mindspoo | Caveat Lector

Omens are startling in their persistence. They talk softly or loudly, through others or from within. They are all from you. Omens have never been anywhere else but of you; yet, they are the part of the self which is the Other -- the part that is best ignored because it never screams Essential, neither screams life nor death. Never complains and never haunts. Omens are willing to guide but cannot compensate for the lack of Love or attentive heart of one who travels his Journey alone: without the love of another; without the love of oneself; without the blessing of God; without the favor of the Muses; without the map of the Fates and their wispy destinies.

To fight against the tide is to perish; to work with the force of the sea allows one to slide effortlessly; to harness the sea one need neither strength nor mobility -- only sensitivity to the movement, to the energy; to the freedom and the fear around you -- for everyone expresses the concept of freedom; yet, their fear is not freedom.

Striving for that which exists not; fearing the shadows; noticing the anger and the hatred in the self attracts the hatred and fear in another's. Sometimes I look at a man. The man smiles at me. We become friends, yet he is not at peace. He sits there telling me stories, showing me his restlessness. Showing me his fear.

One man said, "When I was young, like B., I walked the streets. I walked these streets alone, needing to be anonymous. I walked alone late at night when no one was about. I covered my head and my skin and only left my eyes bare but cast downs. Every time I looked up, I caught the eyes of Hate: his eyes shined with territorial rage; his eyes shown with hatred and revenge; his eyes looked at me, sending shivers through my pride. I never needed to ask -- never needed even to posture. There were fights -- always occuring against the same demon. A very different person, really -- every one of them as single minded as a bull; yet, in their eyes the flames licked and it was Him, the same essence I fight every night. And blows are given and received. When the morning comes I rub the wounds and then move on. I was fighting myself, maybe; and it was my energy of violence and fear; of insecurity and rage, that attracted this demon who was always giving battle: for what? sport, territory, my soul?"

He said, "And I see this in the eyes of B., and I see this rage and this fear of loss of pride and loss of face to be the same as the fear one has for the loss of Faith or the loss of Life -- they are always alive in some form, and immutable. No matter how one shames oneself or one's people, there is never any loss of Self; there is always another day of life there and if one is able to remain in the moment yet still retain the lessons of the past without harbouring them, then one may realize that the mistakes are of God, that the defilement and the loss, the fear and the loss of face, the evils perceived of travesties against man and God are only excuses to make more terror and more war and more disturbance to a World who only aspires towards Balance and Calm. More war, death, famine, and inequality has come from the desire of man to be God; of man to retain the sense of pride and face and self -- when in fact the entire movement of man is to become faceless, selfless, fearless, and without pride -- to become less fatigued by the slag which is man and more attuned to the real ore for it is the ore which it prized and never the slag; the refuse to refuse. This is essential; this is Love"

Suprisingly, there is very little slag sullying the ore. Most believe we are highly flawed, that we must reduce ourselves to the essential and that we have but a spark of Life and of Beauty and of Perfection. This is not the case. These are but lies. Just like a gadfly robs the host of its focus and peace; just like the bite might convince the host that there is nothing in existence but the itch; just like the hunger for the sun, drink, food & drugs becomes more than self: the whisper of addiction is so much slag, measured in grams whilst the body, in pounds; yet, the gram rules the body and only this gram is imperfect and introduced. Imperfection is introduced. Like all thoughts, imperfection is merely the result of smoke and mirrors; bells and whistles -- the "essential" non-essential. Forever focused we are on these things: the blemished and not the clear; the rotten and not the healthy. More compelling is the rotten -- one might beg -- but still of the slag and not the ore: imperfect. The pain of the mouth bitten, the pain of the thorn in the paw. The large pains one may endure more easily -- a hundred miles cycled yet the blister pains and is the slag; like the self, the slag is but a small easily-healed sore (just burst the blister, cleanse, and bandage). The Essence is Perfect: ore more precious than gold, platinum -- uranium may be a closer mineral for it is of energy and always affects the surrounding space. But even uranium half-lives into death; uranium is of slag and poison so the comparison is a mirage, a shadow.

Our personal energies irradiate others. We touch them with our energy; we touch them with the core even more severely. Through the eyes, the mouth, the touch, the kiss, the coupling. Often, this poisonous stone is not aware of its power; the wind knows not of its erosion; the sea knows not the power of its waves. And most are not aware of the poison of the ore and the steps needed to be protected. Each thing being what it is, its essence, is content with its power.

To the Waves, its movements are gentle because every movement is small or nonexistent as the sky is forever larger and the shore is resilient. To the sun, its powers are easily absorbed by the velvet void of space; to the wind, its movement is easily funneled by the crags and valleys of the great mountains and yet the mountains are easily carved by the waters, by the sky wind and man -- for the mountains see themselves not as impassable but as eternally vulnerable and forever reducing and sometimes expanding like the breath we share with the wind; the sea; the mountains and the earth. Contract; expand; contract; expand -- like the tide, like the half-life; like the volcano; and like the seasons: life, death; phoenix, fire. Like the breath. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

These are simple laws of nature and easily learned yet never trusted: only by a few sometimes -- but all of them knowable. Even the river, appearing to merely ejaculate, replenishes from the dry air, the air each meter holding but a spray of moisture then filling the great lakes and ice floes that cover and carve even the tallest of mountains. Then the river ejaculates its lifeblood into the waiting sea, replenishing its cycle one more.

