Writing about my mother here, has brought us closer. She comes into me as intimately as I was once in her. Sometimes its unnerving. I feel her and must reach for something to hold on to, to stabilize my balance. I think its my mother. Could be the motorhead.
Babies begin inside of woman, protected in the womb as they are nurtured. The baby that grows outside a womans womb is a strange creature indeed. I consider this because of the images in conspiracy reels of the New Normal Nursery in our future. There are, what to call them? Adventurers! Inventors interested in discovering what alien kind will grow in those transparent incubators. Perhaps they envision the characteristics that will be bred out of humanity, like personality, opinions, or creativity. Do they also consider the characteristics that may be bred in to the new human? Who can imagine? Based on what model? Ah, its probably Deep Fake anyway, forget about it.
Its shocking to a child when Mother turns hostile, when she becomes a devouring mother. This Mother pulls away and withholds development. She is the evil stepmother of fairytales. She is confining, imprisoning, and swallows up children. A teacher may do the same with his students, crushing their dreams of distinction, keeping them small, contained and dependant. For a moment, with one look, he may make you very special. If you shine in response theres no telling what might be next. He might turn you into a frog! He never lets you forget him. He never lets you look away. You are so far gone beyond even a glimpse of something other than him. Hes The One you have crafted in your fictional universe and he winds you tightly around him. Its been decades now. He is in you. You are in him. There is no going back to your starting point. You took the shot. You chose for this.
Some months ago I sold my cool car, the one low to the ground and worthy of punching its accelerator now and then. I bought it off a young journalist and it was filled with his enthusiasm and I tried to care for that energy. I loved it and sold it when the wannabe Chinese leader of our western country insisted on electric vehicles in our future. What will our cars be worth when the climate cons make their climate control moves? Consider this point of view on climate change in a scene from The Truman Show. In the water on a boat. They almost killed him with their climate controls.
So now we are a one car family, and when I dont have the car, I walk or take public transit if the weather is, you know, being controlled by climate producers hoping to create a distracting drama. I take the train when the kids get out of school and the train cars are packed. I make my way to a divider next to an exit door and love balancing on the movement of the train, not holding on to anything. I dont look around. Yesterday, when I did, a mans eyes met mine, hungry and glistening. Others seemed to be staring, too. I ignored the attention. We were too close together. I couldnt get away if a connection with someone turned strange.
Then I was on the platform with all the kids, following like animals in a chute to the slaughter. Why dont they spread out, head around the crowd into the space that opens up in the direction of the escalator? I look around and ahead and suddenly realize Im in a crowd. Things happen in crowds. I look at who is next to me. Who would I cover? The elderly woman in a face mask or the young Z whos gender I cannot make out? If someone opened fire. I had that thought. In a crowd with the old and the young, moving together the way herd animals do. A clear blue day it was, with only a few white trails stopping and starting in the sky overhead.
What creates our worlds are not our words, but the designers of a world that engage our belief. That may be why it is so challenging to create your own world with your own words because its difficult to hear your own thoughts inside a matrix of control and conformity. In a cult or in the world, most people are controlled by conformity and electromagnetic signals that reach right into DNA. The architects of belief have entered our brains.
A woman outside the Safeway. I pass her once and dont take in the whole picture. It seems things have fallen from her cart and she is bending over it, rearranging the things inside. I do not register anything specific. I am moving quickly because its so cold. When I leave the Safeway she is still there, in the same position, bending over her cart. I see she is looking into a mirror, holding it with one hand that has been long exposed to bitter cold. Her fingers are red and swollen and puffed around thick yellow nails. I cant see her face, bent and so intent. She appears to be applying her make up. The things strewn around her cart on the cement are as nothing and for a homeless soul, her cart isnt very well stocked. She continues in the motions of presentableness, despite her extreme situation. Conforming runs so deeply into our survival mechanisms. Outside the conforming rituals of our cultures, there is isolation and insanity.
Outside the conforming rituals of our cultures, there is also art. Any dissenters these days, bound together by their love of truth, are making vivid art as free journalists, real doctors, actual scientists, statisticians, and evolutionary biologists. They inspire us to stop playing it safe, to begin creating outside of the normal everyday myopic tracks where we smile and have a nice day, and hardly notice each other. Borg-zombies. If I can go a little further in my conversations with people I happen to meet, step a bit out of my comfortable depth of conforming to the status quo, then, although I might be out of my depth and might not find sympathetic ears, it is somehow exciting, those conversations, those attempts to share what Im seeing, loving, and hoping for us humans.
I continue to hope against hope for the release of my old friends still swarming the motorhead. Others do, too. There is an anonymous benefactor who is helping those cultside who would like to get out but lack the means to do so. That person is working with the German website https://sekten-info-nrw.de/
Mid-January in these northern prairies, its deathly cold. There must be frank hardship for the select few and all the wannabes living close as possible to their backcountry guru. This is not the hardship that is required to know truth. It is not the step by step exposure of what has been bred into the workings of our minds, nor is it the painstaking task of undoing mental habits that keep us lassoed to someone elses game plan, or to our own out of date hardware. Hardship is the way of the world, says the motorhead, We live and die in it. He cooks up lots of uplifting ditties like that.
Living on the edge of nowhere, it is hardship for no reason but to imbibe his next tall tale. Like this one: Millions will be watching when I go to trial. My words will reach millions. It will reach right inside people so they experience what theyve been looking for their whole life.
He said he felt some pain, laying on his bones on the concrete slab in his solitary cell and no one around he could ask about stopping that pain. Did he think of those who had asked him to stop? Please stop. It hurts.
