The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
—Rumi
Therefore, I continue. In spite of any convoluted comments that obscure meaning. In spite of any condemnation for the role Ive come to fill in this shit show. In spite of myself who would just as soon do something else, like travel the world and the seven seas…looking for something…
I continue because the mechanics of the motorheads engine continue working in me, the way it did when I was on the inside. Im out ! But rising up and falling down on a familiar roller coaster of love and fear. Rising up the narrowing tracks of love, benevolence and truth, then suddenly clattering down from that great height into the threat and fear of losing what seemed to be a magical relationship. Up and down and up again before falling down once more.
It doesnt matter how many times you fall. What matters is the manner in which you get up, said the motorhead. Our falling down served his agenda, and fall and fall and fall I did, in a rhythm that disoriented my thinking, hypnotized my awareness, and disassociated in any connection to him. Deer in the headlights alternating with blissed out and gone. I was never able to reflect on the reality I was living. I was forever wowed and wooed, or booed and shooed by his shit show.
I continue writing because the injections I received from the dark lord and all the brainwashing boosters repeated over years and years still circulate in my system. Ive been colonized, as Rich Grannon tells it, free from the pod, out of the matrix, but the mechanics are still functioning. The wound is still open and oozing, black with oil from the motorheads engine. I want to look away. I want to go away, further away. Then something he said reverberates out of the back of my mind and suddenly Im confused. It takes some tipping back and forth of my marbles to get them all back in the right holes. One marble: he said that, yes. Another marble: what he said could be true. The next: that he said it doesnt make it true. Another: its either true or not. Last marble: okay it sounds true but not when its coming from him. Coming from him it sounds like a smooth talking barker attracting seekers to the greatest show on earth.
His whole system is driven with an ideology of the ideal human. It flows downward from his higher-than-thou example, spreading over everyone into behaviour modification. Its not behaviour modification, protests the motorhead. But it was, like a glaze that covered our faces and our minds with notions of how to emulate an ideal. We were consumed with consuming him, and imitating him as if he was the living embodiment of truth. The ideal. A real human.
A fairy tale.
I turn to James Finlay when I realize Im addicted once again to world news and I need something remedial. I open up Audible when I realize Im simply not mature enough, not woman enough, not open enough to take in another interview about damaged fetuses, mothers aborting, and babies sick from nursing as a result of the covid shots. I open up a life line to the contemplatives and Thomas Merton. There I sit, relaxing in the cadence of Finlays calming voice when suddenly, out of the blue, Im triggered! Hes talking about the need for a teacher! Finlay is describing a master, the embodiment of the teachings, a living example who is just as unintegrated as anyone else but who is okay in the midst of that lack. Hes weak but hes okay with being weak. He limps but its not a problem. Im blindsided!
I disconnect. My whole body freezes into no fucking way am I going there again.
I will not believe there is anyone outside of me who knows my direction home better than I!
I will never believe that again!
I believed that before but no-way-never-again!
My mind is tripping on what was and should-never-be-again while my body begins sticking to itself on the inside, thick rubbery cement taking over my organs and jiggling in a disconcerted way.
If you listen to someone closely when they are denying something, especially when they are vehement in their denial, you can bet your bottom dollar what they are railing against is actually very true at their core, but so unacceptable to them they would deny it with their dying breath. The current POTUS is a good exercise in listening for what his administration is definitely not doing, but certainly is. We must listen closely to our leaders, especially to what they are denying.
Listening to my own self, after years of suppressing it according to the motorheads design, I am now protesting too much. Sad to say, denying a core belief is not going to take me home. But maybe it can point to what is calling to be cured, if I would just listen. If I can hear anything through this thick black fog of sadness.
Practically speaking, we all must at times believe what someone outside of us is saying. I dont know what the solar whatchamajigger box in the basement does, nor what is happening when it isnt doing that. We must at certain times trust strangers to come into our homes and lives, even our bodies. Ultimately that is how society rolls forward. We deny the possibility of abuse and criminality and instead we trust. mRNA shots. eXperts. Sceance. Cult leaders. Controllers. Power lords. Evil.
Listening to a mild mannered Christian contemplative, talking about his teacher, and without warning Im drowning in my resistance and reactions. Imagining, as I have my whole life long, that rebelling against my situation will save me. On the inside, keeping her head above all that gluey goo, a little girl just wants mom to take her home.
Despite their tall tales about truth, narcissists dont really want to take their children home. They want children to take them home. The Grateful Dead had it backwards. It was the children meant to take Uncle John home. The way hundreds of followers have paved the road for the motorhead to make his inglorious way, somewhere up north beyond the reach of government, if not geotracking. He never meant to take anyone home but the promise of it served him well, leading us all down a primrose path, lining his pockets as we heydiddlydeed to his fairy tale grandiosity.
