On the road now, talking with strangers. Meeting national park rangers in a tea shop. They knew about my brothers death. They knew the strangeness of it.
They didnt test the bear for parasites, said one, after starvation and rabies had been ruled out. Theres an observation drenched in our medicalized culture! According to alternative news sources, it is an anti-parasitic drug that cures covid and cancer. Its a drug we arent allowed to have because, for one thing, theres no money in it. And second to that, its curative.
Trapped as we are in a material world, its difficult to perceive what is other than what can be seen. Our machines are continually distracting us from anything mystical or godlike. Now traveling in old native lands where ancestors and spirits in the unseen were once embraced and honoured, Im thoughtful of what could be unseen energies moving behind our visible world.
I like this idea. I have been pondering the possibility that there is more to my physical body than what I can see. Perhaps an aura, a scintillating torus, or an energy network surrounding what I feel is my body. Im contemplating how to surrender to this potential structure, allowing its subtler direction to have sway with my being and with a way of moving through the world. I might be less driven by my mind and more in tune with my surroundings. I might become a relational part of whats around me, rather than a machine doing as Im programmed, helter skelter through an artificial landscape.
I have to be careful. Its a fanciful notion. Similar ideas got me hooked into a backcountry cult, with a motorhead leader. A motorhead because he never thinks about the consequences of his actions. Moving like a machine without conscience, he perpetually points to a deeper level of existence that only he knows and answers to. A level deep within his being that moves him in ways that no one could possibly understand, least of all a court of law with their agendas and beliefs about justice that harm the innocent. What a perfect projection of his own motoring through other peoples lives.
The actual manifestations of his deeper movement are multiple sexual encounters with his brainwashed devotees. Believers. Being on the inside, doused in his world view— that the world is distorted and he has the means for straightening it out— it was fathomable to concoct justifications for his wanton sex schedules, a different woman every night, all night long. On the inside of the cult, though your conscience tells you this is cliche, you make allowances for the one who has claimed your heart as his. Love me. Give everything to me. I will do it all for you.
We have to be careful. Most of us gave ourselves to leaders who gave us the shot to save the world. Come to find out, that multi-dose injection functions a lot like ice-nine in Cats Cradle. Heres how Schmoop describes the symbology of ice-nine:
In a way, ice-nine represents more than the atomic bomb. It represents an unchecked use of technology where humanity is harmed rather than helped. When Vonnegut was growing up, technology for him represented ways to help humanity. And while the occasional plane crash or electrical fire might kill someone, neither planes nor electricity were designed for that purpose. The atomic bomb has just one purpose in Vonnegut's eyes: to kill.
Might as well roll in the bomb while we are at it. A bioweapon along with the threat of nuclear war does describe the current distortion of the world we are living in.
But how is it, as John deRuiter claims, that one mans sexual domination over a group of women is going to shift that reality? Dont ask him! That only inspires his greater and grander lies. Its not about avoiding the truth, mind you. Its about creating better and better lies for his people.
Generalizing the question: how has mens sexual domination over women throughout time ever done anything good in the world?
One avenue of domination that has become normalized and capitalized on is pornography. This method of exploitation is not lost on the motorhead who encourages his captured subjects to utilize porn in daily measure. Unforgettable, and I wish I could, was one devotee shooting her mouth off about needing to watch porn over her husbands shoulder in order to get off with him. Hearing stuff like that from a long time cult member, then and there should have been my goodbye.
When I was very young, an older woman offered me a job selling tickets in a movie theatre, tucked in the back of an old shopping centre. It meant a generous pay check and I could do anything I wanted behind the ticket counter between sales. I read books. I wrote poetry. The customers were always men and the movies porn. I didnt last long for grace intervened the day I wore my Mickey Mouse t-shirt to work. With the movie rolling, the projectionist came out of his booth and motioned me to come in. He pointed through the opening past the projector to the woman on the screen wearing nothing but a Mickey Mouse t-shirt, exactly like mine. Without hesitating, I picked up my books and my poems and walked out. I was so much older then, Im younger than that now.
