture is overrated.
I’ve been able to observe myself “falling” asleep. One twist of the helix, only one rotation of the downward spiral that abruptly ends with the terminus of a death. The death of sleep that I’ve been conscious enough to resist. That I have been conscious to be violently jarred by. The breath has stopped? The brain has lost oxygen to come to a dusty forgotten and forbidden sarcophagus?
Something wonderfully comforting about dampening the shining light under a cloth. Concealing it under suits, brief cases, and gloriously autonomous Toyota Corolla’s. Like Clark Kent, the steed who closeted his superpowers. Hide the divinity of humanity under a uniform. All acts of sort will hence forth by decree be accomplice by candlelight.
Watch for triggers because they are keys to self-analysis. An acquaintance posted a meme. “Hi, I was just wondering if I could interrupt your scrolling to ask, ‘Do you accept me?’ – Jesus.” So these friends had commented “Yes!” I reposted the image. I said, “I feel like I’ve just been passed a note in school by Jesus. Circle yes or no.”
The whole thing struck me as ludicrous and I couldn’t help myself; Jesus, as a teen looking for acceptance on Facebook. I didn’t even go on the rant I wanted to. I was going to say, “OMG What do I do? I mean, it’s Jesus right? He’s the cutest boy in the whole grade! What should I say?”
No one liked my post, of course. No one supports my open mocking of religion. I felt that certain way – that certain way you feel when you misfire on Facebook. Left hanging to be quietly judged by acquaintance and leaving friends to shy away uncomfortably. The righteous dignity is felt with the lack of response and the stiller the post remains, the more the guilt grows enveloping tendrils.
I did not want to offend the woman who posted it. Why? Because she is awesome! As a matter of fact, the few people I know who are very into whatever sect of Christianity they prescribe to (excepting Catholics) are awesome people. They are into community. They have fantastic attitudes. They are very kind. They are forgiving. And you can actually trust these people.
Yet, there is something in the cult mentality that has always filled me with unease. (Because there is enough argument in this post, I will not dissertate on the fact that Christianity is the largest cult in the world, complete with ritual sacrifice.) Sometimes there is this feverous superficial wholesomeness that I distrust. Hey, I listened to Counting Crows and fantasized about killing myself for about three straight years of my life. There is some inherent Emo here that cannot be denied.
The woman handled my post with complete grace. I am the one who has made things awkward. I am the one who should possibly apologize. (Though it may be a bigger offense to make a bigger deal of this.) I am the one who was initially offended. I will spend most of the rest of this post explaining how I became offended by a harmless meme about “Love.”
But notice how that works. I’m the one to apologize because it seems the world holds all other beliefs second to those of Christians. Well, at least those in America do. Or rather, that is a feeling that I get.
People like to bring up Jesus. Apparently, Jesus was a shepherd. Jesus herded sheep. Jesus herded sheep.
If Jesus did exist, I think he divulged a secret and it was grossly misunderstood. Jesus was a man but Jesus was God. He said it. “I am God.” And for some reason the sheep were herded to worship him when, in fact, he had just told them all that they were their own God, their own planet, their own universe in direct alignment and connection to the Source.
Astrology tells you are your own universe. Every planet in this solar system was at a certain position at birth and it fixed your settings. Like a lighting designer in the glows of a darker theater all dimmers were slid to a certain frequency and there they were programmed for a lifetime. You, perhaps left to operate at your own unique settings.
I am not telling you what to think about Jesus. I am not telling you what to think about astrology. (Astrology is far more ancient than Jesus, if you pay heed to such things.)
I wouldn’t want to offend you by telling you that you are God. Only a piece of God, but whole in your divinity. I wouldn’t want to offend you by telling you that you are the center of your own universe. If one regains their power then who is left to blame?
And ultimately, if God exists, who would have a better sense of humor? I mean, look, whoever created this is probably getting a kick out of how fucked our everyday lives are. If this “God” does not have a subversive sense of humor, quite frankly, I don’t want to hang with him at the local pub after Happy Hour has bled into ‘drinks on the observation deck.’
I’ll stop short of telling God to go fuck himself. I won’t say it. However, I would like to pose this question; Does God use language?
Some would say, “Yes, God wrote the Bible.” To these I say, “Go fuck yourself.”
I’m joking. Lately, I just feel like I want to tell someone to go fuck themselves.
I would like to say that people wrote The Bible. If asked for evidence, I would point to the discrepancies between the Old and New Testaments. He who is Who Am certainly changed his tune, didn’t he? From hell fire, locusts and flood to ‘turn the other cheek’ and wash that bum’s feet. (Holy shit! Maybe it is like high school! What was being said wasn’t popular anymore! It is a popularity contest!) Does God bow to popular opinion. Well, the newly elected and erected Bishop of Vermont is going to use Twitter to get some new followers…
Then they say, “Well, God spoke through prophets. The prophets technically wrote The Bible.” To which I say, “Exactly! People are using language! Not God!” I would further like to assert that language only holds power for those who use it. I will not tell myself, “I am a loser who will accomplish nothing.” Why? Because it’s not true. Because it feels like shit. Because words have power; TO ME.
