Monday, June 17, 2019

It's a Curious Kind of Road, where only the Traveler Bends. It's a Most Unspoken Place where Mirrors End.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

I marvel in a kind of frozen astonishment at the spiraling decent into madness that is the hallmark; the signature dish of our times... the creeping, curdling, ever intensifying insanity. Whoa! Can it get even more far out? Can it get even more unhinged? It appears that the answer is “Yes!”. It's not only all those but also, embarrassing and self serving in the most odious, commercial sense. It's going South to the extent that a footpath has been created round the Earth by those going South.

The desire to do harm to others and in the process, lie outright and employ every seedy, depraved and flat out unbelievable accusation, simply because some other people have been getting away with it, strains the bounds of credulity. Those bereft of any redeeming talent are now seeking to promote the most outrageous and unconsciously humiliating causes, for no reason other than to be out there in the public eye.

These clowns from the social justice circus, have been getting away with just about everything for a very long time. The reasons for that are quite obscure. One rightfully wonders how such transparent scams can be so consistently successful, until... one reflects upon the curious turning of events over recent decades; the hijacking of life's musical soundtrack, the devolving of every aspect of media into noxious garbage, the disintegration of long standing cultural infrastructure... it's all well past too much. As one might expect 'a change is gonna come' has arrived. This sort of outcome is happening more and more.

What is the logical end to all of this, when certain factions have been getting away with cultural murder, as well as social dis-integration, under the tagline of 'unity'? Some form of street side conflict and boiling over revolution, due to the push-back of traditional values and the majority just finally having had enough of CRAZY, with undertones of incipient and accelerating violence. It looks like there are going to be some cashews rattling in Nut Job City this year.

There are alarming statistics for those who have had enough of lies and damned lies. Very similar events were taking place in Rome in the decades before the fall. One might well suspect that this has been the case in all those other cultures we have heard of but have no actual evidence of what actually happened. Surely the causes were the same in those cultures we haven't heard about because no record of their ever having been here exist.

Then there is the consideration of Atlantis and Lemuria. The burning of the Library at Alexandria took care of that; at least as far as the general population, without access to the occult library goes. Here... I am not talking about the Akashic Records, which are available to those either allowed access or ingenious enough to have discovered the route and credentials necessary. I am talking about evidence given, or inferences made, by people like Manly Palmer Hall, various members of The Golden Dawn and sundry others.

As I used to say at moments like this and haven't said in a good long while, since being changed into a kinder, gentler visible; Go look it up, I'm not your research assistant (grin).

As you can see, or could have seen (but you didn't look) from the links given, it's getting rad(ical) out there. This assuredly means it got rad(ical) to begin with... 'in there'. Everything starts in the mind, including creation itself. Herein lies the key to not only a successful existence but a bliss drenched hereafter, should one tumble to a simple fact. The world, as you may observe at any moment, is filled with people thinking for themselves; I mean that in every sense of the implications. The world is filled with every possible permutation, across the wide parameters of personality. The world is filled with people expressing themselves... badly, because the vast majority of us are 'badly drawn'... blame the individual architect for that.

Mostly we are just bad at taking direction. We have this free will thing don't we? We think we have a free will but the only free will we have is some variation of opposition to the primal will that moves in everything and will move in the perfection of whatever it is moving through, if permitted to. Unfortunately, we insist on running the machinery ourselves, sooner or later it goes off-road and most of the time, the vehicle is not equipped for the terrain. Sooner or later. Sooner or later.

I have had the priceless gift of being rendered into nothing... and that more than once. It doesn't always take the first few times (grin). Eventually though, one is hollowed out of the clutter of appetites and desires, that shape in fire, the temporary persona on its way to termination. This is the poetry of the greatest love affair of all. If one has been lit up by the flame of the indwelling ineffable, it will grow into a passion greater than has ever been previously known and the rest is, well... not history so much as an end to personal history. One trades off the enslavement of replicating lifetimes for a single lifetime of eternal consistency, best defined by an ever increasing love of the divine.

Perhaps it was Wordsworth who said, "the world is too much with us". There is the problem and the solution in one fell swoop. If one would let the divine be too much with them, there would be no room for anything else. One of the best definitions of The World and its prevailing nature is; fickle. What else could it be, since it is a world of appearances and they are ever changing?

Everyone is seeking one face or the other of that particular Janus; either escape or discovery. We want to be consumed in something to the extent that we forget ourselves, or we seek to discover that which will enthrall us in similar fashion to a similar end. All our hungers and passions... all those temporary love affairs are the soul in pursuit of its authentic mate (for lack of a better word). We seek what will complete us and nothing but the ineffable can provide that. On and on we go from temporary triumph to another sad disappointment. Life is often compared to an ocean and rightly so. It is composed of an ocean of tears.

That ocean is filled with flotsam and jetsam that once belonged to someone else. People swim from one to the other and somewhere in that ocean is a raft with a built in guidance system. Many have found it, though by comparison with the vast numbers of us, that many becomes astonishingly few. It is truly a puzzle for those who have tumbled to the real meaning of existence. Why are so many of us captivated by gold plated dung? Even the gold is without any enduring value, when measured against spiritual gold.

You can't tell anyone anything. You can lead a whore to water but you can't make it think. The tale of the 'mess of pottage' gains meaningful significance in that respect. Once the true perspective is gained, the common world becomes an empty desert with a beautiful oasis in the midst. Only fools believe that one cannot enjoy this world while remaining free of its clutches. It is we who clutch first, binding ourselves to transitory things. The profoundness of non attachment runs deep.

Selfishness is the most ubiquitous form of self abuse. You lose everything and you gain nothing. I know it looks different. It would be hard to convince most of us that this were true of Jeff Bezos.

Selfishness robs us of everything meaningful and anyone who has ever lost themselves in anything will tell you it is the best feeling in the world and that is why giving service (living to serve) is so rewarding. What we all really want more than anything else it to forget ourselves. We try to do that in each other; temporary respite. This is why the French call it, la petite morte... the little death. Sex and death are far more synonymous that one might suspect. There is only one thing you can lose yourself in and stay lost in, while being permanently found. It can take any number of forms, since the form is not the essential ingredient. It is merely a portal.

♫love... is a many splintered thing♫ 

Meaning that the incomprehensible one, out of its singularity, brought all the forms that ever shall be out of its being. The following drama of life is only that incomprehensible one, gathering all the pieces back together again. Once this is accomplished, it all ends and... following a pause, after the in-drawing breath, breathes it all out again. The whole of it is no more than a single breathing out and in.

End Transmission.......

♫Shining Light♫

A classic Visible post: Hare Krishna

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With gratitude to Patrick Willis.