I dare say he did not. On a slab in a cell, as the story unfolds, he was intent on laying his special power down, deciding not to use it on the judge. Perhaps an earlier encounter with the detective proved to him these law types are not susceptible to his special power. Instead of trying to hypnotize anyone, he created a transcendental experience to share with followers. It was a magical display that any rational seeker would quickly dismiss as a misuse of power, the power to excite people with lights and everything moving all at once. He was hardly more descriptive than that but it works because the code words are already deeply enbrained. His nursery of love struck babies need no more than a few cursory signals and they are under. I mean, deeper. No, I mean dropped. Whatever. Lo and behold in the midst of his magical movement came his bail. The plot thins from there.
He will continue by sharing how brutal the environment was. The food was horrible. The inmates were messed up and violent, shrieking and kicking doors. These are the same inmates that will transform into adorable love struck babies soon as they catch sight of him, their adorable noses pressed against glass to get closer to him. So quickly they are subdued and gladdened by his mere presence! The tale grows taller and taller the more you are in rapt attention. He cant just stop at the truth of something. Seeing you captured, he goes on and on, all the way back to the womb. I was two years old and I just knew I had to get back there. Its how I got here from where I came from. I knew I needed to get back into that womb. Uh-huh.
A fellow apostate, also held in the same Remand Centre, shared his experience. You dont see anyone, he said. You are in solitary. Youre alone with the alone.
John told his wives and their husbands, his sons and their lovers, he had no defence and has no need of defence. He does not relate to justice at all. Ironically, he says, I see the injustice of it all.
How easily he mixes law with tiny little bits and many little lies. They are cold in the north but he has them laughing. Are you referring to my orange onesies!?!
It is destructive and unfair to people to play on their weaknesses, their expectations, their dreams, rather than present the realistic starting point of what they are.
Chogyam Trungpa
Women are rightfully concerned about his phone being bugged and they ask repeatedly, is it possible? Can they do that? They know what he uses his phone for and likely they arent keen to be bugged for that. For him, it does what it does and it doesnt do anything. He feels everything and it means nothing to him. Hes a real nothing man.
Meanwhile, you are entirely too wrapped up in his mythology. You cannot see him any other way than the tall tales and glorious narratives you shower upon him. Together you and he are spinning tall tales on either side of a big fat lie. You say to him, You are like a little innocent animal. For what your arrest? Why this orange suit? Why do you look different? I cannot see anything but love-love-love for you. As if the concrete slab, solitary confinement and the horrible attire could not possibly have actually occurred.
Dear believers, achieving his state of being is impossible! In your right mind, you really dont want to. Having your attention he only spins and spins, and spins some more. He may know that a still space exists but he cannot honestly transmit it to you. It means nothing to him and he says so. If you experience that sublime space, that is because you have reached a level of stillness. Its you. He is not still. He is busy arousing your belief in him. He wants what he wants and he wants it from you, his loyal subjects. It is a logical consequence that he finds himself caught in a legal system as a defendant. With eight charges against him and more coming, he tells you his only defence is no defence, as if this were all a folly. Go deeper than the surface where there is no injustice, says the object of your affection. Entering a system that isnt enamoured with the timeless wisdom that flows through him will not be nothing. To tell the court that injustice is a surface matter will only cause confusion and distrust.
Don Juan de Marco was an imaginative kid with a glorious life made of nothing at all but fancy clothes, fancy talk, and fantastic fantasies of love. The greatest lover in the world! When he came to his hearing, where was his feathered hat and his long black cloak then? In a t-shirt and jeans, he sat bowed before the inquisitor. Finally he told the truth. Finally he became real.
That is a realistic starting point for John. That he has never sincerely applied himself to truth and honesty while simultaneously representing himself as the living embodiment of truth is his unfortunate malfeasance. That he abdicates any responsibility for his actions by claiming that justice is merely a surface matter will not stand up in court. Go ahead, tell the court and jury there exists a greater reality that extends beyond the walls of the courtroom. See how the jury, unmoved by brainwashing and love baths, responds to In this greater reality, the truth is not bound by evidence or testimonies. It resides within the depths of our being.
Yep, thats no defence alright.
Ever since returning to this town, with the cult history, and the lights and everything moving all at once, the living and the dead, I dream every night of the motorhead. I am alone in the grand marble lined building where we used to meet. In the kitchen Im sitting at the table eating a sandwich. John and Leigh Ann walk into the kitchen and when she sees me she turns away and he comes to sit across the table from me. He is angry, very angry. I wonder if he is angry at me but no, he looks right past me and says, hes angry because he didnt get the land he wanted. One of his other wives enters to serve him. I wake up. I realize I was alone there, eating in a place empty of care, distorted and unhealthy.
I chose for that. Maybe you did, too. Choosing to step away from the lack and distortion of the group mind is a hair raising experience, full of elation and vulnerability, tears and pain. It wont be worse than what you experienced cultside. It may be better, because its real. In many ways, you are made for that great escape. Then begins the honest work of finding the truth in it all. If there was anything real and true, I know it is your own. Perhaps a space of stillness that has no depth or breadth or dropping into. It opens from the inside and scintillates in a wonder of transduction, particles fusing and diffused. Unified and whole. Being part of that field is wondrous and real. There is no single being holding sway in that field. No one holds a door open for you to enter that space. It is within and it is perpetually accessible.
" Enbrained" ! Love that word !! Wonderful writing Jess. As always, hitting the nail on the Motorhead !
Ha!!
“Mid-January in these northern prairies, its deathly cold. There must be frank hardship for the select few and all the wannabes living close as possible to their backcountry guru.“
Yeah! People gotta be tough to live in a trailer in this weather!
Such a harsh life...but at least someone is baking high end Michelin star European style cakes for the weekly parties for the “family” and the inner circle special wannabes.
Keep writing Jess!
This real and true perspective needs a voice.
✨⭐️✨🦋