What if I had been more mature when I met the motorhead? How would a mature responsible adult respond to the dark lords invitation to Enter his spiritual refuge? What is a mature responsible adult anyway?
Ive been in the habit of running. The War on Freedom: How and Why America was Attacked, September 11, 2001 by Nafeez Mosaddeq Ahmed convinced me I was living in a dangerous country, under a government that had forsaken any responsibility towards its people. Undeniably it wasnt safe living in the USA anymore and I needed to get out. Two decades later the same diabolical system is still spying on its citizens using secret technology. It is murdering people with mandated medical experimentations. It is a country administered by a group of seven thousand unseen & unelected bureaucrats while the visible faces of government are unabashed representatives of humungous corporations. After 9/11 I ran to a new country that is now aimed in the same direction, to spy and censor and control. I have considered my next escape, to a south american country, but the president there advised his citizens to arm themselves. No chance his government could protect the people.
Ooh, a storm is threatening
My very life today
If I don't get some shelter
Ooh yeah I'm gonna fade away
A mature version of myself would stop running, stop looking for a safer place. From the very first lacklustre attempt at age ten, I never escaped the insecurity I meant to get away from.
My first lacklustre escape at age ten. Getting on my bike with a jar of peanut butter and a plastic bag of sliced bread to ride two and half blocks to the woods at the end of the road. Maybe I took the fat sleeping bag too. I got myself settled, started making my first meal when a group of boys entered the woods and sat down in a circle around me, firing insults and innuendos, finally forcing me to pack up and go back to the house I had run from. A house of fiery arguments and sarcastic insults, confining without shelter.
Childhood was about getting away from that house. To sit on top of the gate overlooking an expanse of green grass. Lying back to look into the clear blue sky and travel into blue space, free of someone taking pot shots at my character. Later, sneaking away to meet a war veteran, fresh from southeast Asia, who gifted me with LSD tours into the moving breathing inanimate. Later again, packing up a small trunk to move to a small island metropolis where I woke the first morning thinking, no one knows me here. I can be whoever I want. Why not be me? Who am I?
A Stranger in a Strange Land. A midwestern girl in Manhattan. Maturity could not develop living in that sanctuary city. Everything went into survival mode. It takes having a stable foothold somewhere for maturity to happen. Where will so many folks from over the border be able to mature in a country that only wants them for their blue vote? Heres your ticket. Heres a phone. Vote for the Alzheimers puppet.
It was hard going in New York City. I loved it there. I would be sorely grieved to see that magnificent testament become another Portland or San Francisco. I would miss the beauty that surrounds the tiny human swarms, the deep caverns made by skyscrapers, the everyday people, and the art everywhere. I was only an explorer on that island, with a wispy tether to dreams of becoming.
Maturation requires a foundation that is solid and secure, with adultness developing out of fundamental sensibilities. My roots waved in watery emotions, never quite finding suitable ground to grow in. The motorhead guru encouraged the suppression of emotions, so rather than finding a place to grow and flourish within the richness of emotion, I pitched in with the denial of my emotional nature. Be more like the motorhead, unmoving, expressionless, and cool. He did not condone the unpredictable movements of emotion. Any emotional displays by his devotees were squelched, until he realized he could sweep emotionality in the direction of his desires and misdeeds. Mass formation for the sake of his proclivities.
I imagine a grown up human is someone who finds a collaboration between the girl in the woods, the runaway in NY, and the logical and rational parts of my consciousness. Both parts, the deeper pulls of love and the higher demands of good sense have to be danced, a living tango of one and the other. Both parts have to be fully in the dance. Two parts at two different levels of experience coming together in a link of wholeness and light. Not one or the other. Without both, the light doesnt come together in that golden link between whats above and whats below.
In the cult I was continually pushing down what cannot be held down, thinking I could finally gain control over the wandering explorations of my unconscious psyche and rippling emotions. I tried like hell and it was hell. I lost control regularly, cyclically, and hysterically.
Suppression doesnt really work. It leads to illness in the body or eventually erupts into violence. I wonder about a future created by the filthy rich, prepping for communist controls over all the people in the world. What will come of suppressing the will of so many people? Has it gone so far now that citizens will pitch in with denial like cult followers, allowing the leaders their whims for greater authority and control? Leaders like penisminds have needs and desires too. Evil desires.
