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Evil …

Hymns to the Holy Mother

Evil …

The logic of “evil” is odd. Evil requires, for meaning at the conceptual level, Good. Each is married to the “other”. The next level of odd, has to do with the truth, which is that not only are Good&Evil married, that marriage is an embodied reflection of aspects of the Divine Mystery Itself.

In my book “The Art of God: an actual theory of Everything”, I write there, as part of the modern conception of God, the idea that observable reality reveals God is distributed, with the same virtues we notice in distributed computing. Keep in mind that distributed computing is useful both to solve certain mathematical/scientific questions requiring a lot of processing power, and it is also a fertile field for “bots” running/dancing to the selfish songs born in black-hat hacking.

If we are a sensible person, we also see how in life individuals make decisions, which decisions effect other folks as well. These “choices” (whether between good&evil, or some other duality) effect the world. We author the choice, and as an aspect of that it is the distributed god&devilwithin us, that chooses.

A sane understanding of Goethean science would cause folk to realize that spirit is everywhere right next to matter. Another married duality. Angels&demons. Men&women.

If we look within, at our feelings, that the properly chastised L. Ron Hubbard misnamed “the reactive mind”, we find another married duality, generally labeled: sympathy&antipathy. Here – in these feelings – is a tendency to move toward what we like, and away from what we do not like. This reactive feeling life, with its dual nature, has deep roots. In a certain Way, these feelings are “intelligence”, even if later we cannot articulate “reasons” for why we did what we did.

Rudolf Steiner described his view of the macrocosmic reality as containing another duality, which he named: Lucifer&Ahriman. The logos (logical) nature of such married dualities is that they are also united, and always a whole. There is no meaning if they are conceived as separate. Steiner taught that Christ was in between these two, and that Life was about our learning how to personally maintain the right relationship among polar conditions – we are the In Between that balances.

The use of the word Christ involves us with a more pressing problem, as regards the religious history of the world. To resolve this means first off to see the rise of the three patriarchal monotheisms as a reflection in the “earth” sphere of macrocosmic qualities – the Divine Mystery is not just Christ, but Allah and Jehovah simultaneously. All duality is in reality a trinity.

There is a social/spiritual set of observations called “Theory U”. It finds that if there is a descent, then there is also an ascent, again a duality. In the case of the Hebrews – who guided the spiritual descent into matter – they became people of the law. Very strict rules, which according to Steiner made possible the creation of a quite definite strain of genetic inheritance. Some work&order was necessary for there to be an avatar body, in which a God might be able to live for a time.

Rules and obedience. The Hebraic Divinity appears in multiple ways, including phenomena like burning bushes, pillars of cloud, and seas that obey the prayers of wizards. The old Testament is filled with dreamers dreaming, and poet-kings singing. Remnants of the goddess religions being slowly subsumed, as the three anti-feminine patriarchal monotheism began the work of imprinting themselves on the world.

Descent needed to followed by ascent. The earth-impression of the Divine Mystery is complex, and while on the one hand both the Hebrew – and already being born Christian religions – there also needed to be a balancing upward movement. Earth and Heaven being woven together, with the last “people of the book” – Islam, being deeply connected to the Mother, to the social heart – the family, and to the Idea of Surrender. We forget history’s song, when we judge Islam and do not recognize that during Europe’s dark age, Islam flowered with genius everywhere.

All three are being destroyed from within, through the advocates of my way or the highway, a common human foible that insures that social forms evolve. Another repetition of the primary marriage of polar states of consciousness.

Part of the current world situation is made especially acute, due to the fact that we feel we are a separate self, over here, while there is an outside/experienced world that is not us. Another duality, that is fundamentally a trinity, which totality itself is a unity, a marriage not in name only. No wonder Christ urges us to cleave to each other, and become again as little children.

Every human being is their own Path. Be yourself; and, I hope the above meditation on “Evil …” has been useful.

for a much longer contemplation: “The Mystery of Evil in the Light of the Sermon on the Mount”

The Michael School and the End of Western Civilization

The Michael School and the End of Western Civilization

The Michael School also could be called: “mystery science”. Students of Rudolf Steiner do not own this School. The Countenance of Christ is touching all true faces … all hearts that seek – as best they are able – to do the good, and think with the heart. Michael is available to everyone.

At the beginning of the Western Civilization, there was a period of Greek civilization that flowered with genius. This was followed by the more dominant Roman Empire, which was permeated with Greek culture. In point of fact, Greek slaves were often the main administrators of the wealth of the Roman elite, and worthy advisors to their generals – the Greek language/minds having a certain quality of insight and practicality. Making the best of a bad situation.

That universally human Empire building hunger has reached – in our present – the end of its shelf-life, as evidenced by the works of the aging and sclerotic English-American banking and financial axis.

Johnson and Trump are products of the accompanying cultural wasteland, which produced television. Without the TV camera’s insatiable appetite for fresh meat (something which is not truly historical, but still gets reported with breathless sensationalism anyway), neither Johnson (a former journalist) or Trump (a former TV star) has a connection to the so-called: masses.

At the end of Western Civilization we are experiencing the reversal of the beginning. Where in the beginning fresh culture came before Empire, in our age – as Empire fails, new culture is being born.

Everywhere. It just doesn’t get to be “breaking news”.http://www.lulu.com/shop/joel-wendt/economic-and-social-rebellion-in-an-age-of-social-political-chaos/paperback/product-24306442.html

The wisdom of Rudolf Steiner can be lost for the whole of the 3rd Millennium, if those – who claim to know what Anthroposophy is – continue to ignore that the death ground for Western Civilization that is in America, where Ahriman is presently incarnated.

