But this ain’t for the underground, this here is for the Sun. A seed a stranger gave to me and planted on my tongue. And when i look at you, I know I’m not the only one. As a great man once said, there’s nothing more powerful than an idea who’s time has come.
[Saul Williams - Talk to Strangers]
One-eyed Angel
Somewhere in Spain. It is monday, nine o'clock in
the morning. I'm drinking coffee alone in a bar near my workplace.
A one-eyed man sits on a bar stool by my side, and
starts speaking to me. He is obviously drunk, and he is talking about
my long hair. He is short haired, but he says he was like me when he
was young. He tells me that he admires women as much as I do, but... he
bitterly explains to me there's no way we can be like them, no matter
how hard we try by keeping our hair long and stuff like that. No. We
just fucking can't. Then he starts to speak about the meaninglessness
of sexual orientation; he affirms he likes cunts above all, but he
encourages me to like and do whatever I want, anytime. Then he makes
some really gross sexual statements, and for a moment it looks as if he
had full knowledge of my most intimate details.
I'm not very talkative, but I'm sincerely listening.
He's sparked a lot of curiosity in me. He goes on, telling me that even
though he may look one-eyed and ugly and old, he has done anything he
wanted. He takes no crap from bosses. He lives life, changing his
whereabouts whenever he wants. Today he was so drunk his boss told him
to get back home and come back tomorrow. So there he is, talking with
me.
Then he states that he'll be running down the
streets in two weeks. So I ask him, why? why running? what is happening
in two weeks? . He suddenly gets really serious and says,
sarcastically: "You don't know what's happening in two weeks? Well,
then... find it out."
I try to find a logical explanation. Sure! I've been
told there is a famous event in this town. A running of bulls. Once a
year they make them run through the streets until they reach the
bullring, quite like in Pamplona. So I ask him if I am right. He nods,
but he is smiling as if he kept some inside joke. We say goodbye. He
thanks me for listening, and I answer that I like to listen. Lately I
do. And even though the mystery on what is happening in two weeks seems
over, I leave wondering what will really happen then. There is always
more than one level to meaning, and even if he was just really talking
about running bulls and random drunkard stuff, I am convinced that
there is something more to this. This encounter has been way too weird.
My imagination plays at thinking that I might have talked with some
sort of a one-eyed angel -or maybe to my Angel in disguise-. I indulge
in this fantasy. And I know, only time will tell.
I am really excited. A pair of days before I spoke
with this one-eyed angel, my best friend and I had randomly met a group
of girls with which we shared a huge amount of interests. So much that
we wondered how on earth was it that we didn't know each other before.
We had started exchanging books, music and films, as if the world was
going to end tomorrow. And they even practiced magick!
Wow.
I'm usually a solo practitioner. I didn't really
have magicians in my daily life. And apparently by chance, these cool
girls just...
And one night, they offered it to me. It was a week
and a half after speaking with that one-eyed man. My best friend was
going North to chase some doom metal venues, and I was planning doing
lots of ritual work, since we share a flat and without him I would be
alone home. I was starting to explore enochian magick. In fact, I had
just tested the first call a few days ago, just one week after speaking
with the one-eyed drunk. One of the girls would spend the weekend
abroad, and the other two were going somewhere in the east spanish
coast, to have an Ayahuasca session with a shaman. They unexpectedly
offered me to come. It would be a small group, they said, and in a
serious environment.
I hadn't done entheogens for about five years. Not
since magick started to work. But I had a strong curiosity on DMT, the
psychoactive component of Ayahuasca. And this situation fulfilled the
conditions I had imposed myself time ago: it would be with an
experienced shaman, to avoid problems when integrating the experience
and have some guidelines on how to make the most of it.
So yeah, I accepted. Three days later, on saturday,
we would take a train to the unknown. Well, unknown for me and for one
of the girls (whom I will call Schatten), since the other one,
Calandar, would act as the assistant of this shaman.
I noticed that this Ayahuasca weekend was exactly
two weeks after my conversation with the one-eyed angel. And
symmetrical to the First enochian Call I performed a week before. So at
last I knew what was happening in two weeks. I also discovered that the
yearly running bulls event would not take place in this Ayahuasca
weekend, but one month later. So, which running bulls was this guy
really talking about?
Infinite in space. Timeless. Jungle and Ocean
From a hot and wet coastal city, we soon reach by
train and car a secluded house and relax in its swimming pool. Others
come later, and we conform a group that is still less than ten people,
including the shaman and our friend Calandar, who is acting her role as
the shaman's assistant.
