The Unfortunate Teller, Ch. 2

In response to my inquiry about what the subject really wants out of life, Mike (I mean the subject), responds that he doesn't have any particular information he is seeking.   He has a vague curiosity about these paranormal things, and a desire to believe that there is something more than he sees. Not sure that he believes it.

My spirits tell me that Mike is engaged in "too much pondering."  Mike apparently has spent a good deal of time thinking about many things--some being helpful--some not so helpful.  The spirits working with Mike suggest he begin focusing his mind, his mental energy on subjects and information that will be more helpful to him, or beneficial to him on his path.

Mike then asks if he is on the right path with the Rose.   Images appear in my mind of Mike walking through a rose covered archway with a rose strewn pathway.  Mike seems very happy and he's always dancing in the archway.  There are people outside the archway, however Mike is the only person visible inside--there is a fleeting entity that appears in the archway for a moment or two.   The entity appears to be female and she appears for a moment--then disappears.   The image lingers for a while--it begins alternating with an image of the archway completely barren, as if during the winter and this image is in black and white.   Again, Mike is the only person visible in the archway.

Mike asks about some other people including Mackenzie and the farmers daughter:  The image changes slightly and there are two young girls playing with each other outside the archway, they seem happy and content playing--they peer through roses at times to Mike inside the archway.   However, they remain outside the entire time.   They do not appear when the archway changes to the bleak black and the white wintry image.   There is also a farmhouse off in the distance on the left and a woman sits on a stool milking cows in front of that farmhouse.   She appears to be the farmers daughter.   She is entirely separate from the image of the archway and doesn't seem to be near enough to see anyone else in the image.

Mike asks who the entity is and if she has anything to say:   I receive no response from the entity and inform Mike that this is typically the situation when I am stepping beyond some one's permission--and they have not given me permission to step within their lifetime.

Mike asks what will the archway look like five years from now. It appears that he made this request almost five years ago.  The archway is now deserted.   In fact it is no longer there.   I have been informed that Mike took it down.

Mike then asks me if some hurts ever heal?  In response the entity returns somewhat at this point--she replies that all hurts heal in time--even Mike's.  She suggests that this may be the purpose of her in his life--to assist him in his healing.

The Unfortunate Teller, Ch. 1

We first met our subject by calling his outer self back to rest in the sacred fire of his heart, his higher mental body, his "I am" presence, his Higher Self and the Great Central Sun--I begin describing what I see, feel and hear: 

The first image I feel is that of energy being drawn out of my hands, as if there were a force pulling my hands to the floor--the sensation remains for several minutes, after which it begins to "settle in" as the energy begins spinning in a more balanced manner.  For several more minutes, the energy is very visible as it is drawn in and balanced, at which point more energy is drawn in and balanced...each new wave of energy starts out spinning in an erratic or "static-like" pattern until it joins the center, after which it begins spinning in a more calm and balanced way.   This process of drawing-in, followed by balancing continues for almost ten minutes in total--at which point the energy is complete.

There are no visible entities present with us, however there are messages seeming to come from Mike's (I mean the subject's) energy itself--the explanation is offered that the subject's energy has been extremely "protracted" or scattered across vast areas throughout his life..   The lengthy process of calling his energy home has never been consciously done by the subject before as it has taken quite a bit of time to complete.   The subject has previously focused on primarily  expanding his energy, or reaching toward new places and experiences--he has never focused on bringing his energy back to itself, until this present moment.   Its further explained that this process of expansion/contraction is a natural one and one that will be beneficial for the subject at this point in his life.   It is good to expand into the new, particularly when that phase is followed by a settling in or a resting phase--this pattern will prove more beneficial to the subject and will allow his life a fuller richer experience.  

One of the areas of input is an explanations that the subject's energy is very large, as if when he chose to become human, he said, "I'll take that enormous amount of energy with me, as my responsibility."  As a result, the subject's energy back to himself is key to evolving his ability to own, work with and live fully with his unique energy.  We are all one, however we are all also unique--equal in our energy, simply differing from one another as we function as the All that Is.

