We hear so much
about love since at least the 1960s, well me in particular having
been born mid-decade, that one begins to wonder what the word actually
means.
In Corinthians, Paul
tells us to abide in faith, hope, and charity and charity is the
greatest of these. We are also told that charity is love.
Aleister Crowley
also valued love. “Do as thou wilt shal be the whole of the law.”
and “Love is the law. Love under will.”
So then in the 1960s
we have a bunch of Crowleyites, like the Beatles, singing about love.
“Love love love”
repeated over and over “All you need is love.”
But what are they
really talking about?
And when you love
somebody, what do you do? You give them a gift. But in German, “gift”
means "poison." So what is going on here?
In David Lynch's
seminal independent thriller, Blue Velvet we are told that “love
letters” are bullets as Denis Hopper's character threatens to send these love letters right to the heart of Kyle
McLaughlin's character.
Here's where it gets
crazy: We have Charity equaling love and in Stephen King's epic Dark
Tower we are told that Char, in the high speech only has one meaning,
and that is "death."
We know that English
was an invented language with many of the words added by Francis
Bacon as he translated the Bible into English and we know that Bacon
was a very intelligent occultist. So Char-ity = death and gift =
poison and words don't mean what we think they mean.
How can we know love
is good if we don't really understand what the occultists who gave us
our language mean by it?
I wrote this poem the other day when
dreams I had when I was very young of building a working time machine
started flooding my memory. I was maybe five or six when I had the
first dream I recall.
I had build something like a wheel,
something that might resemble a Captain's wheel on an old time ship
wherein the lines of force converged on a central hub.
In these dreams, though it seems like
it was only one but I have differing memories, sometimes I am both in
the central hub and on the outside rotating the wheel in a certain
directing. Then a whole opens up in the hub and I go back to a time
of dinosaurs. Sometimes it is my brother who is rotating the hub.
The time of the dinosaurs appears much
like the the “Dawn of Man” chapter of Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A
Space Odyssey even though I would not see that movie or even know
about it until after Star Wars came out.
Later, after seeing George Pal's
version of The Time Machine, I had the idea to make a working model
of my time machine using an empty tin of mixed nuts and magnets,
unfortunately, I did not have enough magnets and although I could see
other parts, mechanical springs and the like, I had no idea how to
acquire them and work them into the tin.
So then, this last week when so many
old influences started to converge in my life once more, the idea
that I was destined to create a time machine came to me and I wrote
this poem. The idea being that if it is destiny then it has to happen
and if we are dealing with the very collapse of time itself, then it
has already happened. And the knowledge of this is like an empty hole
in my memory. The only evidence, the wind that rustles the leaves of
trees.
This writing exercise was suggested to me by a friend who found this video compelling. Watch the video, come to your own point of view, and then, if you are curious, read my interpretation below which is based only on one viewing.
The Lost Man
A man is lost in the English
countryside. He points out, "you would think it would be impossible to
get lost in this day and age," this reveals he is a product of our
tech-possessed time.
As he wanders, he comes across a snail.
Snail medicine is protective, as evidenced by the shell. The snail
has a hard exterior protecting an animal that is soft and has no
other sort of protection. The snail shell resembles the cochlea canal
of the inner ear which symbolizes hearing and the man can communicate
with the snail.
The snail tells the man he can guide
him home. The snail gets the man out of the green fields of the
English country side into a dark wood. Suddenly a wounded fox appears
on the road, beaten and bloody. The fox growls at the man. The man
is afraid.
Fox medicine represent the power of
invisibility but I do not see that as apt in this case. Here I think
technological man has lost himself and the fox represents the ego.
The ego is much maligned in our day but its true function is that of
trauma response. The ego only comes into being when we become
traumatized. Its job is to protect us.
But technological man is so far removed
from himself that his, has spent so much time beating up his own ego,
that, when he confronts it, he fears it.
The man finally sleeps under a tree.
The snail stays for a while but has to leave, I had one theory that
the snail was like the Christian Holy Spirit, but once you get the
Holy Spirit, the Holy Spirit stays with you, even following you into
prison and other dark places. So, in this case, it appears the snail
helped all it could and at the same time, used the man to get a lift.
