Today, I have to talk some shop. In my line of work (?!)† accountability takes priority over all. What you see and say and do can be and must be lead back to you. I have to make sure I don't lead anybody astray (misinform them). If they get lost by themselves, by straying off the paths I laid, it is not my fault: and there will always be multiple interpretations for one point of view (but those interpretations are not my responsibility); providing I have tested this trail to ensure it is possible to find the surest way forward by following its slabs - however cracked and rickety they might be.
Do We Really Want Followers?
Who are we following?
What are you looking for? Everybody for something? If that is yourself why read us?
Many pieces up here make me question the trick of reading that seems then to have been invented by a Great Trickster wasting away our time.
In General There Are many supposedly spiritual writings on the Net which give spirituality a bad rep. It is also not so easy to convey a new way of believing that can see spiritual reality. Perhaps, therefore my wish we would feign less pomp and circumstance and deliver more personal experience in ways that others can relate to (recognisable situations).
After all, the aim is for a Higher Consciousness to permeate mankind, rather than mankind (gnostically) to detach himself from his life conditions to ascend to a foreign realm. The Earth is the place for man - angels may not call this place home; God created it for us in His image, not as a holiday home with an ocean for a pool and a tundra with a Gobi desert bunker for a golf course.
I am the conductor of my own life and it is only human (in the line of accepting responsibility) to accept the consequences of all you cause; this is the dharma that flows out of the karma. The others and that around you is part of your incarnational root-system. It is probably plain to see, especially after reading Peter Wohleben that If you have a wide outreach in any anthropomorphic and teleological sense, you don’t have to be a very big tree to already feel connected to a very large forest. But generally we pick this knowing apart (as does the afore reference pick apart Wohlleben’s holistic experience) failing to miss the point of everything, and thereby ending up in the middle of egohood.
Next thing, we put about a great many garbled irrelevancies, adding to the muddle in our minds. In life we need more love, and love is pretty no-nonsense, raw and cuts to the chase. It is driven by a need, afterall. It is almost closer to the drive of a bird in spring than a pair of love-birds walking hand in hand.
Extortion
Steemit is highly conducive to milking the little self.
The crude task master goes: “If you don’t deliver, little cash cow, you won’t be getting any hay this winter. You’ll have to rely on your Ur-self to rummage for fodder.”
The Ur-bovine, though, was a fearsome creature to be reckoned with. The modern bull bears but little resemblance to this unaccomodating auroch, but be mindful how our current Audhumblah Mother Beast can always turn against you. Created as one of your off-castings (Qlippoth) it will speak in its own raucous language at many turns of the way, confusing the high road with the low road, often barring access to either (and nothing is worse than stagnation. Far worse than the road mis-taken). Many religious laws will therefore try to avoid contact with these “shells” (for example, dietary or hygiene doctrines are living images sunken down into concrete pointers – convening with the confines of our material world).
It seems to me there is quite a bit of irresponsible and needless tossing about of cryptic content on the Web. Yes, laugh scornfully all you like at this point, turning the finger back at me. But I suppose I aim to make the difference between wrapping up a gift nicely and raking out the grate to leave you to pick out the lentils.
How can we endeavour to be clearer, crisper, cleaner in our intent?
It is a vital question, meaning to bring out Quitessence to the fore. We can examine it up close and personal best; but there will be doctrine to help flesh it out and test your viewing like testscreens once did. How much effort must we give ourselves? A friendly question my mellow self is forced to churn out by my less forgiving self who must learn and attone for high expectations that question the Father God.
I watched “Tea With The Dames”, yesterday,
and recognised how I had saved it for that moment when I would need to understand how womanhood is fundamentally about playing it out as naturally as possible without compromising the poetry, the sanctity of life.
It was enriching to see, how the promise in the young woman has to travel, yet remain in tact. It means to face the fear that either stimulates or hinders the performance one must deliberately deliver. The only choice one ever has: to work hard at one's craft or to wallow in the easy options.