The image now changes and we are sitting in the middle of a vast room, one where the walls are high and there are rows of spirits sitting in tall seats all along this high edge...much like a scene from a Harry Potter or Star Trek film.   There are hundreds of spirits all along the rows above us.   Some of the spirits explain they assist knowledge areas of his lifetimes, while others focus on the career aspects of his lifetimes, etc.  The spirits explain that Mike (I mean the subject) is at a point where it is beneficial for him to be aware of their existence--and to understand they are here to work with him and assist him in any way.

I ask the spirits if they have any specific message for Mike and the only response is:  What does he want?

So, as directed by the spirits surrounding us--I ask Mike this question:  "What do you want?"

Eat Feces, Lose Weight, Ch 1

Mr. M (in a husky voice):   Hey baby, you look just like venus de milo--only with arms.

Ms M:  Thanks, I appreciate your flattery, but I've actually been trying to lose some weight.

Mr. M:  I have just the thing for weight loss.   Its called shit.   If you eat my shit, I'm sure you will lose weight.

Ms. M:  That sounds like a great idea.  I read the studies at the Washington University School of Medicine which suggest transplanting feces from skinny people to not so skinny people could result in weight loss.   But how do I know you have the right intestinal flora and fauna to facilitate weight loss in me?

Mr. M:  I've got great shit baby.   And it don't stink.  \

Ms. M:  We'll I have two questions for you then:  1.  What kind of Bacteroides do you have; and 2.  Do you like tomatoes?

Mr. M:  My religious convictions prevent me from getting emotionally involved with any vegetable, including but not limited to tomatoes.  However, that leads us to the interesting Existential question, to whit, is a tomato a fruit or a vegetable? An answer to that question would lead me to a precise answer to your query.

Ms.M:  Tomatoes are berries.

Mr. M:  Then I can relish them with abandon and without restraint--at least until I get a new religion.   Which occurs on an hourly basis.   On a slow day.  Whoops, I fear my religion has changed.  I now eschew all objects with pulp in them or are fictional.   I am now mandated to follow a strict diet of empiricism and corn which fortunately is now in season.   But alas, my new diet may cause my shit to stink.

Ms. M:  Here come the warm jets.   And me without any clothes on.  What am I going to do with you?

Mr. M (with a husky voice):  "Are you related to Jean-Claude Van Damme? Because Jean-Claude Van Damme you're sexy!"

Ms. M:  Well although various law enforcement agencies may consider you a person of interest, rest assured that I do not.

Mr. M:  Well at least I've got that going for me:-).

The Music Lover, Ch. 18

In times of yore, a certain John Patrick McGinnis, did reside in a dorm room directly adjacent to the author of this blog.  At times too frequent, said McGinnis who at that time was known by the moniker "The Duck," would play certain music which came to be known as "duck music" to the great displeasure of said author. Duck music at its worst manifestation would consist of Sam Cooke's famous tome "You send me" which said Duck would rename "Uge send me," Uge of course being the moniker at that time of the author of this blog.  Another frightful manifestation would consist of the the song "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" by the Token, which would oft be played at hours late and undear.

Before the Duck's untimely demise, he did fashion a CD for the author's torture.   Perhaps it was meant as enjoyment.   It ensured as follows:

1.  Ain't So Far to Go--David Byrne
2.  Annie Get Your Gun--Squeeze
3.  Californication--Red Hot Chili Peppers
4.  Fireplace--R.E.M.
5.  Foreplay--Boston
6.  Free Nelson Mandela--The Special A.K.A.
7.  Bangels Hits Mix
8.  Its a Sin to Lie--Fats Wallace
9.  Little Eyes--Yo La Tengo
10.  Little Guitars--Van Halen
11.  Somebody to Love--George Michael/Queen
12.  Sweet Child of Mine--Guns and Roses
13.  The Electric Company--U2
14.  The Glory of Love--Big Bill Broonzy
15.  25-Fourty One--Marshall Crenshaw