I hope my meaning here is not convoluted. Maybe you have to experience this kind of thing where sweet dreams are made of this…
Whatever it was that lured me into the dark lords illusion, right there, that is the rub. Yes, it was his engine driving a system, but it was something in me, full of lack and passion, that got on board. It feels like buried treasure inside of me, but how to reach it? Its at an unseen depth, entangled with a belief in something that I actually dont know the truth of. It hides my deepest longing that I dare not give voice to. There it is, my wanting something that I dont trust is something I can ever actually have. With that contrivance at my core, is it any wonder I heard the call: all aboard the love & fear roller coaster of the benevolent dark lord?
In case you are innocent of culty systems, heres a quick sketch: leaders ensure their dominance in an isolated system by maintaining constant focus on themselves as the Gatekeepers of Truth. Think Fauci. Followers are kept in a state of disassociation by enduring alternating states of fear and love. I teetered between being blissed out most of the time to being buried in anguish and self reproach for no other reason than he looked away from me. The love poured from his attention. The fear descended in its absence. Not so different from, get your shot, youre good. Dont get your shot, youre bad. Over an extended period of time it is traumatizing to ride the love & fear roller coaster.
These days, reaching for the stories of contemplatives is a clue to what attracts me. Sometimes I go to the Tao te Ching. I imagine communion with the Unnameable could be close at hand. Now and again I catch of whiff of a divine desire, a pure clear wanting of something I imagine is holier than me. Eros arrows fly in every direction and a dangerous fantasy world materializes. Is it created from a childs longing for love, unrequited? Left unrequited will it continue tic tokking into the night? Unmet, will it keep children and childrens children playing end of the world games on their phones? We go to meet the one we most want communion with and are consumed, eaten by the hand we thought would feed us. We follow the rules. We suffer the consequences.
I look down at my hand resting on the desk. I look up my arm and at the shirt sleeve. The thought comes, he is in my hand, he is in my arm. I think of District 9 and the black oil that took a hand, then an arm and then the whole human was transformed into a creature, imprisoned in an isolated camp.
I dont want to become a narcissist to get away from a narcissist. I want my body back. Wherever he is in me, I want him out of me. Not knowing my true self, or who I am meant to become after all of this, Im horrified to find he has infiltrated all the places I surrendered to him. What he is in me that I havent taken responsibility for, any of his re-educating that still informs me, whatever I havent unraveled of the true and the false, it must be threshed. What grains of truth remain I hope will be universal and incontrovertible, withstanding the test of my own understanding, simple as it is.
Reclamation is at hand. I will continue.
'What would the Buddha say?' is what I'm left with after reading this controversy of mind bouncing between love and fear. That is the basic dicotomy of the mind, is it not?
Find what is beyond all this having to know, inner/outer, following/leading, longing/rejecting, Motorhead vs. Jessica.
It is all MIND and You can Choose to Suspend it, moment to moment. That is The Practice.
Find what, for You, is beyond the phenomenal mind and devote yourself to that; But be flexible if that shifts, as it will, as you grow. Don't fall for the need to know, to choose this over that, to be sane over insane. There is no stable ground outside of illusion.
Reclamation is an illusion... but the illusion itself is Divine. Either way, and you will bounce, as we all do; as is the very nature of MIND. But You are AND are not, simultaneously, MIND (the great illusion/Mystery).
Choose not to choose and go about your business moment to moment. Love your longinig. Love your fear.
Please forgive me if I over step. I love you. (Love the Rumi quote, btw.)
My two favorite Duncan’s:
“Fate is grace”
“This is what we find here.”
From Merton’s, The Wisdom of the Desert; “ Abbot Hor said to his disciple: “Take care that you never bring into this cell the words of another”
The hallowing of hallowed be his name is the ‘work’ of removing the blockages to the awareness of his presence which is our natural inheritance. Need a taxi? Prime blockage says that we do. We don’t. Each shade removed brings the light, unless
there’s juice in the whine that it exits, in which case it may be that adder snake guy, is motoring your should be beyond it all learn time. Hey ya how about the ex POTUS and his motorheading? Talk about collateral damage and busted faiths. Its what we find here. Knew a super bright statistician that said : ‘for a truly complete individual evolution one needs to be heart gutted at least three times so to fully, knowingly integrate that the holy spirit is within you AND as you dedicate your life to hallowing his name you become born to what, in truth, you are, by his grace.
I think if I need to be busted yet I will be. Gosh imagine the busy that must be causing somebody.
Really like the vertical of your writing ability. Why not venture out now you have some audience. There must be a spectacular movement regarding your clarity of what you are, ummm, other than conned through these years. Help me to know.