Wake Up Mike

More and more I find myself feeling the same sensation that I am being cheered on from a group of friends from above to push through and wake up into something radically different.  But I'm being held back by a layer of energy, or suffering, or inertia and my "friends" seem to understand the arduousness of the process.

And part of the barrier is the fear that this is all madness creeping in. That and that this something "radically different" involves a sort of death of sorts, or at least the loss of what I am still attached to in this world.  And that its just plain fucking strange and lonely in a way to be so out of sync with the rest of humanity that is operating under a different program.

 And I get this idea that we do this over and over again until we get it right (if we ever do), like some form of karma we cannot understand or comprehend.

So the last couple of times during the day when the thought erupted, I asked for help.  Because if there isn't anything to help us get through the barrier, its probably not worth going through anyway.  That, and I am just humbled by the enormity of it all.  And I don't really know who or what can offer help, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to ask.  All they can do is say no, or remain silent.

And of  course, this is what I keep experiencing in an Ayahuasca ceremony, finding its way into my normal life like underlying program I still haven't come to terms with.  And it keeps asking me, Mike, do you really want to do this? And I'm starting to say, Yes, I really do.  I really want to look behind the curtain.  But I need help.

Mid-Flight Engine Trouble Between Montrose and Denver

After the Mugwort tea was consumed, I invoked the intention that I full realize my psychic abilities and intuitions to harmonize myself with the universe.  Of course, this happened at 4 am, and it may have been somewhat different.  I've been listening to a lot of Noah Lampert lately, especially since he was on the podcast.  My intention may have also had something to do with bringing the mystical awareness of the 4th night of Rythmia into my space.

After I grounded my body outside and urinated, I went back into an relished the dream time, and soon I entered the space:

I was in some sort of dating event.  It was outside in some sort of crowded tent.  I didn't see anyone I was particularly interested in.  But I was late, so I didn't have a choice and I was matched with a woman in the corner who was not attractive.  As I looked at her more carefully, I liked her eyes, but she was old.  And it some way, she kind of looked like a short haired version of Ash's friend Am, who I know to be on dating sites in real life even though she is married.  But that is in waking life, and not really relevant here.  Or is it?  lol

But I did not talk to this woman long (or at all), because then there was some sort of disruption.  We were either under attack, had to leave or both.  The whole tent complex was mobile.  We might have been on a huge bus.  We were traveling around a prairie that looked in retrospect like the area in Casper, Wyoming between our house and Casper Mountain.

Then we were definitely under attack.  By a large group of males.  Things were hopeless.  We were completely trapped.  They were raping us and doing other horrible things.  I'm not exactly sure how we escaped, but it had something to with my continually trying to escape.  And it had something to do that I had mushrooms with me, and eventually either powerful females intervened, or I had escaped to a land controlled by the females.  And the females liked the mushrooms, or they had intervened because I had some.  Not sure.  I'm sure there was more to the story, but I had to do a phone deposition this morning, and maybe more will be recovered tonight.

The Infinite and the Bi-Polar

There was something about being in my old law firm and hiding that article that I ghost penned in the Journal of Humanistic Psychiatry about a Jungian Interpretation of an Ayahuasca adventure.  But this was at 2 am, and at this point the dream imagery was mostly feeling as opposed to symbols or meaning.

After awakening, I indulged in a little Random Rab, urinated outside, checked out a wondering possum, had a few squirts of Mulugu bark, and took in the some of the aromas of Mugwort while I performed the lesser banishing and invoking rituals.  Then I was back to the races.  I took me a bit to get back in, but then...

I was running and running.  There was a criminal running.  He was running and breaking the law with  abandon in all sorts of ways that I don't really remember.   He was in prison strung up to the wall with his hands outstretched like a cross.  He was taken down by my old high school friend Chuck Abrahamson.  Then he escaped as was back to running.  Along the way, he/I started talking to a woman.  We saw a dead body on the ground, a blonde female.  She looked familiar, and the woman who was with us told me that we had killed her.  I didn't remember doing that but I'm sure it happened.  I became sick.  Then we were joined by a man.  And he and the woman joined voices inside my head.  The woman in my head told me I was bipolar.  Then the male told me that I must learn to work with it because I was infinite.

Then the scene transformed.  I was with the criminal again, but he was in a a summer sport coat.  With a beautiful woman.  Come to think of it, he was always surrounded by women.  And the man looked different.  Like something out of a GQ magazine.  And he and the woman were going to some sporting even.  And I was left with the impression that he was worldly and successful.

Its Time to Take off Those Silly Masks

Sometime long ago, your childhood disappeared before it started.   That is what you say anyway.

Something about your father didn't love your mother, he was in love with someone else, had a kid by them, and somehow ended up with your mother.  And that's how you came along, the product of a loveless marriage.

Then the story goes that your mother put all her hopes and dreams in you.  Wouldn't let you breathe.  And I can see how there is a germ of truth in that.  You mother is more concerned about how something looks to others, than what it means to herself or her family.  A tortured prisoner to be sure.  It would have been interesting to see that glint in your eyes when you rebelled against her before you put the mask back on.

But here is where it gets interesting.  For in your mind, you were put in the unenviable position as a child of protecting your mother from the wrath of your father.   And each one of your parents would blame you for taking sides in their marital conflict.  An erstwhile childhood mediator in a dispute well beyond her years.

But see I'm into seeing things in their opposites these days.  Or at least exploring them.  And in my mind the self styled "helpless" victim is  really exerting a degree of control over the situation--whether she wants to admit it or not.   Even if we pay close attention to your own narrative, you were in control.  You "never had a childhood"=you were an adult.  You were the "unwilling mediator" or "protector"=the puppet master controlling the strings.   Let's further assume that you were more than
the intellectual equal of the combined force of your parents.  And your parents were, after all, weak, shallow and petty compared to the you.  Surely, a highly intelligent child could step in to get what she wants, sort of anyway.

But then comes the tricky part, and I may be wrong about this, but here is my intuition,  what happens if the fantasy that every child has of controlling the ostensibly older and more powerful parents becomes true and manifested in reality?  The child could be afraid of the power, and abdicate the throne, so to speak.   Or something more oblique perhaps.  For the other part of your narrative, that you repeat like a mantra is that you never absolutely never never never under any circumstances do anything for yourself.  I'm exaggerating here, but I have poetic licence and this is my blog, so there.  You are only happy when you do things for other people and are incapable of finding happiness in doing anything for yourself.   Blah blah blah. 

Now Mother Teresa may have lived that mantra, but she never would have said that.  By saying it, it becomes something different.   You are either Mother Teresa or you are not.  But in my world if you say you are selfless, you are something else.  I'll leave that for you to decide what that something else is.

Had I wanted someone who told me all the time that she cared for me and how she was happy only doing things for other people, I would have asked.  I really would have.  But I really wanted something different.  And its time to take off those silly masks anyway.