The fox dies and while the man sleeps,
it purifies and decays and goes back to the earth. This represents in
some way the split that caused the ego is healing and so the man
wakes up but he is so used to the spit in his psyche, healing feels
like loneliness instead of completeness, which it actually is.
No doubt the man will follow the snails
advice. He has already found his way home but simply doesn’t
recognize it because he had different expectations of what “home”
was.
Last night I had a very vivid dream. I
am working at my job only it is at the top of a mountain or on a very
high plateau. I am still working with the weather in some way. The
place I work is a very strong looking log cabin with two stories.
Me and my co-workers are working
outside under a large awning. We have our computers and desks
outside. I notice that at noon each day three posts have these
shadows that align. There doesn't appear to be any other kind of time
piece in this dream.
One of my co-workers suddenly asks
about a prophecy of destruction set for this day that is supposed to
happen right at noon. He is saying, “I guess there isn't going to
be any sort of destruction today.”
I point out that it isn't noon yet and
look at the alignment of the post shadows and estimate it is about 15
minutes before noon.
We all stop work and start looking at
the horizon. What had been a sunny day becomes dark. Suddenly there
is a thunderous sound and we see a great flood taking place off in
the distance. I look at my boss, “Should we go inside and get to
the second floor?” I ask in a panic. But nobody says anything and
we just watch because there isn't much higher ground to seek.
I resign myself to watching with my
co-workers. I wonder about my mother and family and friends. Were
they in the flood? Are they still alive?
As we are watching the disaster, other
people who I think of as a religious cult start to appear to my left.
Some are holding placards, I notice one woman who's placard seems to
be a speech she is now giving but I cannot hear her. The wind kicks
up, the water stops but the wind carries a few drops that hit my nose
and face. I give out a cry as I wake up.
When I wake up, I realize I am parched
and realize it may be a way of my body asking for water. I drink a
half-liter of bottled water before I go to bed and feel somewhat
better. But still, the dream was so vivid and seemed very much like
imminent death when I dreamed it. That I am working at a very high
point seems more luck than planning.
I find presence of the end-times
cultists very disturbing both in the dream but especially when I wake
up. I cannot help but to think of the cannibal cult that springs up
in Larry Niven's and Jerry Pournelle's Lucifer's Hammer after a
portion of a comet strikes the earth.
On a Thursday morning not long ago I
woke up very tired. I went to work but as soon as I got home I went
straight to bed. Maybe I read for a little bit first by I was asleep
by 10:00 PM.
Unfortunately I was forced out of sleep
some two and a half hours later by the sound of some horribly loud
music bouncing off all of the walls of the houses in the cul du sac
where I live. As I lay in bed, I worked on letting go any feelings of
anger or personal hurt and decided to try an energy technique that
had worked for me in the past, the creation of a chi ghost.
A chi ghost is created by focusing on
one's entire body to the point that every part of one's body is
tingling, vibrant with life, and then the creator imagines taking a
step forward and turning around to face the body self.
Then the chi ghost is given a task. In
this case I asked the chi ghost to turn the music down or off and to
return to me when the task was accomplished. And almost immediately
the music stopped and I was happy and very pleased with myself for
all of about 2 minutes when the music started up again. And so I
tried the exercise again with about the same results. And then a few
more times until frustration set in and I was no longer effective.
I got out of bed and took a walk
through the neighborhood in search of the source of the music but as
soon as I stepped outside, I could not tell where the music was
coming from. I walked around a little bit until I noticed a big black
pickup truck parked right across from my driveway. I stared into the
darkness of the truck, in the window there appeared to be a person
but I wasn't sure.
I was also beginning to feel frightened
as well as frustrated. What kind of person is blasting music in a
residential neighborhood from inside a black truck and doesn't stop
when a neighbor comes out of his house at 1:00 AM in the morning?
And where were my other neighbors? I felt isolated. Was I the only
one hearing this?
Suddenly I found myself recalling a
Philip K. Dick story called The Hanging Stranger in which a man who
has been working underground in his basement all day heads to a TV
shop he owns. Once there, he sees a body hanging from a lamppost.
Alarmed he demands to know what it is doing there but the rest of the
town's folk are ambivalent:
“Look at it!”
Loyce snapped. “Come on out here!”
Don Fergusson came
slowly out of the store, button his pin-stripe coat with dignity.