This is especially spiritually potent, given that it was among the priests of ancient folk, living in the Americas, that Christ was carried from His death on Calvary, to the Mother (see the Pieta), thence from Her, having, been given of the forces of Resurrection.

Steiner understood these qualitative perceptions. Including this: Whereas at the beginning of Western Civilization, Socrates was followed by Plato, and both of them by Aristotle, there will also be a reverse of that flow, with the Aristotelian Steiner to be followed by the Platonists, and within their midst, the Socratic.

To conceive of this as a situation of special reincarnations is to not notice that each is surrounded by a larger context, from which they cannot be separated. So we have waves of spiritual infusion, similar in nature to the Aristotelian, and Platonic, and the Socratic as new culture flowers everywhere. These waves are distributed … in all. While the folk such as Steiner are more like fore-runners, or prophets, than they are fathers or mothers of the world-wide cultural revolutions now ongoing.

Steiner’s Aristotelian spiritual science names all manner of aspects of spiritual reality. Like natural science the parts have to be investigated on the way to grasping the whole. He is not the only teacher of the Mystery that urges we practice spirit-remembrance – and tries to get us to live the mysteries of now, by practicing spirit-contemplation – while seeking to learn how to practice spirit-seeing.

The Divine Mystery sees to it that all individual biographies have the spirit-Way that is to be theirs. None the same, although karma and circumstance does bring birds of a feather together.

In the Platonist aspect of the wave of new culture, we have the task of understanding the territory of the world of thought, the world of Ideas. Not just the names of parts, but how everything leads to – and stands for – an Idea, which we can learn to experience.

The last bit then is the Socratic. Yes, there are names for all manner of aspects of spiritual reality, and yes these represent manifestations of incredible Ideas – such as the threefold nature of just about everything, toward which Steiner pointed, but in the end of the beginning of the 3rd Millennium what we most need is really good questions, and the freedom to answer them for ourselves.

The new culture comes from individual human beings, not movements or masters or gurus or initiates or shamans or mullahs, or priests, or presidents … or gods&goddesses either.

Another Way to seer this is that the Ahrimanic Enchantment, which reached its low-point in scientific materialism, this spell” needs to be – by grand arts-magic – removed from peoples hearts and minds. That science – as a Way – presently insists we are only matter, no spirit involved – that is The Battle Ground, although every culture will experience the pregnancy of the new in its own Way.

Certain aspects of this cultural revolution are helped by what was/is done by the impulse to Goethean Science. A Way of Knowledge which is still scientific, yet all the same knows personally and directly and intimately the spirit.

As Western Civilization collapses of it excesses, and the consequences of overly rigid habits of living, things fall apart, the centre cannot hold. Too much freedom on the one hand, and too little on the other, with a good example being events in China.

Rulers fear losing control, yet control is something they never had in the first place.

The key to understanding the dying into a new becoming of Western Civilization is to become aware off, and familiar with, the phenomena: the Evolution of Consciousness. The present day spiritual meaning of earth existence is the “underneath”, which changed over the 2500 years of Western Civilization.

The rules and traditions – everywhere – are falling apart because human nature is itself evolving, a change of consciousness that can’t be stopped. Our inside at the beginning, is not the inside that is birthing the present metamorphosis.

The most prominent and promising cultural phenomena of the Times is the spirit remembering of the Divine Maternal. This is visible in the Arts, especially the dramatic arts of television and film – the wasteland was/is not entirely empty, because the artistic impulse refuses to obey.

Each culture, aided by the flood of capital for production initiated by Netflix and Amazon Prime, has enabled its artists to rediscover the Mother, to find the Lost Cities, and cure our Homelessness for a return to intimacy with the consciousness present everywhere, yet denied by science to exist.

The modern soul awakens to aspects of itself, in the search for home grown food, home grown arts, and

a home grown means of mutual governance.

The more the faux rulers try to tighten their leashes, the more resistance they create. What worked centuries ago, when a different form of consciousness prevailed, will not work now.

For example, the massive refusal of folks to stay put. If folks are pushed too hard to the ground, they will seek better ground, accompanied by the music … can’t stop the music. “Cold ground was my bed last night, and rock was my pillow” [Bob Marley].

In the world of the imagination, where artists go to discover, there is a Wind. This Wind selflessly (not even identifying itself) lifts the wings of the soul in the direction of the Sun (the Son), and the Moon (the Mother), and the Stars (the Father).

Steiner called this Wind: the return of Christ in the Ethereal.

Michael is very aware of the hunger of the prodigal children to return to communion-with Nature. All the paths to the future are gateways from the past, … to the Mother and Faerie, where the true Dark holds conversations. These are not paths for the feint of heart. These are paths for the strong of will.

She has the whole world in His Hands.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7DmI6MAoltQ

Rhubarb’s Dilemma

Rhubarb’s Dilemma

Rhubarb had a not so odd – or uncommon – parentage. To Americans, most anyway, it might seem strange, … foreign at least. His mother was the child of a French officer and a Vietnamese whore. His father was the get of an American black soldier, and a different Vietnamese whore.

Rhubarb was then, not surprisingly, born in a brothel, raised in a brothel, and now worked for the same brothel.



At the moment we chance upon him he is in reverie, and remembering favorite childhood experiences, particularly the one that led to his only name. Some blacks like rhubarb pies. As a child of the brothel he had had many mothers, and hardly anything that might be called a father in the usual sense.