I’ve even forgotten what I started arguing about. Which leads me to my final point. Do I think God cares about my Dualistic argument? No! Because ‘God’ is bigger. ‘God’ contains everything. So maybe God isn’t offended by my foul language, either. Humans express God through poetry. People express themselves to God through prayer, but God doesn’t express Godself with words. Maybe those offended by my language only include people.
Now, we could examine that whole thing. Treating others with reverence is revering God. Treating others with respect is respecting God. Treating others with regard is regarding God . But I’m already exhausted. (Truth be told, it is a quick one to resolve and it leaves me in the wrong so we’ll forgo it this evening.)
I would like to say one more thing about God, though. God can’t be expecting much from us. It’s like the public education system, testing a child on confusing advanced material when they haven’t been given the time or the teaching to absorb the fundamentals. God judging because we can’t figure out the world we were given no answers for is the same. Well, there is the Ten Commandments. There are the teachings of Jesus. SAYS WHO? Who is God asking us to trust blindly?
The whole thing is most likely an exercise in manifesting.
So really, telling God to go fuck Godself is the same thing as saying, “I am screwed.” It is a skewed misconception of reality. The person who says this needs to take a vacation, a slow boat to China.
And God? Completely unaffected. That outburst was just a tiny ripple in the Macrocosm soon to be mollified and reabsorbed.
Yes. I was triggered by the Jesus post when I ignore so many of them. I was triggered because the more I think about religion the more I realize it is a tool used to manipulate people. It distracts from spirituality. Religion disempowers.
Those who had found power in themselves and the Earth were burnt as Heretics. Christianity was the first sweeping movement to separate humanity from themselves. The tag ‘Witch’ was applied to herbalists, artists, anyone who kept themselves away from the status quo. “Witches” were defamed, betray, humiliated and underwent enraging injustice. They were murdered, tortured and burned. So I can’t help but be biased.
Also, I can’t overlook such a preoccupation with female virginity. Such perversions harbor discrimination but also, something baser. The female orgasm is feared. The connection to the earth is feared. Man would like to harness and control – thwart the energy of creation.
And who is to say that Spiritual Warfare will not be declared again? Quite reasonable with “ascension” arguably occurring.
I think I am triggered by the Christians because here is a bright people; Here is a bright people who don’t read between the lines. They don’t know their past. Here is a bright people that don’t know my past, and I take that personally.
Understand me, I’m not dissing Jesus. As for those who truly adhere to Christian principle, I admire you.
Maybe this next time around, the Christians and the Paegans will unite. Those who divide and conquer will suck the big one. And the only thing stronger than fear is hope…
The tree made me acknowledge this black hole of pain that I have been denying since December. The pain doesn’t necessarily have a source. The hole is gaping. It doesn’t appear to have a bottom. It’s color is absolute pitch. When I ask the tree to impart it’s wisdom, it gives me this pain that I have been denying. I see it. I feel it.
Mental agitation. And most seems to be about belief. Saturn in second house of belief and for January all about relationships for the Scorpion Rising.
Even if I am holed in the corner of my little box on top of the big world, I am still practicing relationships. I am still reacting to what someone has said or done or thought. I am still studying my interactions with this world.
Even in my dreams these days, I have been spending time with old friends and new. Usually my dreams are about remarkable (albeit empty) landscapes and me, the lone voyageur.
A litany of practicals of Where are we lodging? and How many miles will we travel? and What will we eat and For how much money? The earth signs have their own shit storm. Also exists a tumultuous roller coaster of emotional highs and lows brought on by a transit of water best described by the three-year-old that has missed a nap. The mixed exuberance and despair, the hurtling passions of spontaneous creative inspiration. Let the fire flicker then fade with flights of fancy half realized, crashing down with head against the cold wood of table – a heap of abandoned projects. Give me any of these but the mental agitation and eventual exhaustion of the air signs, the eventual white flag of surrender.
Because, unlike the rest, the air is ready to entangle you anew with each morning, each observation, each conversation.
They call it “mental” illness. Not “emotional”illness, “practical”illness or “inspirational” illness. ‘Mental’ means the thought process. Therefor, with this illness the thought process is hindered. It is broken or scattered or it cycles in an unyielding, relentless, merciless centrifuge. Constantly asking you to sort, compare, remember until your machine spat a thought into the wrong compartment where it had to be assimilated. There a revolution occurred. And this, this the idea you must cling to for your days. A prisoner to your functioning or malfunctioning mind.
It’s like a train you can’t get off from.
We dream of dissolving the walls of our minds. I dream of waking in someone else’s body and being able to get a different view.
I am psychiatrist. I am a patient and my voice oozes in the calm rich that slithers, stalks, – hunts like a black panther over to this shiny red ottoman of slippery leather. From my own lips traveling into this own ear. How I hypnotize. “Think in terms of concept albums. Think about the separate fragments that conjoin to make a cohesive whole. Think about that. Don’t think of anything else. Ignore the distraction tactics. Track the fire like an animal of the deep wood and relax into the walls of your own white magic.”
Words, precious words.
Words are brilliant when they are true.