War children
its just a shot away
It takes a moral mainstay to begin the processes of maturation. My moral compass spun wildly, here, there, almost anywhere. All I really wanted was a shelter in the storm of horror I saw outside of me in the world and inside of me within my emotions. I followed my felt sense of things, my internal inspirations, into places where it turned out I couldnt really grow. Like being in the woods at the end of the road encircled by male characters continually challenging my intentions, swiping my best ideas and wooing to get the better of me.
I tell you love sister
Its just a kiss away
If maturity had set in before I met the motorhead, I would have recognized him as one of those boys in the woods. If I had made my way to adulthood, I would have known he was not what he presented himself to be. Instead, I dared to identify with his mission to change the world by bringing in a different reality, a different way of being and believing. Love. Kindness. Openness and softness of heart. His self-styled mission seemed to dovetail with my own unorthodox vocation. I thought to expand my knowledge into wondrous places beyond the confines of earthly passions, way out past the endless war. Like traveling into blue space. Like dropping acid. Like becoming who I really am. Theres always some idea somewhere of something more, something greater, liable to tempt us away from finding our own true current and into someone elses. Before you know it youre wearing rainbows and changing your childrens gender before they can differentiate the value between Oreos and a million dollars. A mature adult would know better than to move into fast moving currents with self proclaimed gurus or alphabet people.
I threw in with the motorhead penismind believing I was doing something good in the world by believing him. However, with a grown up perspective I could have applied my whole heart to my own personal best through difficult times instead of following a ne’er do well who had found power in telling tall tales to grown children. I could have explored my own true nature instead of his. Rather than entraining with a psychopath, I might have allowed the waves of my emotional experience to settle onto a quiet shore within, simply by being present to those feelings instead of censoring myself in his entrainment. Who knows.
Looking for shelter in a fearsomely changing world was a slippery slope into the artificial security of a cult. The leader had charisma, intelligence, and an immovable countenance that never registered fear. In other words, a psychopath. He exuded a confidence that encouraged us to live as nothing and nobody in his shadows, and to believe that what happens in the world outside his philosophy doesnt really matter. Fear not!
I imagine a real live adult reading this cannot conceive of the fear and lack a person might be living with, deep down inside themselves, an awful internal experience that bows people down to the false security of a fake guru. Or the false security of a shot in the arm.
Thanks to social media and persuasion codes that make mince meat out of consumers, there are many people living with the sort of fear and lack that could make them susceptible to an alphabet movement, or a pseudo scientist spouting false narratives, or a television producer mustering a populist movement. Add in black hawk down foreign policies for the cults of killers, and the gazillionaire agendas that advertise the end of lack and fear.
Ooh, see the fire is sweepin’
Our streets today
Burns like a red coal carpet
Mad bull lost its way
I lived without fear in the dark lords shadows, imagining a whole world could shift because of the shifts ostensibly occurring in the consciousness of a few hundred devotees. My longing to do something good in the world was satisfied. And the confines of his psycho-culture felt safely cut off from the world, safe from the horrors happening everywhere else. I sat quietly in the counterfeit security of the cult, knowing there were other meditators in other places who also gathered to sit quietly together. There is evidence that their meditations have worldly affects, even reducing violence and crime. I believed we could to the same inside the psychopaths shit show. That was then.
Call me crazy or immature, but I still believe that my consciousness and what I do with it can be far reaching in little ways that are good for me and good for the world and does not contribute to anyones fear or cause harm in any way. I may someday become emotionally mature enough to be wholly wedded with my own good sense, able to sit quietly and feel, deeply feel, the horrors of this world in our present time. To feel the news without fear. To look right at the world without pushing any of it away and let it sink into the watery depths of feeling that are dancing with real knowledge. Maybe I could relax into a collaboration between feeling and a thoughtful sense of lifes meaning. Becoming emotionally mature. Sounds good.
As for finding security anywhere in the world, a master of the mature collaboration, Helen Keller, wrote this:
Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.
excellent, wonderfully succinct, you really have hit on crucial points here.
excellent, wonderfully succinct, you really have hit on crucial points here.