The mothers encouraged him in a kind of trade. He was taught how to grown the rhubarb, and separate out the poisonous to animals leaves, while turning the stalk into fruit-like pies, which he sold by the slice to the brothel’s clients for … at least … an American one dollar bill. Drunks and other rude people were asked for a twenty, and told that there was something special in the treat. Not true, but they were already intoxicated – in one way or another – so would not notice the promise not kept.

One day one of the clients yelled for some pie, and being a bit cheeky he started calling the young boy Rhubarb. This was an improvement over Antoine, his grandfather’s name. Mostly because Westerners always mispronounced it.

As is natural in such an environment, some of the wannabe thugs – that is teenage boys – took advantage, and he was lucky at the end of the day to have a few Vietnamese xu for his troubles.

He was about 11 when it was recognized that his penis was unusually large, and after his tormentors made fun of that, one of their bosses came around for a look, and Rhubarb was soon servicing older women with a taste for boys.



By the time he was 14, the rest of him had caught up in size, and given the Darwinian nature of his environment it became necessary to study fighting skills, or die. He became adept with knives. One of his instructors has been an old Taoist, who lent some basics of spiritual wisdom into the training.

Now in his 50’s, he was the boss of the northwest corner, of a several block square of territory that the brothel owners ruled. He watched watchers, mostly.

His reverie was interrupted to by a set of rings coming from a Vietnamese taxi tricycle, turning into one of the nearby “gate” check points. The rings were in a code, three doubles, and then two singles. Major business potential coming in.

The riders were a drunk American couple, not unusual an outing for the section these gates led to was – more fashionable, shall we imagine. Cleaner, more decorous. Everyone who worked there spoke English.

One was black, and the other white. It was the white woman that was the problem. Natural blond, reasonably sized tits and ass, clearly in good physical shape.

The danger was that aspect of the brothel that bought and sold fresh pussy. She was worth $25,000 as is, and that buyer would transport her elsewhere, perhaps getting several hundred thousand at the end of the trail of viewings and other processes – which likely would begin by getting her addicted to heroin.

The black would be killed. Just another Western couple not paying attention to dangers in the world where most everyone else has to live.

Quick-fingered Li, the taxi driver, would already know the potential value, and would surely complain elsewhere, when drunk, if he did not get a much higher tip for this delivery.

The blackness that had creeped into Rhubarb’s soul, over the years of servicing black men and women, felt a bit sad. The frenchness was – obviously – a romantic virtue, while the mothers’ voices were pretty much always: stay out of trouble, and don’t get mixed up in other folk’s business.

It was within the sphere of his will to save the man and the woman. There were ways, although always these were risky. He could not save all the foolish that crossed through the gates he managed. He could actually save very few. People’s fates where mostly in their own hands, and he was just a piece of furniture to most of the customers he actually met. Served a function, seldom got a tip.

He was, in point of fact, seriously bored. Any good deed has value, his knife teacher had said: the Way of the Tao having many faces.

As a boss, he was the beneficiary of gifts from those below. He had more than enough thuốc phiện (opium for the uninitiated), so he went to the gate with a paper bag full, to give to Li.

The couple was standing there, waiting to be asked for their money. After giving Li the bag, making sure he saw what was in it (a treasure at resale … better than cash in many ways), Rhubarb told the couple that spirits of their ancestors had visited him a dream last night, and that he was indebted to the ghostly world, so he needed to do what was asked, and send them away with a warning to not be so naive while they travel.

He rested a hand on the machete he had put in his belt on the way out of his office post.

They looked, and nodded gravely. Li demanded more money for a return trip to their hotel, and a little more woke they turned and left.

Rhubarb returned to his reverie, and the many ghosts that his own life’s violent troubles had planted on his Way.

[Rhubarb’s Dilemma was written while listening to Beethoven on Alexa]

A Song of the Ancestors – a tale of loss and wonder

A Song of the Ancestors – a tale of loss and wonder

Ralph looked up from the pots he was washing, in the kitchen of the homeless shelter. The weather outside was playing with rain and thunder, and some bits of lightening thrown about for good measure.

Ralph heard the door to the outside open inward – it has a few squeaks and clicks when it does – … he looked up at the gust of wind that blew the door all the way open, when at the same moment there was a flash-bang of lightening&thunder. After Ralph had blinked his eyes a couple of times, he could see in the doorway an old man standing, with a large walking stick in his hand. Made Ralph think of a wizards staff, for a moment. He had to be careful what ideas he let loose in his mind, for sometimes there were visions unreal, or so the psych-evaluations asserted.



The seeming apparition closed the door quietly, and there was a moment of silence, as the last drinkers of coffee and conversation looked up as well. Into the quiet the stranger spoke, in a voice most recognized as the product of too many smokes and too much time spend hanging onto a glass of sorrow manifested. Alcohol was a depressant some said, but for many it quieted the silent rages that went with too many bad memories, and unrealized dreams.

“Hello, my friends, I could us some help. May I sit and tell my tale, so you might determine whether to join me in my coming folly?

There were grunts of assent, as well as dismay. Some coffee cups refilled, and a few chairs pushed around as the audience woke up to its coming potential role. The man sat down at a table near the door, after leaning the staff against the wall, where hangers and wet clothes had gathered for mutual protection.

His audience looked at his face, trying to read its open secrets, and found there mystery, without even being able to name this seldom experienced feeling. He looked at them shyly, only glancing about at them, and then began to speak. His eyes focused inward, not unlike the thousand yard stare well known to many in this room, … a room that was part haven, and part private monastery.