“This is a big deal, Ed. I can't just leave the guy standing
there.”
“See it?” Ed
pointed into the gathering gloom. The lamppost jutted up against the
sky—the post and the bundle singing from it. “There it is. How
the hell long has it been there?” His voice rose excitedly. “What's
wrong with everybody? They just walk on past!”
Don Fergusson lit
a cigarette slowly. “Take it easy, old man. There must be a good
reason, or it wouldn't be there.”
“A reason! What
kind of reason?”
And there I was at 1:00AM on a Friday
morning. Magically transformed into Ed Loyce.
Even though I entertained the idea of
running to a neighboring town, instead I decided to call the
non-emergency number to the police station. The police arrived in
less than 15 minutes and I could here them talking to the
person/people in the black pickup truck. The noise had stopped but I
still couldn't sleep. The police where out there for at least another
30 minutes and I was on high alert.
I decided to watch a Christopher
Eccleston episode of Doctor Who as BBC America has been doing a fifty
year retrospective of the doctors and for the Christopher Eccleston
era they chose the two-part episode Bad Wolf in which our heroes find
themselves unwilling contestants on snuff versions of reality TV game
shows. The Doctor ends up in a Big Brother house. His main companion,
Rose, ends up with a homicidal Ann Droyd android on a version of The
Weakest Link, and Captain Jack Harkness ends up on an extreme extreme
make-over show where first they change your clothing and then they
rearrange you limbs.
Eventually, it is revealed that the
Doctor's oldest and most dangerous foes, the Daleks are behind the
entire thing. In fact, they have been quietly manipulating human
development for centuries. The story ends in a cliffhanger as the
Daleks have Rose and they demand the Doctor surrender or they will
immediately dispense with her.
Well, the Doctor has a one word
response to pepper pot bullies: “No!”
This brought me some comfort. It
reminded me of a quote I had found for my Writer as Shaman class but
never shared. I heard it on a podcast where the guest, one Frater X
was quoting one Mark Passio:
The initial civil right of all
humanity is the prerogative to say, 'No! Leave me alone! I do not
want to do that!”
The Thursday morning prior to all this
drama I had done a search for this Mark Passio as I was unfamiliar
with him and I found and started watching a YouTube video of a
lecture entitled: The Matrix Decoded.
After getting a couple of hours of
sleep, I awoke to watch more of this lecture series and came across
the bit on Neo's resurrection.
For those who haven't seen the movie,
the Matrix posits we live in an ersatz, computer generated illusion
called The Matrix in which machines entrap our minds and feed off of
our vital energies, bio-energy, mental energy, and spirit. Neo is
prophesied to be The One, a messianic figure who can free all of the
human minds enslaved by the Matrix and lead humanity to a final
defeat of the machines.
The only problem is, Neo hasn't woken
up to his inner nature yet and, unfortunately gets killed by agents
of the Matrix. But since his mind only believes he is dead, the
Sacred Feminine in the form of Trinity is able to resurrect him. As
he come back to life within the Matrix, the agents fire upon him once
again and Neo speaks his first word after being resurrected: “No!”
and he holds up his hand and stops the bullets mid-air and then lets
them fall.
One of the dangers of entertainments
like Doctor Who and The Matrix is the human mind may misinterpret the
images and symbols of the One or the Savior or the Messiah to be
something external to one's own self and the history of human
atrocities has been the abdication of the mind's responsibility to
accept that it is creating its own reality. That there is no external
savior.
When we say, “No!” to the current
control system, whatever that may be, we are taking our first steps,
as tiny as they may be, to our own personal freedom. To create the
world as we would like it. Not to accept someone else's idea of what
the world will be.
Whether a stranger is hanging from a
lamppost or a truck as black as one of Stanley Kubrick's monolith is
playing music way too loud for the hour of the day, it is our
individual responsibility to say “No!” And this is the end of our
individual childhood and the beginning of something as exhilarating
as it is frightening.
This is when the new day dawns. This is
when consciousness begins to shift.
It won't look like a savior riding in
on a white horse unless you look down and notice you are holding the
reigns.
There are no saviors outside of what is
inside each of us. There is no sanctuary outside of our own inner
world. And nobody can be forced into someone else's idea of Utopia.
“No!” is the beginning of wisdom.
The beginning of freedom.