And still we worry and fret; surely we have right to, but even the loss of the rain forest is essential for it will teach us many things: loss, hunger, thirst, protection. Another thing forgotten: we are of the world -- as much as we believe that the habits of the ocelot is so very pure, we are like the ocelot. Our behavior is as normal as that of the noble elk. We are doing exactly what we were meant to do... we make war, we kill and sustain; we grow and contract; we kill and are born; we live and we died; we Love and create Life; we leave even the earth and always return to the essence that is of the World. When we desire to protect the earth but the earth desires to protect us. We hurt the world and the world can become cruel.

Better to look into the mirror.

Our movement amongst this earth is interesting and useful. We will neither solve nor attempt everything that is right or wrong. These concepts are non essentials. We may, like all statisticians, massage the results of our concepts: we will forever redefine the parameters of our goodness and evil.

So, to fight for what is right; or to fight against what is wrong is foolish. Its like fighting the tide. It is foolish to fight for God for God is of all and for none. War is. Peace is merely a lull between wars. War is compelling. It cuts through the slag for a second and allows an Essence to radiate. That essence is poison. For one who believes that war is not of God and is not of Love is mistaken. But war is not God. Only Love is God. Other "important" occurences are distractions: the receeding pate of the rain forest, the injustice of man towards man.

This physical world people find so compelling to measure with the most finite and infinite of tools. The Slag. Better to spend a dollar for a mirror and stare into it; better to walk along the beach and pick up a grain of sand on which to contemplate; better to sit repeating Om; or to raise a family and to look into their eyes than to look into the heavens or spend a finite life putting such a superb focus into the measuring of dynamic energies with but a ruler and scale; a glass and a compass.

For we know that the constants change, yet our tools always measure this change the same. When looking at the same Essence the same way with the same understanding of what is to be seen, what could be seen else what is known -- what is expected. The constant is called a constant for it is known as unchanging; therefore, the calibration will always be made so as to fit.

The yard will always be a yard and the meter. We attribute them to the schematics of the map, the blue pencil of the blueprint; the subtle lines of the universe on the RGB screen showing the dog star and the ends of the galaxy. We need them; on them we rely. With these tools always changing with that which is studied, there will always be the relation; the relation will never disappoint for the world always falls captive to the tools.

The universe falls to our wills. Not in truth but in perception. It is always itself but when we perceive it, the majority rules. We are a perception/reality democracy wherein everybody votes even when choosing not to. Even in their consensus reality. We are a majority rules and the consensus dictates. It does not make reality, it defines what we perceive as such -- and our desire to bring into our realm of perception. Nothing ignorant of our consensus puts any credence in our Reality.

We are devising a beta max. We are devising a laser disc. We are devising a PCS in a world of GSM -- a nonstandard standard. Supposedly, through iron will and personal investment totalling the total of what we hold powerful and rich, we aspire to make this nonstandard ubiquitous. and it shall never be. We export fear to attain control and kill to retain it; yet, these things mean not -- only to those who hold either the past or the future dear. Those who hold dear their ideas; their prides, their face; their dreams; and even their destinies too tight are the fools and shall fall in ruins.

And ruins they shall only be to themselves. After this and that plight; after this or that of the seven seals is opened; after the Saviour comes and goes; after all our our dramas are played out; and when the light called sun is extinguished and our meat perishes under the dead sands of earth, then we shall be still of It; we shall still hold high and bright our Essence, our Souls, and these shall not be of slag and not be in heaven or in hell but shall be of God who is of Heaven and of Hell. And then all shall be no closer or farther way from Rapture, from Nirvana, from Salvation than ever before. One has never been away from that which is perfect and that which is God not of God; which is Love and not of love.

So these Omens are always talking to you, protecting you and showing you the way -- your way -- alone and distant from the consensus. There is that which will be perceived as tests and these are merely conflicts between your Essential Journey and the journey which man has decided for you. These are not tests so much as simple binary choices and there will always be signs. Their clarity is akin to the goodness of the senses; if one can see they are large and sharp; if one can hear, they are loud speakers singing gentle direction; if can can feel then the heart will stir and the fingers will touch and the feet will know. If one thinks, then one is closer to the wrong choice than the right. "Right" and "wrong:" these are absurd concepts. There is neither wrong nor right: there is the path of man and there is the Way. Neither is wrong and they oft intersect and sometime touch for a while or at least follow parallel; when they diverge one must chose. One must look, listen, and feel for the path to take and the truth whispers while the lies scream.

***

and when these things are followed -- these Omens, these blessings, this guidance, this magic, then one is not superior but is merely more essential -- closer to the bone and closer the the self and even more powerful as one than is the consensus. the consensus is like a team of rovers paddling against the waves whilst you move with the sea. 1 billion rowers will never tame the sea as successfully as one who knows Her.

Trackback URL for this post:

http://www.caveatlector.com/trackback/106

Search

Syndicate

Navigation

Who's new

Chris