It is starting to get dark, and the time has come.
So after having a short interview one by one with the shaman, we start
doing some kundalini meditation. We vibrate our bodies and then let
ourselves dance to the music. Quite tiring for this hot summer. Then we
meditate on our purpose. The shaman tells us that the influx of
information could be too much if we had no specific purpose. After
meditating on our intent we end the session with a few minutes of
mental silence.
I let my intuition take the decision, and so I come
up with a two-fold purpose. I want to understand and manifest my will,
and I want to love me and love better, as I am dissatisfied with the
way I do it. As I'm writing this intention, I somehow know that both
parts are interrelated. I just still don't know how, and so I tell the
group when we explain each other our purposes.
The sun goes to sleep, and magick awakens. The
shaman has set up a ritual which has some resemblance with a christian
mass. We respectfully walk to his place to take the brew and then go
back to our personal space, in which we have a chair and a mattress, a
blanket, and a bag for vomiting.
The first take of Ayahuasca feels very weak. No
visions, not anything, just some emotional vulnerability. However, it
gives me the time to locate a problem: I'm always making a huge effort,
demanding myself too much, and I do it to make up for things I feel are
wrong or not enough inside. "What is it so bad about me?" I see myself
asking, as the Ayahuasca doesn't seem to work as I would have expected.
It seems I still have issues to solve. An indirect answer might be
related to some stuff I have to fix in the development of my sexuality
and my obstacles to be fully vulnerable, but it is related as well with
some generic insecurities, and with the impotence attached to my
revolutionary thrust against a social conception which propaganda tries
hard to make us feel as helpless cogs in the machine.
With the second Ayahuasca take, things get serious.
Really serious. The real trip starts unexpectedly. I lie down on my
back, with my eyes closed. I enter a strange place, very old, made of
winding shapes. I feel it as a cave, but it really doesn't have any
sort of spatial dimension. It is not a physical place.
I feel I'm at her home. Her temple. And I sort of
recognize her. Could she be,...?
All my efforts to change this world. They are still
not enough.
- And what can I do, mother?
With her deep voice, she covers my whole body.
- It's ok. I love you anyway.
Then she seizes me... I'm lying over the mattress,
and she embraces me to open a knot that is obstructing my chest. I can
only call her actions "love", but it is a love which is very strange,
and very deep. It comes from a plant manifested as a snake. She is old
and powerful. And lovingly brutal. I fight with all my strength to keep
myself as she sweetly strangles me. I'm lying on the mattress, and I'm
sometimes sitting down to strengthen my will as we fight. There are no
visuals, but I feel that something is bending my consciousness and
making it spin. It is as if my whole awareness is being drowned by a
huge snake.
Timelessness. The strangulation becomes so hard that
I feel as if I am going to disappear inside her. She is giving me what
she understands as love, and I feel near to everyone who is in that
room. Or just near "everyone", with no limits. I gaze at Schatten. A
lot. I'm fascinated with the ways she is both brave and vulnerable. It
is all too much, and I lie down. I go on fighting, I recover myself and
sit cross-legged again. The snake knocks me down again, but I resist,
and I know I will go on wrestling until my energy is fully depleted.
Later I would understand that through this struggle the snake was
training my will, as I had also asked in my purpose. She was training
my will and loving me, both at the same time and with a single
movement. Smart girl.
She delivers her final blow. I'm no more myself.
There's no boundaries. I'm jungle. Infinite in space. Timelessness. An
organism seems to be moving inside of it. This living creature is a
part of it. It is inside of me. It is a part of me. Everything is alive
and timeless. I am alive and timeless. My body violently vomits to
bring me back.
This second phase finishes, and I'm wasted. A few
daring have their third take, but I prefer to start to compose myself
and organize what I've just experienced with this ancient and wise
goddess. I have a feeling of a "joint conspiracy", not just with this
group of people, but with that which I understand as my underground
conspiracy. This helps me close a loose end that was there since my
first meeting with my personal goddess, the alienation that slowly
crept upon me after meeting such a High being. Now I can share and
understand it, now I'm not alone in her arms. I was never alone. Dreams
of brotherly companionship. Post-psychosis in which I believe everyone
to be involved. Find the others, but try to blur any limits on what
does such otherness consist on. Keep the post-psychosis! Keep on
walking...
