There is so much to write about the goodness of being gone. I can feel my edge in doing so, staying lively and true, a contented soul balancing on the edge of freedom, and decamped from the confinement of a manufactured culture, what was all tangled up with the penismind master.
And not only me! Others are also stepping out into the light of day, a bit blinded after twenty years and over seven thousand hours of sitting in a cell with artificial lights, all aimed at the penismind master. His stage show gave the impression of him at the very centre of a universal light. Utterly artificial. Without the electric lights he was a dark lord sitting on an old buffalo hide, casting evil shadows on a canvas tent, the only light from a small fire, and the flames shifting as mercilessly as his own dark psyche. Forget about him.
I found a friend in the cult family. We knew each other immediately by our own vague shadows. We secretly loved our own shadows, and eventually we loved each others shadowy places, too, wherever they overlapped. Little criminals we were, with histories in punk rock clubs, naughty sex, and other nightmares from our youth. As punk rockers we were meant to escape the walls of social custom and bust through the meaningless beliefs of modernity, get louder than consumerism, and break out of those prisons to the human soul! What irony we met in a cult.
Those days of passionate intensity were well behind us by the time we met, yet the longing to live free of modern society endured. We imagined ourselves holy rebels sitting in the dark lords cavern, still as statues, traveling out into the void spaces of consciousness, riding awareness around the universes within, returning to scribble it down and be awed by each others excursions. Echoes of our visions shared, and a little cared for by each other, too.
Our kinship has kept treasured ideals alive in me in the midst of a strange culture. It has helped me survive being in an isolated group devoted to serving only one person. Looking back, its clear to see the relationships inside the walls surrounding that person are meant to maintain his web of influence, especially with those captured by bonds of sex.
I want to think of him no more.
Returning to my friend. He was the first one close to me to let me know that what was happening with the penismind should not be, and rather the whole evil shit show should be shut down completely, he said. I was shocked. How did he come to this conclusion? What did he know? He didnt say. I thought I should convince him otherwise, because I had no experience of someone I loved leaving the group. That would be very difficult. We drifted apart for awhile and I had to come to my own understanding of why and what shouldnt be happening. He could not have convinced me either.
Now we live outside the walls of the dark lords dominion. We relax in the truth of what we are. We have no pretence about it. We are not in any contest for more or less status conveyed by the dark lords attention. We relax in the experiences of a real friendship, with nothing to convince each other of. We can disagree and remain in conversation. We love without condition each other and what everything comes from when we are together. There is no show in it. We are still serious punk rockers, aware of the artificiality of modern life, the horrors of concrete and barricades, scanners and urban mazes. We shout out in Old Bull Lee voices! For fuck sake!
He is a greater wordsmith than I and fascinating. I am a listener by trade but no one has tested my ability more than he. It is his own personal camouflage of protection I believe. Ive seen this in other artists. Intricate mechanisms at play to keep too many from getting too close, while desperately grateful for anyone who can get past their moving walls and age-old bulwarks. He knows that about himself but lets himself forget. So much safer behind a veil of words. So much more to say than can fit into one single language. Things like this we know of each other.
Nowadays, the ruse of reaching for something more than the quiet truth we know in our hearts, the game of making it about an authority outside of ourselves, pretending there is something more to get than what we already are— we have left those gambits behind. We are serious, if wizened, punk rockers still. Still loving the truth of being. Still hearing the hum of what is holy and whole. Still susceptible to a transient light seen quickly and shining out of us and into us.
Relationships are beautifully different now. We do not have to hang out with a bunch of people dressed up to survive in the competitive society of the cult. We get to be together because we actually like each other and arent grabbing to get something spiritually enlightening through our association. The shackles of having to be a certain way or to say certain things, that is all long gone. Our spiritual armour and magical costuming were heavy loads and high maintenance inside the family cult of relations. That is gone for good.
My friend and I are a couple of old punk rockers, still thinking it through from source outward, from love and back again. We meet and what we are becomes visible. It is our own and we like what we see through and through. Nothing to get. Everything to give, just as the moment calls for, freshly. Out here on the perimeter, the other side of the wall, we have no hierarchy of newbies, homegrowns, or entrenched adepts. We are not concerned with the status of our selves or our beings. The rivalry for spiritual advancement has disappeared. We are on the outside, looking out, and we meet for the joy in each others company. No one is looking over their shoulder for the penismind to appear. We laugh honestly. We smile directly without insistence and without the zombie gaze that transmits a penismind belief. We are celebrating life outside the stifling sanctuary of the dark lords survival program. We can hear the hum of our wombs, free of his interference. We can see the light of our shining awareness in each other. We meet effortlessly and relax. We have earned our wings, our hard won freedom. We are reclaiming the truth of what we are, disengaging from his artifice and exploitation of spiritual concepts.
We sat still in his holy hell, engaging with our own innermost sensations for hours and hours, and years and years, and it was good. When we hear the truth of that from within, it no longer has his voice.
Beautifully written Jess ! It's so wonderful that we all get the chance at refreshing our existing friendships, and discovering new friendships . All free from the shackles of conditions !
Beautifully written, Jessica.
I find myself in what you are writing, that really helps confirming my new walk to inner freedom.
It really is an evil shit show, thank god I saw it and escaped.