“I need help calling out to the dead, the ancestors. We need them – our nation and people – we need our dead, our ancestors, badly. But no one believes much anymore, the public displays by politicians at grave sites aside. Even the fake Christians and other religious, who pretend to believe in an afterlife, actually fail to act in the right way towards their own ancestors.

“The dead are a power whether we acknowledge them or not. They can be even more of a powerful helper, if we trouble to reach out to them … in the right way, which as a lot of folks know can be fraught with memories. Soldiers and drinkers see the dead all the time, but who cares or believes in this age of crass immorality and vain posturing.

“Here, where we are, – that is Washington D. C. – is a special place for the dead to gather. I will next reveal a secret, a sacred one at that, but still it is important that you hear this in order to decide if or how&why you will participate with me.

“Legends designed and built this town. Legends that knew magic, and so we have folk who come searching for the hidden temple of the Freemasons, in basements and behind secret doors. Perhaps not ever conceiving it has always been there – in plain sight. Not hidden, colossally obvious .,. everywhere monuments to the dead, to our ancestors, some laid out in the form of a Cross, and surrounded by triangles of black pavement, the dreaded black roads spoken of by Black Elk.

“The Freemasons – at least a skilled few – paid attention to ancient Egyptian heritage that lurked in the symbols and other works. Paid attention to the fact that the ancients had an intimate connection to the dead, having constructed their own monuments, with secret unknown faerie magics.

“You can’t believe the theories of modern physics when looking for the dead. They are too close at hand, in every chance and supposedly random event. Watching. Waiting to catch the fallen, and carry them over the rivers of Lethe.

“I propose to walk these signs, this labyrinth of the dead, and I would like the company of those to whom death and the dead are well appreciated. These patterns in this city are like a psychic transforming magical battery, a zone where spiritual resonances were/are laid/stored, … ley lines created by human beings who knew shocking truths about reality.

“They were laid just for this moment of crisis. A crisis that accompanies/includes the whole of the earth. And we – those whose hearts know the terrors and wonders of death&dying – are the keys to remind us that the dead are here too. Are as real as the moon. Right now. Waiting for us to remember, and to pray to our ancestors for help in this Age of Trials through Chaos.

“I propose to walk, and touch certain places in a kind of historical order, after which we wander/wonder in circles around the People’s Home, and by this magical evocation of the dead, understand that just they have the wisdom we need to hear and act upon. And, … I don’t mean the White House, but the Capital Building.


“Like Lourdes in France, visitors bring a steady stream of dreams and hopes to this Temple, not always realizing the power of these buildings to create a sense of the solemnity of history. Visiting folk leave behind then an imprint of their feelings of wonder and awe, in the spiritual heart of this place.

“The primary riddle is where is the monument to the aboriginal peoples who lived in these lands for millennia, in very earthly&cosmic spiritual Ways? What are their ancestors up to? Millions murdered. Are their spirits&souls restless, or something deeper and more true?

“A native American veterans memorial is proposed, but those dead fought in our wars. What about their wars with the European invaders? Where is the memorial to that?



“A story shared with me, tells of a place in the Mall, not too far from the center of the Cross aspect, where there lies a marker – a small but clearly visible above the ground survey marker – showing exact latitude and longitude and elevation, for any surveying needed doing in the area.

“The teller of the story actually went looking for it, and found that it also included arrow-markings of the four directions N, S, E, and W. While there, my friend saw a circle gathered around the central point of the Cross, which upon further investigation turned out to be Native Americans holding an annual ceremony. He even knew a couple of them, and after showing them the marker with the four directions on it, the group moved there for the last few of the seven planned annual ceremonies.

“If there is a memorial where Native American ancestors are evoked in Washington D.C. that would be one place touch first, if it still exists and can be found.


“My own preferences for the next in order (not all, at my age I am lucky to walk to the store a block away, much less trudge all over this Temple) are the Washington Monument (the revolutionary war), the Lincoln Memorial (the civil war), the Vietnam Memorial (the war of madness) and the fence around the White House, the iron straining to contain the madness.

“There is a reason the old ways held that iron had special magical properties, one of them being the capacity too brand with fire the darkness, as needed. We touch the fence to connect the dead – that we have gathered – to the psychic shield thus made. Warriors with unfinished business, being remembered and made more known.

“At each place you touch think of the dead there memorialized. Imagine them watching. They thirst for something only we can give, which is to not only be remembered, but appreciated as well for their sacrifices, in the past, and the present, and the future.

“Touch the Stones. Pray, silently in secret. Sing. Dance, in the grass. Ask the dead – of all the different peoples that have come to our need in this place and time – to sanctify the becoming of the true America, a People of Peoples. Ask them to help us heal the division rained upon us by evil two-hearted ones.

“We, without this, will continue to nurse our hatreds, something which the dead – our remarkable ancestors – have set aside. The ancestors are too busy trying to help folk who have forgotten them, to worship old crimes, best forgotten. They need us to remember them, and wonder about them, and ask them to show the ways through.”

Ralph watched him wait a beat of two, and then stand, with a bit of difficulty; and, turn and walk out the door, which once more blew open, albeit with less force, only a bit of rain, and a rumble of thunder.

In the room some were standing up, looking at each other. Choosing for themselves whether or not it was time to face the ghosts who seem to haunt, which perhaps can become a gate to wisdom, if we have the courage to listen with our hearts to a past that is still alive in our present, just ethereal of substance, and ripe with tales of wonder …

Ralph called out.

“Anyone want to help me put together food and such for those who go with? I’m going. Where’s the community cell? Pictures to take, and friends to invite along.”