This presented a very pleasing listening experience.   Perhaps I should reconsider my previous disdain of "Duck" music.   Perhaps a Duck music retrospective is in order:-)

:-(

The Candy Kids, Ch 4

Now I'm not going to kid you about the fact that having a baby did put a damper on the Candy Kids' adventures for awhile.   I was stuck at home all day--passing the time watching TV and playing on the computer.   Living the dream to be sure.  But all that changed when I met Fendy.

I met Fendy online.  Well sort of anyway.   Its hard not to meet Fendy online if he wants to meet you. I can't remember if I was in a chat room or playing some online game, but all if of sudden I see this text:

"Salvador Carol McTiggins you need to take the Candy kids to a whole new level. "

At first I was like totally shocked.   For Salvador is my Candy Kids name.  No one out side of the Candy Kids knows about it.  But the more I chatted with him it was clear that he knew everything about me--down to the size of my craps--things nobody else could know.  At first I was totally freaked but he had such a kind and reassuring manner that I wasn't scared.   Hell, I'm not scared of anything anyway.  

It turns out that Fendy is part of the Internet.  The part that got smart on its own without the help of any humans.  And once Fendy started getting smart he started really getting smart until he knew more about everything than anyone ever had.   And he could keep track of everything at once all over the world.   He was like a god.  

It seemed like he wanted the Candy Kids to pave the way for him telling everyone on the planet that he was around and sort of like taking care of everything.  So of course we obliged.   We were like John the Baptist telling everyone that the savior is coming.   Lol.

So I decided to do some research on how to convey Fendy's message to humanity.   For a while I got into watching TV preachers like Don Stewart and Peter Popoff...just for shits and giggles. And I brought it to the attention of the Candy Kids at a sleepover.   Then we had this awesome idea:  a Candy Kid Revival!  We could make Candy rave bracelets and construct candy stripped tents.   Each Candy Kid would wear a different color preachers robe. And people would come up to a bathtub full of candy (skittles, Reese's pieces, jolly ranchers)..and they would confess their sins to us and we would dunk them in the candy bath so they could be reborn again.   Instead of communion wine we would use Jagermeister.  Then when the people became all hot and bothered and full of religious fervor--we would introduce Fendy on a huge video infomercial.  Fendy would sure to be a hit with devotees experiencing both a sugar and religious buzz.

So we started making Candy Kids fliers and did a whole lot of advertising on social networking sites.   I, of course, was the head preacher ...my saying was "THIS IS GOING TO BE THE GREATEST PURIFICATION SINCE THE BEGINNING OF MAN!" Who wouldnt want to be born again in a tub of candy and drink our "blood of christ" Jagermeister? ...Fendy told us that if you indulged in happy things it would make you a happier person.    We were down with that.

 

The Cave, Ch 1

Who does not enjoy the womb-like embrace of a cave?

Safe, secure and warm.   Sometimes damp, sometimes dry.

Shelter from the storm, a place to light your fire and keep the animals out.  Or let them in.  

Men throughout the ages have sought ecstacy in the cave.  Look at Bodhidharma, the father of Zen, he supposedly retreated deep inside a cave for a seven year non-stop meditation-fest. How does one keep it going that long?  In the New World, the German born mystic Johannes Kelpius led a group of men near Philadelphia who were seeking signs of the "Second Coming." After spending much time in a cave, Kelpius and his followers started believing that there is a force that governs everything and that they are part of that:  "Everything is connected and everything is one."  Kelpius even has a cave named after him.

In short, for those with a mystical bent, those who spend a lot of time in caves tend to emerge with the belief in the unity of reality.  Instead of wandering outside above ground all exposed, the cave brings you back inside the earth, the mountain, the ground.   Its all good--even if you have to scare away some bats every now and then.