I'm trying to write things down, and the shaman puts
his hands on my chest and back. He moves something there, and asks me
to forget my pen and paper, and just feel. I do.
Vulnerable.
And I understand, the limits to our will are
illusory, even as we face the gods. To conceive them irrevocably as
gods condemns us to the limitations we believe we have. That doesn't
mean that our will is already developed, nor that we can handle wills
we conceive as stronger by just snapping our fingers. But we can use
that mechanism of us which can conceive and perceive a stronger will as
a weapon to learn to improve ourselves: so that we can talk to the gods
on first-name terms, even if we are still warriors in front of immense,
powerful, and wise dragons.
When we talk in group about the experience, I
understand some of the issues I've left unchecked. Bisexuality can be
deceptingly comfortable. You can just pay attention mostly to your
hetero side, so that you don't have to really solve the fears and
negative prejudices that society projects over homosexuality. And it
all goes deeper. Since it is only accepting each and every detail of
ourselves, and loving ourselves, that we can open our hearts. So that
we can let it all flow outwards and truly love others. But this is
something I have to deal with in my everyday life; this belongs to
practice. I don't want to become close minded, and I still consider
absurd every polarity on sexuality, but it is the time to emphasize and
live the homosexual part of my bisexuality. Yeah, gotta fuck a guy.
But as I would realize later, its not just about the
sex. Its not about the fucking. That would be wrong, again. It covers
up something deeper, that deals with opening myself to people. Its
about returning home in my mind. This is all I really know about sex;
something that is natural and in which I face a naked soul. This
beautiful game in which all the characteristics of your partner(s) are
emphasized. So, it is my will to make love with beautiful souls. That
is how it works for me. Now I have to move my ass. Clean myself through
my techniques and act in this world through my will. It is not really
that difficult.
It is my will to be anything that is my will to be.
It is my will to do my will.
My mind has already tricked my memory to forget, and
I'm glad I'm writing things down. The next day I changed my memories
about the onset of Ayahuasca; I forgot that the question I asked her
before she covered me with love was, "and what can I do, mother?". Now
I contemplate myself there, asking this question, bleeding because all
the efforts to change this world weren't enough and... and I have a
glimpse of a beautiful kid. I love this kid. And it feels as if I am
unraveling the fullness of the ability to love I'm yearning for.
And the weekend ends, and we spend several hours in
a bus, back to our home town. And we feel so close to each other. But
this isn't finished. The shaman said that all this wasn't limited to
the ritual, and that it would somehow continue for about two weeks. On
the bus, Schatten, Calandar, and me. The link is wide open, and we are
reading personal lessons by just randomly opening a very small book
we've found by chance, which has become our Ayahuasca Oracle.
Nothing ever really ends. And those running bulls,
well, the fuckers are still running. Yeah, they are.
Shockwaves and reality glitches
As I go back to work on monday, I notice that the
communication flow with "it" is wide open. The amount of messages is
amazing, and the deepness and richness of the keys make it difficult to
keep track of everything. I have a notebook with me all the time, and
I'm writing everything down.
I meet again "by chance" my favourite crazy man. He
used to go upstairs and downstairs in a subway station, with all this
weird clothing of his, singing while he was playing loud music. By just
having a glance at him, you'd immediately perceive he is not normal at
all. But this is not his usual subway station. I wonder if he might
want to affect different groups of people. He is walking through the
platform, and he appears in front of me just two or three seconds. He
is singing, "I am who I am..."
I see and feel the shockwaves everywhere. My
coworkers talk about some experiences they've had with huge snakes on
the woods. A four-eyed woman made of jungle jumps me from a random page
on a newspaper.
She is talking to me again through the building
blocks of my reality.
And I know the game is alive. And I know that there
are still lots of adventures to be had. I might end up losing
everything I have, every comfort, and every rug under my feet. But I'm
alive, and that is everything that really matters. And I will lose
everything anyway. I don't want to wake up when I'm 90 years old and
exclaim "hey I made it!", just as I cling to the last beats of my
collapsing heart. So I'm in, I'm in for the whole fucking ride. And I
feel the need to explain my closest friends that even if one day I
disappear they have nothing to suffer for. Don't be alarmed, my
beloved. Life can't be better than this. Yeah, I have this vertigo
sometimes, but still...