The Barbarians are Inside the Gate

The Barbarians are Inside the Gate

(“Barbarians” in ancient times meant) a member of a community or tribe not belonging to one of the great civilizations (Greek, Roman, Christian).

“We have met the enemy and he is us.” Walt Kelly’s Pogo.

There is a joke about a guy who wakes up several centuries in the future to a vibrant society of free people, and asks his “guide” how this came to be, who replies (some version of): “A couple hundred years ago, we killed all the lawyers.”

To which I add: “Without the smoke a mirrors of a manipulated by money legal system, the banksters were no longer protected, and the next thing we did is burned the banks to the ground, forgave all debt (puts everyone on the same playing field), and lowered all the salaries of public officials to whatever was basic income and medical care for everyone else.”

While we – in 2020 – are waiting for that convulsion of public wrath, there remains – in place – modern media corporations who mostly just lie to serve the ends of (take your pick): their corporate owners; and the psych-ops folk, whether corporate or our own government – i.e. professional manipulators of our hearts and minds.

“Breaking News!”??? More accurate to say: “broken news”. For example, once again the main narrative of this presidential election cycle is to treat it as a “horse race”. The political parties follow/embrace that religion, because then they don’t have to have any “beef” in their sizzle.

Meanwhile any sane person does not run for president. Would that we understood what the “founders?” had in mind with the Electoral College, before money and sharp practices wrecked it.



Imagine, instead of a horse race, that the effort was to find wisdom among the people, and elect these folks to the College (which meant in the 17th Century a place where learned folk gathered).

These wise elders (then they would have been white male landowners – but today – wisdom is often in the songs of the oppressed), such as folk who have shown in life their heart’s mind, and have an actual (not bought and paid for) reputation as a truth speaker, whether a lawyer, or a hip hop artist.

These elders then are tasked with finding the folk sane enough to not want the office, but publicly minded enough to accept the task if asked. History, on occasion (the Five Nations in America) restricts choice of leadership to women elders. There is a principle at work here.



The core value for any community of sane people (not at all “sane” in a mental health sense, but sane/authentic in their self expression … i.e. true to themselves, while wanting the same for everyone else) … socially sane in the sense of the obvious fact that the children are the future. Care for the children keeps the culture living, and changing – as against one that is dying, witness the moral children everywhere these days, and the stagnation and chaos they birth.

This impulse to be caregivers is a different impulse from such as to be protectors. Some aboriginal traditions had the women ruling the hearth and home, and the men guarding the perimeter encounters with folk of perhaps not so generous tendencies.


We live in a time when the whole situation is inverted. People are products, not universes of creative spirit-light, which is their due. Modern history has already given birth to its own social horror show: the multinational corporation. These are in the nature of the seven headed beast, where when you chop one head off, it just regrows two more.

Corporate cultures – on the kind of Greek-Titan/Norse-Giant level – have no heart. There is nothing human there at all, although at the top are quislings, traitorous to their own kind human beings that aid these conscienceless barbarian entities for a piece of the action.



Sold souls, buying and selling other humans like counters in a game.

The signs on the walls of the temples of existence are clear. It is all falling down. Every single – no longer useful – bit. All we know today of Atlantis is rumors. Not too far into the future, Western Civilization, and its religion of scientific materialism, will also be forgotten.

Folk will wander among the debris, and ceremonially aid Faerie’s work of reclamation of the life sphere of the planet. Magic and alchemy will be real. Yes, there will be backwaters. Dangerous shadows to take hold of human forms. At the same time, children rightly raised will learn to see past the veils of the maya of appearances, and into the heart of the world, which is always teaching us, always raising us to the next level, if and when we find our personal Way.

It is not a horse race. It is a tragedy, written by a media consultant, overrun with unguided cash resources, and technological irreverence.

When presented by modern media, the narrative is pretentious. Fake momentousness. Real historical change happens slow. Well, not quite true for those caught up in Mom’s brooms (tornadoes, floods, earthquakes, diseases, rising seas, feckless leaders, and the generally bizarre nature of human stubbornness.

She’s in us too. In the crazy and wild parts. At the same time – in us – is the Word becoming. The dying and becoming that is to mark the third millennium is lived one person, one moment at a time. That “experience/experiencing” is the point of this whole opera. We are all the Fat Lady who gets to sing as the curtain goes down, the lights dim, and Mom blows out the candles, while we sing along: “She’s got the whole world in His Hands”.







"are we having fun yet?"

I’ve been trying to figure out – if I get to be 100 – how I would describe these daze of trump&gang to the young naifs that live in the debris of the collapse of civilization, an event that some of us have come to sarcastically call: the Punch Line.


After I explain to them what a shaggy-dog story is [ a long, rambling story or joke, typically one that is amusing only because it is absurdly inconsequential or pointless. ], I ask them, in looking at their lives, whether or not they observe that the Divine Mystery has a sense of humor.
As I do this, I generally like to share a few twinkies, all from back in the day. Perfectly preserved sugar cakes.
I had, in point of fact, made a killing (as we used to say), borrowing money to take over some vacated real estate, putting bars on the windows, serious locks on the doors, and a state of the art protection system that sent stuff instantly to my cell.
For these storage warehouses, I bought cases of the following three products, tons in fact, and stored them in my “safe places”: toilet paper, tampons, and twinkies. Money you could share, or use.


