I had a dream/nightmare, early this morning.

I had a dream/nightmare, early this morning.

There were two main features. One was a very tall ladder, which I had to climb, but first I needed to prepare a couple of meals to carry up the ladder. I prepped a couple of plates worth, very carefully, and with excellent presentation. Yet, I was surrounded by folks doing a lot of running around, and they soon bumped into my plates, and brought disarray.

First the food become disordered, and then as the bumping continued, the result was that the meal was soon adorning the floor.

On waking I felt this horrible depression, something with which I am familiar, and which I knew I would soon exorcise. That aspect of the three-fold double complex, which Tomberg called “the prosecutor”, was painting darkness in my soul, suggesting that the last two decades of my life had been wasted, trying to climb the ladder of approval of my fellow Steiner students.

The books and essays and blogs have been written, but what was the point, sang this spectre. No one reads your work, … you are a failure.

Experience has taught me that this type of spectre, common to us all, means to provide resistance, and to steer us away from future works and efforts, by casting a dark blanket of doubt over all that we are, and have sought to do.

Then I remembered that my son was making a film of me and my work, which I had suggested be called: “Nobody knows my name”. The spectre would have me feel lost at sea, and incapable of surviving. It also is a sign, for the stronger the attack, the more we know that we are on the right course.

As a physical counter, I took five mg of sativa edible, and sat down to write. I had the night before thought to write something on the order of: “Don’t you just want – on occasion – to blow a lot of shit up?”

This idea had come to me as I continued to watch the world seemingly falling to pieces, and being ruled by multinational soulless egregores, who owned most of the politicians … too many of these people we needed them to be the something they promised, yet never delivered to us – their citizens. Promises, yes. Wise actions, no.

I find that when I feel this way, it is helpful to imagine seriously screwing those who having won public office, for they are actually mostly evil, and without a doubt work for the devil.

Part of me then imagines that I seek and gain the skills of a serious sniper. After which I hunt them, exploding their heads from two thousand yards out, … sort of a hand of god, in a sacrament of justice. I wrote a longish short story once, about this: “Counting Coup – a rainbow warrior story” http://ipwebdev.com/hermit/coup.html

I have another such fantasy, where I acquirer a fifty caliber long rifle, that can shoot incendiary rounds, mixed in with more of the explosive kinds. The incendiary rounds are visible and help one sight-in on the corporate boardrooms I intended to assault, for the pleasure of it.

I shoot from a large van, with other gear inside it. The long rifle/machine gun needs only a small hole for viewing, and after few thousand rounds, setting the high office building on fire, I drive away to my safe house, to savor on TV the results.

Another favorite fantasy, involves me jumping through the TV, knocking the offending idiot to the ground, sitting on their chest, and bitch-slapping them over and over again, until they wake up.

One could argue that such thoughts are themselves evil, and to succumb to them is to lose one’s sense of morality. My view is that they are purgative, and a needed aspect of our soul life. Our appetites have wisdom, and can only be mastered when we recognize their intrinsic value. Doing the right thing often means to do a wrong thing.

As to the Mystery, the Gods&Goddesses, They do not have a reputation for fairness, if we attend to the ancient tales. Capricious, arbitrary, seductive, and shamelessly dishonest, when it pleases Them. The more heroic we want to be, the more They rain down fire and brimstone.

If we are honest, some of the pilots riding planes into towers, had no real power over the International egregores and their puppets. They can’t produce a 23 million dollar drone, that shoots 7 thousand dollar hellfire missiles, at wedding parties, hoping to murder a man in a turban, with the children and mothers mere collateral damage.

If we think about it, our fantasies of destruction and vengeance are quite mild, when compared to what human beings actually do.

I’ll be 81, December 23rd. Lived from before the bomb and after. Had lovers, tried to raise babies into adults, and too many jobs. I also have a curse, which masks itself as a gift.

Thoughts jump in my head. Some dance, others throw stones. Riddles have come, and gone, with solutions that at least satisfy me.

Thoughts and writing are the only tools I have. “Jump” is meant quite literally. Imagine a classroom with a bunch of children raising their hands and yelling: “Write me down. Its my turn”.

What I have learned to trust is best described as being on/in a river, that sometimes is placid and slow, and other times dangerous and confusing. We can’t always see this river of thought as filled only with light, given that it clearly is not.

I have/had an elder brother, five years older. He’s passed now, about three years ago. When he got in his ‘70’s, he did two sorts of actions, which I found instructive, which is why I share them.

To keep his mind active, he took up a riddle never before explored. In his case he started to study the literature of pyramids on Mars and the Moon, as well as explanations for how UFO’s might actual work, if we let our ideas of physics not be limits, just doors to possibilities.

To keep his body active, he took up building stuff. In his case, one of several over those years – involved making models that could do movements, such that he spent some time, for example, trying to make birds that flew out of balsa-wood and rubber bands.

Hobbies with handwork are meditative. Unanswered questions provocative. Pitfalls, on the Way, normal and merely human.

To me it is a wonder that what the Mystery wants most, is for us to invent ourselves; and, that in all the juicy details, each of us is one of a kind.

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