I'm considering some ideas on entheogens and
shamanism Calandar explained. And entheogens are nice and they help
give you some thrust, but they're not really my thing. I invented my
first goddess from a role-playing game; and it turned out she existed,
and she gave me birth, she cleaned my three eyes and loved me. And that
is the reason she's the one I call mother. My post-psychosis is guiding
me to a world which spins around an Invisible Academy, a system that
has been kept alive through the whole history of humanity. And now I'm
a student, fully inside the conspiracy; and something Highest is
talking to me through a Saul Williams song in my mp3 player.
Maybe you’ll find
the cycles end right back where
you began, but come this time
around you’ll have
someone to hold your hand,
And when Ordo Rosarius Equilibrio sounds in my
player, I understand how my mind is adapting this new reality on the
Invisible Academy I've supposedly just joined. And my very reality, and
my perceptions, change along with the symbols that I expose myself to:
this is psychosis, that is to say, the narrowing of the space that
separates the Symbol and the Real, until there is no gap at all. When
you reach there, the symbolic level directly produces reality. Let us
rephrase it: when you are dancing over the short-circuit of psychosis,
your symbols create and manifest reality. Your personal reality
produces reality. So I dance again through the portals that lead to the
everflowing myriad of realities that conform the multiverse. And so
these lyrics are thrown to my mind by the music:
Christ was a
subterfuge, evil disguised for
good, human indulgence
must be realized.
And through the psychotic switch, I "understand". I
now know the occult meaning of this song: that there is this dark edge
to this legend on Christ sacrificing for ourselves; it is a deception,
"evil disguised for good", desperately trying that we do not go on with
our learning, trying us to fall into comfort and convenience, so that
we forget all this crazyness, all these paths and... It is as if he was
saying, don't worry, you do not have to deconstruct it all and explore
the infinite right to the end and strive through all forms of psychosis
and... no my children, it is unnecessary. And the song continues,
speaking the words of His wicked prophets:
God of eternal
life, save us from all
this lies, rages a man in
constraint of denial
No. I won't surrender. Right to the end, and I don't
care on how hard it gets, and I don't care on how deep and dreadful the
abysses get. Roma Victrix!
God was a wicked
man, forged out of
reprimand, founded to hinder
abundance to rise.
And as I consider the decision that I'll continue my
way through a magickal path with as scientific methods as possible to
deconstruct reality while keeping an eye on western philosophy, an
email arrives offering an alternate education system,... an eye-popping
"coincidence" which in the end doesn't turn out to be literally what it
seemed, but which would open even more pathways. Like organizing and
writing these thoughts.
She has winked to me; congratulations, your entrance
exams are over. Then I calm down and I remember my understanding. That
those who teach me are not specific masters, even if some can teach me
really helpful tools and ideas. No. Those are finite. The really really
cool ones hide beneath the voice of every human being, in the animals
that cross my path, graffiti on the walls as I walk, the random
conversations I listen, fortuitous radio messages, weblog comments
randomly browsed, spam messages in my inbox. Those are some of the
methods by which the symbolic organizes itself to give birth to the
fractal dimensions of meaning. She talks to me through everything, and
she is that everything. And she is me, and I am in her, and I am her. I
gave her form, I called her and she appeared, and I do not know who of
us was before, and any division is futile and puerile, and it doesn't
really matter... And sometimes she just directly incarnates in some
weird avatar and laughs hard at the very concept of subtlety.
I listen to her old and deep wisdom, she is my
masters, and my masters are every symbol in the eternal chain of
meanings that endlessly combine to create my worlds. To learn from
everything until you can find the world in a grain of sand, to see
heaven in a wild flower; that was what William Blake told us. Another
smart guy, a french philosopher called Jacques Lacan, said that the
ontological face of reality, that is to say, everything meaningful we
experience, is created dynamically as a symbolization of the Real. He
says, that the crux of the matter is in the very thing we call Reality;
but not as in the reality of a wall with which we can collide or a
floor we can stay on. No. Here we are talking about "meaningful"
reality. That is to say, Real would be this always inconsistent truth
that appears to verify itself, and installs itself as "that which
guides this world and introduces beings in it, and invokes them to
reality by using their names".
But I just like to call it Mother.
And the war goes on...
The whole week is a fantasy landscape. Art. And
events are so dense that I can barely write them down.
I go back to the topic of sex, and it is my will for
it to be completely open. I consider it would be a nice idea to ask the
Ayahuasca snake to teach me such a radical sexual openness that doesn't
make any distinctions, and I wonder if her lessons would be too weird
to assimilate. And as I'm thinking of this weirdness, a messenger
window pops-up, and a friend is passing me a link about paraphilias. He
is telling me he is utterly stunned after reading about this extreme
thing called dendrophilia, which is a sexual deviation in which you can
only get sexual pleasure from rubbing yourself with trees. Hahaha OK I
get it. I won't ask that to the plant.