Life on the Earth turned upside-down – given that every what’s it that exists, has a core of immorality as its nature – meaning that we are ourselves gods&goddesses who are the authors of their own shaggy dog tails … then as this became more obvious via the increase of “gifted” people, no way to pretend anymore.
The bum going through your high quality trash was likely to know how to curse with immediate effect, sudden boils on the nose a favorite …
It also didn’t hurt that I was a certified (over the internet) shaman (I have a diploma), and actually did know real magic, … not so much to disrespect another’s will, but to help the many folks that were manifesting powers-instinctive understand and discipline themselves, which arose from the joke that came as the races began to understand that inter-marriage was the means to have children who were psychically gifted.
My seed was highly desired, a matter whose expression I recognized as the means of a long and pampered life of near infinite variety.
Still, … for a time religious zealots liked to stone young witches, a means that might have worked some millenia ago, until some of these kids were able to make the stones reverse direction, with the same force, and choose (you had to know how to talk to the stone and some fairies as well) to direct it “return to sender”.
The ancients had called these daze “the war of all against all”, mostly because seers and gurus tend to prize seriousness, and warn of dangers, forgetting how much silly fun comes from a “good” prank. No need to bring pain, but as public shaming grew its wings, elaborate “counting coup” via a joke became one of the highest arts.
To much seriousness makes us prone to need to have our balloon popped, often with nothing more effective than a sharp wit.
The Joker is Real, and while he comes out of us when we first start to surrender to the freedom of the wild within, destruction and violence are ultimately boring. Like a child fascinated with its feces, who makes art on the wall next to his crib, the world is open to what lies beyond even the imagination … and folly and stupidity are always returned to sender.
Mom’s Rules.

Fate, Fortune, and Politricks

Fate, Fortune, and Politricks…

There’s a lesson in the Trump election that goes unnoticed … a game changer as it were.

Neither he, nor his gang of moral children, expected the win. There was no transition team, not even at least small and ready. There was no organized venue for a victory celebration. No sense of who to pick for the cabinet. Pure social/political chaos reigned for all Americans.

For a moment.

Nature abhors a vacuum we have been told. The ambitious started to dance near the fire, seeking places at the seats of power. Their prince was a man of few ordinary virtues, and a great many appetites.

Chaos still reigns, and one of the world’s most chaotic cultures became the US of A. Everything that we used to & want to get from our government fell apart. The leading author of the shared narrative – the holder of Teddy’s bully pulpit – was a certifiable madman. Like the mad queen in Alice Through the Looking Glass:


“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

The manner of Trump’s fate and fortune in politricks is “intriguing”, as Spock would say in Star Trek, raising an eyebrow.

Trump lost the popular vote by 3 million and in the States, where he gained his victories as needed for the Electoral College, probably less than a quarter million of his votes in the heartland were exactly in the right place at the right time.

Fortune and Fate indeed.

For a time the NFL quarterback Tim Tebow had a rise to fame, until his luck ran out. You know the guy … liked to get on his knees in the end-zone. Wasn’t really ready. Didn’t have the skills. Was soon gone.

If you listen to the never had a personal opinion they didn’t like political pundits, wondering if anything of value will survive their need to make this whole situation be a pivot in the apocalyptic future of the world, … someone has to be paying attention. The millions of monkeys and typewriters producing Shakespeare is an apt metaphor.

Wisdom by accident of emerging consensus. The following seem to be the main observations that to this pundit are worthy of mention, today being Oscar day.

The Country is deeply divided.

The apparent key to victory involves winning hearts, not minds.

Most everyone is afraid, and becoming more and more unhinged … subtly for sure, but sometimes if the right winds arise, sleeping embers can roar into conflagrations.

The big bogeyman for many used to be abortion. Then immigration started to join in the spreading crazy. Keep in mind that ordinary people were on the move all over the world, seeking a better place to live … on the other side of the fence among fast cars and shopping malls, and adolescent males on too many antidepressants – with too many guns.

Does the World Herself have a narrative, to which we might wish to pay attention?

Many ancient cultures were very good astronomers, in spite of not having a telescope. The major features of the starry world were obvious – movements and rhythm, that were observed to be connected to human lives … to Fate and Fortune.

The ancients also had a “map” of the meaning of human existence that included a Divine Mystery. Modern scientific materialism (all is matter, there is no spirit) disbelieves, at a cost of not understanding themselves. No free will!?! Sense reality an illusion produced by a meat organ we call “the brain”!?! The existence of everything is an accident!?!

Talk about six impossible things before breakfast.

People today read their horoscopes. They talk about “what goes around comes around”, and that “the universe” closes and opens doors and windows, almost as if our biographies were Art.

Spirit. Real. Intriguing.

Fate and Fortune … are they involved in who lives and dies during rogue weather, wars, and the latest germ radically reorganizing our need for less chaos not more?

A fun book on astrology, that I have had for years and still treasure, although I have never mastered its secrets: “Practical Astrology” by St. Germain.

It’s peculiar&mysterious virtue is that – apparently – the most ancient Egyptian magicians used a system of seeking an understanding of Fate and Fortune, that not only includes the fundamentals of astrology, but at the same time it integrates the principles of numerology and tarot.

I used it once to do what St. Germain called a: “horoscope of revolution”, that is to look to the present time, and see what is coming for the next year, for ourselves. I did. It said I would have a grave illness, which I did.

The book has diagrams and tables you have never seen before, and the whole picture-nature of the tarot symbols is unlike any you will have every studied.

My anticipation is that the fortunes of Trump&gang are running out. Will not be pretty, and we ourselves will have to choose a personal role – keeping in mind that Fate and Fortune are not fixed, being of a kind of musical notation around which we survive being ourselves.