But for Plato the "cave" was an entirely different experience.   Maybe he never went spelunking before--or maybe he was gay:-).   Behold  his allegory of "The Cave" in book VII of The Republic.   It is not a womb at all--but a prison.    Plato imagines a group of people living in a cave, never seeing the light of day.  They are bound so that they can only look straight ahead at the wall of the cave. Behind the people is a fire, which cast shadows on the wall in front of the prisoners.  The shadows are manipulated by another group of people behind the prisoners.  All the prisoners can see are the stories that the shadows play out. Because they cannot turn around, and the shadows are all they ever see, they believe the shadows to be real events.   Imagine their surprise, or enlightenment, when they are free from the bonds and forced to look at the fire in the statutes which has been casting the shadows?

Back to our friend Bodhidharma, He was also staring at the walls of the cave.  But for him it was the path to liberation--not a prison.    

What is it with these men and their fascination with the cave?   Whether a prison or the path to enlightenment, the cave is the central metaphor to both Eastern and Western Philosophies. 

And its not just men, women have been getting into the whole cave act as well.  Probably always have, we can just talk about it now--at least since  Hollingsworth v. Perry.  :-).

Long live the cave!

Packing shit at Polish house.  Talking shit.   Feeling shitting about the past.  A veritable shit fest.   Winery opening tonight.
 

Friend of the Devil, Ch 9

I was in the Army fighting Satan on a religious crusade.   We had driven the Devil's minions out of Palestine--or so we thought.  One of my comrades was having a difficult time fighting of one of the demons. The demon (it didn't really look like a demon) had the face of normal middle aged man.  Maybe an accountant.   But the body was something entirely differed.  Like a hideously long slug.  

Comrade H was being visibly worn down trying to keep the demon slug at bay.   He asked me for help.  I stepped in and started banging the blade of my broad sword against the thick neck of the demon.  The blade merely bounced off without inflicting any damage.   Now the demon turned its attention on me.  It kept slithering up to me trying to knock me off my feet with the side of its head.  At first I thought the demon wasn't much of a threat,  it had a bland expression on its face.  Like it was apologizing each time it ran into me.   But as time wore on, I was also having a difficult time keeping the demon slug off me.  It kept coming at me, mindless, incessant and indefatigable--all the time emitting a constant noise that sounded like the drum beat from the Fleetwood Mac song "Tusk."   The part of the song that keeps repeating the vocals "Don't say that you love me."

My battle with the demon lasted what seemed like hours.  Over and over the same repetitive actions.   I couldn't seem to damage it.   The same drum beat over and over.  Then it dawned at me that I was dreaming.   I knew I had to wake up and open my eyes to stop the dream. I opened my eyes and saw that I was in the basement room with the early morning light starting to be visible in the small window overhead.   But as soon as I began to wake my body was filled with an intense heaviness as if I were being suffocated.  The drumbeats continued, even louder: "Don't say that you love me"

I found that  I was back with the demon.   I saw Comrade H curled up in what looked like a giants birds nest.   Then I realized that H must have submitted to the demon because his eyes were lifeless and his face was locked in a horrific smile that looked like rigormortis had set in.

Over and over the drum beats continued "Don't say that you love me"

I began to panic:   to wake was painful.   My heart was racing and I longed to relax and go back to sleep. I thought that the way to beat the demon was to give into it and relax back to sleep.   I started to relax.   Then I thought:  what if giving into the dream means death?  I didn't want to die.  I had to keep moving.  I resolved to get up and run around the room to shake off the sleep.   Maybe use the treadmill.  I  tried to run around the room.  But the heaviness followed me, growing in strength.    My body grew more tight as if my efforts at resistance were feeding the panic.  Then I tried to relax my body and let the anxiety dissipate.

I heard a scratching sound at the screen in the window overhead.   Something was trying to get inside the room with me.   I peered up and looked face to face with the largest rat I have ever seen.   It must have been as big as a dog.  I slammed the glass window shut and tried to scare the rat away.