What a marvel to witness how these women (I grew up with as middle-aged already), return to their humble beginnings which were brave venturings into a male-dominated world of stageing human intereaction (i.e. acting); that we might watch and learn more about our human nature.
In their quest they have managed to become noble in their efforts, agelessly iconic and all the more mesmerising, despite the wrinkles and the hearing aids and unrecoverable time passed. They are examples of career women who had to take it all on board, multi-tasking as if all of mankind depended on it (husbands, children, harrassing bosses, critics, fame, shame, mindfulness classes, physical deformities, personal triumphs). And in a way humanity does depend on such strong figure heads at the prow.
We do not knight our common people without some hunch of their significance, even though the pomp and circumstance is irrelevant and even an irritation to all the dames in turn. Only by taking the time to hear them converse together, recollecting for our benefit episodes in their lives that run parallell to eachother or intersect quite directly, can we begin to see the original purpose of knighthoods. In one’s personal effort one reaches out to elevate the next soul, which too often finds itself stunned into stasis from all the trauma that is giving birth to the Self.
Are You Worth Heralding?
I think we have become a bit jaded, if not disappointed, with our approach to the world: we differentiate ad infinitum, till there is nothing but nano-nano atomic particles left which we then subject to causal analysis. We are compelled to reduce everything to simple processes we can in turn let machines reproduce for us … until we lose all authenticity, perhaps; and the sense of a deeper inner world than meets any measuring equipment (including our own rudimentary senses).
Does fantasy and magic realism or cryptic symbolism help us get in better touch with who we really are as spiritual beings? If it would, it seems to infer that things spiritual are quite somewhat removed from the ordinary. Loosening up the brain with exercises in imagination must not be confused with fantastical machinations. Spiritual reality is not exactly hidden away and only accessible for the elect few. It may be veiled behind the tangible, but it reaches us best through our sensory perception. I feel that it would be misleading to expect it to feel alien. It may ruffle your feathers when you first descry its possible existence, but it ought not to dislodge you from the comfort of your two feet firmly planted on the ground.
I come from a line of tradition, where the real is spiritual, and where it is not spiritual fact, it is fabrication from the randomly filtering mind. How to tell the difference…? Well, by contrasting fantasy and spiritual fact (obviously taken as a premise, not a proven as knowable, so there the Catch 22, of course, for the logical mind), you can get a sense of where the fine but very definite line runs. And then you decide which side of the line to walk, or why not on it?
The thing is, that when one is prompted to share something significant one has to tap into the receptivity to it, or one is not communicating but self- expressing. This self-expression has artistic value, but then you had better be a fascinating, intriguing or charismatic person. In personal relationships you are hiding if you feel the need to be cryptic. Just saying, to all you miserable femmes fatales ruining our men for us wholesome caring ones. Or you teens who hate the world and are too afraid to ask for acceptance without understanding, and then check out, while we were hoping you were another budding Kafka. Very good poetry is never cryptic. It reveals everything it needs to by chiseling away all that would otherwise bury its truth. I am a little weary of guessing games. I have figured out they are the latest fad, like a new party game. Little teasers: but when you solve them, what have you learned? Maybe how right you are not to trust anyone to be their real self.
[Loki and Sigyn](https://www.deviantart.com/hellanim/art/Loki-and-Sigyn-var2-282994674) Primary Care and Deep Analysis
Say one decides to incarnate in sacrifice to the Mother, to mirror her own long-suffering perhaps, or her own selfish short-coming, that is her very nature to endure, then it would be one thing to help them hold up this mirror to their beloved gifter of life; but is quite another to hold up a mirror which multiplies the progenerator’s image: this would be to pander to the likes of the Great Reproducer, who is not into the innovation of our dead image. He prefers pictograms.