What’s in your star-chart? I’m still optimistic, sort of … the vote this November will soon by history. Very little will actually change. Mark Twain is supposed to have noted: “if the vote had any real meaning, they would not let us have it”.


I would like some help, for which I have no money to offer in exchange …

I would like some help, for which I have no money to offer in exchange …

What I want is to have a small selection of my recent work translated into German and made available to German readers, either on the Internet, or through magazines and such. What follows is what I want translated, which includes an introduction of myself and my works. Some of this below will be links (three actually) to short works that are on my blog, and were recently shared – on Facebook Anthroposophy-related discussion groups – in English. In addition to the introduction and title, it is my wish to see these three also translated, and the whole made available together.

Pagan Anthroposophy: the Rising of the Sun in the Mind.

My name is Joel A. Wendt. My body is in its 80th year, and I have been involved with Steiner and Company since 1978. The following is not so much a brag, but matters to which I have previously publicly confessed, and would prefer folks know this upfront rather than have some troll throw these stories into the mix for a kind of gotcha moment.

At the same time, keep in mind that to have spiritual experiences requires being with Beings Immortal, without whose grace we are … not the Author of what is seen, but rather only the one who gets/has to bring mystery into words on a page. Imagination is a process of sharing through symbols, and we are only part of what generates the symbols. Inspiration is a process of sharing through dialogue – through the Word. Still tho’ we are not as close as Intuition. Our souls are flutes which we mostly play, until an Immortal decides to play this very personal instrument. We become One by Their Grace, and this changes us.

The original spirit – my body-brother – that lived in the ethereal, astral, and physical bodies which I now occupy, gave them to me in his 31st year. So I’ve only been incarnate since 1971, while he was born in 1940. That fellow was remarkable, in a most unremarkable&innocent way. He ate the world of his time, felt its pains, and gave to me at the transition: three grave wounds to try to unriddle: What is the meaning of evil? Why is America so lost of its true spirit? And, what the heck happened to Christianity?

I’ve had various spiritual entities suggest the following prior incarnations (again, this is out there, so needs not to be denied): Socrates; St. Matthew; George Washington; and most recently Clara Barton. I was apparently at the gathering a thousand years ago, that Steiner speaks of when he refers to the Culmination, and karma between the Platonists (pagans in my view) and the Aristotelians.

This showing/revealing prior incarnations is not a blessing, by the way, but rather a curse. How do you find the true self that is unlike any of the costumes we wear in circumstances that too are unlike any other. Those prior lives are known only through pain of soul, not pleasure. I once wrote a poem: “the George Washington Blues” to both seek the aid of that Way of Being myself, and to grow it into what is needed Now. The era of Trump is like watching an end, perhaps, of something. A death, or a death and a rebirth. That remains to be seen.

I was initiated in the Mysteries of the Mother on Epiphany 2008 (I was physically and psychologically 69, spiritually 38) in such a gentle way I did not know it was She who did it. I met the Lesser and Greater Guardians over the winter of 2009 – 2010. That initiation – by the Son&a-friend – was not so gentle as regards the Lesser Guardian. After a rest of some weeks, the Greater left a physical imprint in the process of taking the seed organs of clair-thinking, that were in my astral body due to the catharsis induced by having succeeding in follow Steiner’s indications in his “science of knowing” (GA-2 to GA-4) … taking those seeds and laying them in my ethereal body, where further work then had to follow.

Follow these initiations I wrote several major works, including: “The Art of God – an actual theory of Everything”; “The Mystery of Evil in the Light of the Sermon on the Mount”; and, “Saving the Catholic (universal&Christian) Religion from the failing institutional Roman Church”.

By 2017, my chronic knee arthritis became so painful that I took a chance on the ganja goddess (medical marijuana). A chance because I did not know what the effect would be on my inner life … on my personal relationship to the Source.

The ride was wild, resulted in two serious illnesses through excessive use, in both of which I almost died. The reason I nearly died was not my folly so much, as the inability of industrial medicine to listen to my efforts to describe my symptoms. I was put in “boxes”, and treated incorrectly. These were also deeply spiritual as experienced. In the second I was so desperate in the hospital as the treatment brought me to the Gate of Death, that when I felt Her I asked if She take me if I wanted. She said yes. I chose otherwise.

Intoxicants are not uncommon in pagan (Mother oriented) mystical and magical practices. Novalis and S.T. Coleridge were friends with the syrup of the poppy. I now take three doses of 5mg of sativa ganja daily.

In 1991 I was at an anthroposophical conference (one of very the few which I have been able to attend) where an American shared a vision/dream. He was encountering the spirit once known as Dwight David Eisenhower, who discussed with him the visions of Black Elk, particular Black Elk’s experiences of the Red and Black roads (spiritual ways) in America. Eisenhower knew it was he who had laid out the most recent Black Roads (the interstate highway system), which like the railroads were paths of Death across the Land, while the Red Roads were paths of Life. Eisenhower also told him that Americans would develop spiritual wisdom that needed to be shared with Europeans – a stream of inspiration that needs to go both ways.

This is me trying to aid that process, of which I am not the only agency.

I recently wrote three short essays. These are their names (links below in English follow). The order is important, the visual art not so relevant for translation, but viable on my current web-presence, where I recently decided to describe myself (have to have fun in the second childhood, right?), as a: “white-privileged, Christian, son of Montana, American citizen, shaman, and professional heretic.” … the descriptors before “shaman” show for which folk the Mother trained me to be a shaman. A shaman trained by the Mother (there are many) have as their main gifts the telling of stories.