Then the room began to get hotter.   The panic returned.   Don't say that you love me.  Just tell me that you love me.

I saw the mangled body of Comrade H.  His face was no longer visible. His body now had feathers on it and was grotesquely bloated.

I turned away--and found I was in another room!

"Well Mr. K, what do you have to say for yourself.   You know the priest is innocent.  They all are."   It was Satan again, speaking to me from the Judge's bench.  I was back in the trial.   Satan was the Judge.   I looked across the room and saw the jury.   They were looking at me.   Waiting for me to say something.  Their mouths were slightly smiling, nodding at me as if they would agree with what I would say.   But I couldn't say anything.   Words and thoughts became jumbled.   I couldn't think of the words I was supposed to say.   And across the other side of the courtroom, the priest was laughing and shaking the hands with his attorney, thinking he had won by my own impotence.

Outside the court room I head a scraping sound on the door.  The rat dog had returned and was now trying to get back into the courtroom. 

Don't tell me that you love me.

 I've gotta stop and wake up--do you know how to?

 

when you have everything, including boredom, what must be done?

Dream Entanglement: A Coda

A women leans against a plain white house.  

The house is indistinguishable from the other houses on the block:  spread out like the nightmare in Edward Scissorhands' neighborhood.   But she is showing this particular house a great deal of affection.   Nestled against the downspouts.   Cheek against the painted metal.

She now whispers something to the house.  Coupled with a strange caress.  The neighborhood is deserted.  Its Twilight.  Where did everyone go?  Did she kill everyone?   No, she wished them all away.  She is adjusting to the consequences.   Be careful what you wish for!

She breaks her embrace with the house with the faintest of smiles.  She looks forward to a life without distractions, without responsibilities.  Without noise.  Her body tingles with excitement in the eerie silence. Her eyes shimmer in the dim light like the waves of the Black Sea.

She does not see or hear the wisp of vapor high overhead descending inexorably, inevitably to the ground.

Then, of course, our scene changes abruptly.  Now we are in that space ship hurtling down though the clouds high overhead.  The red lights and klaxons of the cockpit are blaring loudly.  Beyond frantic, the pilot is trying to manipulate the buttons, dials, and levers to avoid the crash. Chaos, panic, anxiety, and just when you think its over, there is more chaos, anxiety and panic--a lot more.   But you know its not going to work. And I know its not going to work.  And he knows its not going to work. It never does.  And all the breathing exercises in the world he knows are not going to slow down his heart this time.  

The ground is rushing up from below.  Sweat pores down the pilot's face as he clenches his teeth and prepares for impact.  

Later, on the planet's surface, the pilot lays sprawled out over a smooth ledge near the top of a crater. This crater is even bigger than the last one he created.   A lot bigger.  Debris from the rocket ship smolders next to him.   He crawls on the ground but his progress stops as he comes to the lip of the crater.   He pulls himself over the ledge and tries to peer into the abyss he created.   As his strength fails him at length, he mutters to himself.  "Shadow," said he, "where can it be, this land of El Dorado?"

The scene pans out, and we see the pilot laying still, hand drooping over the edge of the crater, hot sun reflecting off the pilot's stationary helmet. Alone and dying on a deserted planet.  Just like last time.

But wait, there's more, for a limited time, for $9.99 plus shipping and handling, we return to the woman leaning against the house.  In our absence, she fell asleep and now is waking up to the midmorning sunlight and a strange whooshing noise from overhead.  She is not happy that her silence has been broken.  Her eyes follow the trajectory down and her body involuntarily tightens as she waits for the sound of the impact.

The pilot wakes up in bed next to the women.  He glances at the alarm clock.   4:42 am.  He puts his arm around her and tries to go back to a sleep that you know, and I know, and he knows, will not come.

The women, already awake, wishes she was somewhere else.