It is all just about conceiving sex as natural.
Where am I at home with it? I know for me male/female doesn't matter at
all, as I neither really care on physical traits, except for the random
preferences I've accumulated through my life. Problems and confusion
arise if I try to behave through any of such stupid concepts. My
sexuality wants to do whatever it wants, and remaining conditionings
are to be lost. Sex is a place in which not just bodies but souls
appear naked. It is all exalted there, so you can see all the beauty
and all the mental barriers, all the egoism and all the devotion and
altruism. And some people are just so beautiful... I remember this
couple, we once lived in the same corridor in a student dorm. They were
always smiling, always so charming, and you could smell from a mile
away they had this really good heart. They were so beautiful I would
have been delighted to make love with them both.
And now I understand, that these hindrances were all
layer upon layer in my mind, trying to distract me from opening the
heart, from letting myself surrender and becoming fully vulnerable.
With no rules. With no distinctions. "Everything is a lie". Every truth
is just a perspective, a way to interpret the Rorschach inkblot that
reality is before our brain processes it. Should that drown me in
apathy?. No. It is my will to choose my fictions, and to transmute them
into flesh and blood. Which rule shall guide my choice?. Choose life.
Choose beauty. Get soaked in it. Flood others with it.
And Jesus had a
wife, And she was his
messiah Like that stranger
may be yours, Who holds a subtle
knife That carves
through worlds Like magic doors
New paths are opening. The timing of events is
exquisite.
I understand that Schatten plays a significant role
in my future. I just still don't know the details. We are weaving a
thousand plans on cooperating exploring enochian magick, qabbalah,
music, and a neverending stream of topics. The Ayahuasca Oracle
flabbergastingly performs its last graceful movement. I ask it about
us; I randomly open the tiny book, and I read words that speak about
previous lifes in which we supposedly practiced magick together. The
book is describing our roles in a ceremonial ritual some centuries ago,
and it is blessing us for meeting again inside the magical landscape.
The message is clear-cut. Blunt. Spooky. A random passage in a random
book: this is one of those things that just shouldn't happen.
And there is a second part to this message that
crowns the whole experience. But I already know it, deep inside me. I
have no doubt. And I don't know how things will develop. I don't know
how things will manifest. And this is such a huge gift that I do not
feel I deserve, and I... I feel as if something out there really loves
me; and the more I am given, the more I feel it is my duty to
surrender, to devote myself to everyone, to surrender to life.
Schatten. I know it is her. But I will not keep anything for me. I will
not crush the stars with my hands. My hands will be open if the stars
fall from the sky, but I won't grasp them; I know such selfishness can
only cause suffering. I don't know how things will manifest. Maybe she
will allow my hand entwined with hers. Maybe I'll remain as her earth
angel, caring for her from afar. Maybe not even that will be possible.
I still do not know her will. But I dream the cycles lead me to remain
trapped inside her eyes. Still, I will not keep anything for me. I will
not crush the stars with my hands. My heart is an endless stream,
flowing outwards.
There is a holistic relationship among it all.
Vulnerability, Will, Self-knowledge. I know myself, I can therefore
accept myself. I love myself, and this is the way I can truly love
others. I can love if I am confident and strong enough to be
vulnerable, and it is through love that I make myself vulnerable. To
really submerge in the myriad of perspectives that can conform reality,
I need the heart to accept them, not as fixed and still facts -there's
too much crap out there-, but to understand, and to guide to a better
place if necessary. Before it is too late. I used to dwell in a quote
that said, "thou cannot love them all when the trumpets sound". Because
as the french and russian revolutions show, I know that many times
positive change demands a payment in blood. Our oppressors exert their
violence upon us whenever we challenge their power. But now I
understand,... it is not contradictory. I can deploy the compassion I
have, and identify with them all, and love them all; even as the
trumpets inevitably sound.
And I see Calandar as a strong Earth Priestess, and
my imagination pictures her levitating, with her arms as a reversed V
and her long hair dense and inflated, full of power. I see Schatten
boldly penetrating deeper into her magick, understanding and using
energies at a subtler level, opening her eyes to see further, to
perceive more than what human senses usually allow. We have just passed
this dense nodal point brought by the serpent; each of us has a
different personality and aims,... But this we have in common: We are
children determined to be this dream which we already are. We've
already forgotten the laws of Reason. Our fantasies blend with reality,
and none is able to divide them again.