Or if we pick to concentrate our self into an image for the Father, we will have to pull our modelling clay into his contours for the poor man to recognise himself. A small sacrifice to make: it’s only DNA, you might say; but where there is a fixative involved one always runs a risk of getting the needle stuck in the groove (like father, like son). And thus we set up a hall of mirrors the stuff limbo worlds are made of.
The Lord of Karma works in colour, veiling our proud gaze in shades of love (darkness dancing with the light). The Prince of Darkness works in technical black print on white, spelling it out as if the literal is all there is. He would like the shadow to grow solid and whack the experiental out of you (you know, that what you feel, not analyse). Being cryptical is not the way to by-pass his undermining efforts. We Steemians should know that by now: anything crypto is his forté!
Pest Control For Cobwebs on The Brain
Now, there can come an end to one’s mission, one’s karmic debt, paid off in the colic that won’t cease wailing, or the drug abuse with its icy return, or the daughter-in-law-from-Hell with her new apron strings, and one stops blubbering, cleans up one’s act, and gives oneself permission to deplore one’s own conduct, to deconstruct at will. Willing so is the first step. But one can always use a little help from one’s friends to consolidate this resolve. I am not so certain all our writing attempts are free enough to cajole them into surrendering their self-deceit (the mighty sword used for a crutch). It is only a squirrel nibbling at your root and compromising the rainbow corona IAM. But it can take only one pest to fell the whole tree, if the right roots are severed.
If I may be the Bifrost Gatekeeper for one moment, and comb through our suspicious - cat-like - minds, I soon find my fine teeth stuck in matted tangles (never try to comb a cat that’s not got best-in-show prize-winning ambitions).
If we are very honest with ourselves we know exactly the hand we are playing in each and every complicated game that keeps drawing us back to the gambling table. We know all the sharps assembled seek to confront themselves, ultimately (which amounts to extended pscyho-therapy after all, or otherwise more sleep). Does cryptic auto-suggested poetry then help these poker players quit while they are still ahead? My wise Magus from the East alerted me to the hermetic truth that to be brave one needs to know the risks. Any fool can just take to the road and skip along lustily. Just because self-help manuals do not appeal to the majority of the gamblers it may not be wise to dream up counsel for them; and then has Steemit any function left at all? Apart from testing how brave you are?
Always Nice (if akward and a waste of bandwidth): The Bit of Advice
My advice then, would be: to the content providers interested in reaching out to fellow questers of soul: better take a pictogram and colour it in with the love you found for your life, once you set yourself free, and then burn it: to set it free, instead of ringing it like a captured pigeon and sending it back and forth between you and the other sharps.
The pictogram is a sign, and as such dishonest about feeling and willing which are organic processes summoned up by right attitude and walking through your homeplace till you understand the dandelions and bracken or the jetty splashed by salty spume and grated by the gull’s raucous squawk. The idea is that honesty should breed honesty.
In the knowledge that there is nothing to offer the third parties, the rituals of give and take cease. We become assistants to the innovation (the transsubstantiation) of self. We no longer bring burnt offerings to the other, perpetuating the misplaced prayers and outrageous sacrifices upon an altar; we stop wasting smoke and sooting up the mirrors some of us depend on for a livelihood (leave all be).
We finally become lovers.
Week 11 (16-23 June)
untumbled tiger-eye In this the sun's high hour it rests
With you to understand these words of wisdom:
Surrender to the beauty of the world,
Be stirred with new-enlivened feeling;
The human I can lose itself
And find itself within the cosmic I.
footnotes:
† let's say an artistic renderer of spiritual research.
‡ Find your finest squirrel poison here. Let's hope Google is right about squirrels fundamentally never eating rat poison and that all other poisons are basically rat poison anyway, and that the squirrel poison market is just a scam. That would be a great weight off my mind, after posting up a reference to this misleading page...
- The detail of one of the three Magi has been taken from the mosaic in the Basilica of Sant'Apollinare Nuovo, in Ravenna. Possibly Caspar, the youngest bringing Frankincense; the gift of spiritual healing.