Looking back what seems odd, but not, is that no man ever hit on me while I worked at that theatre, not one. Not odd, because people addicted to porn do not see women as human beings. Theyve been indoctrinated into a cult that outright demeans women, making women objects of fantasy that flicker in film even as they are actual in production. When men, like the motorhead, only see an object being conquered and controlled, there are no holds barred on creating more and more horrific fantasies, without any regard for how it affects his objects psychologically. The motorhead will always point to something deeper that is split off from real human difficulty, difficulties that he deems are merely superficial. In the deep, he is always absolute truth. On the surface, women are being abused for the sake of his addiction.
Stranger still is that people in his cult know he is lying. They know the trouble he has caused women. They feign to want answers but bend over under the weight of his crooked philosophies. It has been so long planted in their psyches, it is impossible to override his programming with their own intelligence or their own clarity. If they are called to question him— a special honour— it is because they can see and say what he wont look at, while at the same time, they will surrender to his authority. It is bizarre to hear an intelligent person describe the events the leader is responsible for but be unwilling to hold him accountable. The motorhead has succeeded in his highest aim: making anything he wants, in anyway he wants to get it, acceptable. In that he is truly a master.
If I look beyond the borders of his sex cult into the world, I see the Covidians, religiously devoted to the politics of death, even in the face of its torture and destruction. Covidians believe everyone should believe in disease and give up their life for the fear of it. Locking people in their homes and taking away civil rights and liberties is alright by them.
Truth is so terrible.
Back in the tea shop, in conversation with the young park rangers. They are jaw dropped that I am my brothers sister, and that I have also escaped from a cult. They are full of questions, one that sparks a memory of my brother and of my first connection to a spiritual group. A long time ago, my brother took me to visit a zendo and I began sitting still there, and learning about buddhism. After an evening sitting, I spoke to the monk, telling him about something I had seen during my meditation, something moving and shimmering. I knew it didnt exist in this reality but none the less it was very real in my mind. I could see it. I was surprised and somewhat disappointed when he said, It is Maya. It isnt real and best not to make anything up about it.
That was so many years before I met the motorhead, had visions around him, and gave him everything because of what I made up about him.
It was all Maya.
Maya'll escape from his Maya!
The kingdom within is enough more than the physical body snake skin metamorphosis that we may begin to realize the mind has virtually in sight the dead end sign of mind tool is stripping gears and requires a cosmic ring job to reduce exhaust poisening. Real reps are open for business on that score. Surrendering to the ancient within thingamabob is supposed to be says the Warner Brothers script the only and last game in town. It's a rubic cube bitch and ya have to have been heart busted 104 times before you calmly can see the program for which it stands. There you know the fanciful in fanciful notion is narrcistic's target. Food for the messes. Remember Rush Limbaugh's ditto heads. Rush took one to many handfull's of speed and disappeared to the sound of drumsticks clacking. Another collateral damager, above it all. Vonnegut tried to warn us about reciprical hatred density spreads when allowed to reach the 1984 level of 'hatred is love' and fester in the place where spirit invites us to forgive. Dresden's WW!! firebombing went far beyond tactical, perhaps like Gaza today, Take that you bastards, and that, and that. You really sure you want fire power? Both side arrogance=the seen of the take a look on the dark side. OVER THERE, how many times we gotta see that movie until we learn the soft exits? Then the women: does the free woman look like D.C. Green or Stormy Davis? Just stand there babe with one tit out, it increases donations an average 46%. 'it's impossible to over ride any programming with our own intelligence" Ya, my ya, it came to me in a dream. Thats correct but she will soon,. maybe this epoch even devise a way (maybe without suffering to see the real light. I mean she should be satisfyingly rich enough by now but then zeow maybe we gotta do another 14b laps in this meat grinder. Illusions a tough teach, a tougher understanding and almost impossible to integrate. Maya yourya or over the top bitch.