My favourite insane underground inhabitant crosses
again in front of my subway train, and he is rising his fist and
playing his music. And he is anything he wants to be, and ... I am
driving my efforts to live as I want, strong and confident, and the
possibilities are always infinite, and ... The machinery is already
running, my goddess seized me and I know very well there is no turning
back. My life is a fucking fairy tale, my life is an adventure, and
tears of joy drown my eyes. And I am amazed, I am truly grateful to
existence for her gifts... I can't but love her back.
I know I could reduce this to a rational
perspective, but I'm tired, and it is time to fully transcend rational
beliefs, as I transcended those absurd catholic beliefs when I was a
little kid. There are really interesting things in the rational model
and I still use it a lot -and it is clearly more useful than the
repressive catholic beliefs-, but for each and every model there are
parts of reality that just don't fit. Reason is no exception. Reason
died a century ago. I don't believe anything. There is no faith, there
are no universal truths. Any single "truth" expecting to fit this huge
and everchanging world is nothing but decay and rotting bodies. If
every symbol is transient, then so is every truth we attach to them.
I've got a body. I'm the ghostly flame that animates
it. I'm responsible.
I know I'll have to work a lot to widen this channel
with "it". As I think of that, I notice an advertising post with the
slogan "do not let our work stop". I nod.
Don't think of me as a madman, you who have faith in
the lies which you were taught by the institutions who serve the
powerful. You are not sane just because you share your conditioned
beliefs and behaviour with such a big congregation.
To stop believing we have to remove endless rugs
from under our feet. As we do that, our knee-jerk reaction is to start
weaving reality again like a mad spider. But you can end up befriending
the spider, and she might teach you weave and undo your own realities.
You may discover that reality changes as you are weaving nets again.
And that there is no turning back, unless you convince the spider to
weave you back where you began, and poison your mind so you do not
remember.
But what sort of idiot would really want that?
The next advertising post says, "make all your
projects real this summer". Fuck yeah! And another advertising post
enthusiastically answers, "lets go!"
And as I'm thinking on losing my thread and on how
the mechanisms to befriend the spider work, the bus driver has missed
the highway exit. Or maybe it is just that all these people going to
work this morning were wishing to get lost.
And the lights go off...
I'm going back home from work. I'm sitting on the
floor, cross-legged in a subway wagon. I am remembering the first
teachings from my mistress. I wanted freedom. I wanted to know. I've
always wanted that. Time ago I was utterly lost and hopeless in her
initiation. I had been dead, in hell, and in several other worlds, for
about three days. I was desperately screaming that I didn't know
anything at all about reality. And as I was screaming, I realized it.
When you know nothing about reality, you are free. And suddenly the
rainbow was there and the dawn was golden, and she covered me in love,
and taught me that even if we cannot truly know anything at all about
reality, it still has a key, and this key is love.
I am living again those moments in my mind. And as
my lips softly whisper that high above everything else the secret of
existence is love, every light in the subway wagon gradually goes off.
The train gently stops in the middle of a tunnel. And I've never seen
such darkness inside a subway wagon.
Holy sh...
I'm amazed. I'm quivering. Seconds become eternal.
I've just stopped Cradle of Filth in my mp3 player, and all around me
there is a deathly but warm silence. Someone finally reacts and people
start to try to illuminate this absolute darkness with their mobile
phones. They are unable to counter it. Silence remains unbroken. I feel
covered with warmth, and I glimpse a moment in which everything is
still and complete...
The lights go on, the train starts moving again,...
She smiles at me through the next words a random
someone speaks: "It is clear, that we communicate in strange ways". I
smile her back.
Home.
Home is not enough. Home cannot hide the pain we've
been inflicted. The spiritual dimension of western society has been so
seriously wounded after the cynical victory of capitalism over the
utopian attempts in Eastern Europe that our spiritual selves are now
lost among the shadows of coward and bourgeois attempts on "personal
development", the "new age", and the selfish accomplishment of desires,
balance, and inner peace. Unfortunately, such an individualistic and
selfish understanding of "spiritual" practices and goals is the logical
result from the disintegration of our collective dreams. If only enough
hearts matched the weight of Maat's feather...
To publish my words. To accept myself. So that I can
love you better.