“The Tree as Symbol in the Song of the World”
https://thecollectiveimagination.com/2020/01/26/the-tree-as-symbol-in-the-song-of-the-world/

“Reality’s Open Secret”

https://thecollectiveimagination.com/2020/01/29/realitys-open-secret/

“Pain, Pleasure, Consciousness”

https://thecollectiveimagination.com/2020/02/01/pain-pleasure-consciousness/

Helping Boys Become Men, as Civilization Evolves

Helping Boys Become Men, as Civilization Evolves.

Women (the feminine principle, specific types of equipment not always necessary) need to help men (or the masculine principle) grow up. The masculine principle – in politics and religion – being out of balance with reality, for the reason of the loss of wisdom in our understanding of sexuality.

This next bit tries to make simple the loss of a true understanding of the nature of Eros, or erotic and sensual love.

The Cross of Love has four directions. On the upper vertical direction, selfless human love. Below – on the lower vertical direction, erotic and sensual love. The more feminine horizontal direction is nurturing touch – comforting and holding. The more masculine horizontal direction is comradeship aka: brother and sisterhood.

Love is the union of all four directions, which cannot be separated. Although, … immaturity of soul can stunt the ability of such a spirit to realize the full possibilities of their true nature. Our pragmatic knowledge of our lower vertical impulses is fallen. Fallen Eros. We live in a culture bathed in too much sexuality, in dress, in art, and even in the curves and shapes of an automobile.

It was Boys in the American Senate, that were cowards before a Bully, who is barely out of his infancy.

Our politics is fueled by semi-conscious appetites. Ambition being one of the more terrible. Ambitious folk can end up acting reasonably insane. The brain-bound intellect does not know how to connect to the heart’s mind. Again, a masculine and feminine polarity/imbalance.

The feminine principle has to be more aggressive in the psychological education of the male principle, beginning in youth and then also in adulthood. To do that, however, requires actually understanding/knowing something real of both natures, and being able to find the right stories. Many of these stories already exist, often in the form of what is abusively called: the chick flick.

Mothers please have your boys watch chick flicks, and then leave the fathers to explain it … if they can. I will give a couple of examples of some of the right/good stories. A mother’s/girlfriend’s heart will know the true tales of the meaning of love, in its wholeness … with adaptations for cultural distinctions and differences.

In “As Good As It Gets”, the Jack Nicholson character, melts the heart of the Helen Hunt character, by finding and expressing from out of himself: “You make me want to be a better person.”

Sometimes in the Trump debacle (aka – another folks’ problems with male leaders in politics and religion, the situation being similar all over the world) … sometimes we forget that behind the cowards in the U.S. Senate, and their President, are wives, mothers, daughters, and lovers.

Whose pain of soul is worse, do you think. For a wonderful (and frightening) tale, watch Showtime’s Homeland, and follow the daughter’s tale/thread as she watches the unraveling of her father, a soldier just returned after eight years of captivity by Islamic terrorists.

The feminine principle carries weights in its heart, that cannot be acted upon, in same way the male principle can pick up a gun (or a briefcase) and go into battle, thus releasing some of the weight in aggressive action. With blithe poetic horror, we have this word: “Worry”.

Clearly modern societies are up to their unwashed armpits in acting out male principle sexual aggression, pithily named: “#metoo”. A core problem is the male principle’s intellect-only assumption that we can fix such deep human needs with the passage of laws, or the application of dress codes, or the fully absurd preaching from academic or religious pulpits.

Only the individual can change their personal&intimate nature. By choice. Without compulsion.

All of us know how to be stubborn. Done rightly it is a wonderful character trait. The social element involves, however – to the dismay of the male principle – the arts of conversation we ridiculously reduce to the concept: “sharing”.



If we acquaint ourselves with aboriginal folk, we will find there community processes whereby the two natures (and their complex and various mixtures – no spirit has the same balance of fires) …these natures are discovered through the stories that are shared, and the examples lived – which tell the best tales of all.

We know the tragedy of overprotective parenting, as well as under-parenting. Both are child abuse, which comes from a person who is already wounded themselves.

All that exists is wounded. To heal these wounds of spirit is an art, such as the Blessing Way of the Navajo.

It is the run-amok male principle intellect that has generated the idea that Nature has no interior life, and does not feel: The divine mystery also faces: worry, #metoo, and a need for “sharing”.

The turmoil and politics can’t be resolved (billions spent by ambitious folk vainly believing they should be in charge) without making the center of the conversation the relationship of the two natures.

Yet, we know they won’t dare discuss such “hot button” “issues”. In what venues then do we have the needed conversations?

Preachers, academics, politicians, newscasters, radio or podcast pundits, and all other opinionated assholes, can’t do what one person can do with kindness, and listening to other folks’ stories.

If you self identify with aspects of the “liberal elite”, in your worries about wars and other radical changes effecting all of us, find something to do. Same with the “Trump voters”, … everyone needs to find opportunities to be kind listeners, who do not judge, or explain, or tell others what they should do … we just offer comfort and sympathy.

Why do you think the Mother is going around the world sending in the ancient Titans we idiotically call rogue weather? In the aftermath of the Chaos of Her own Godzillas – which is the Mother’s male principle Rite, …

… that is followed up by its harmonizing balance (a feminine principle Rite), through what is happening in aid stations, school gyms, and places where folk gather to understand each others’ worry-#metoo-tales … by creating the opportunity – we have to choose – for People to begin to find out just how much they need each other, religion and politics aside. Mother always knows best, even when She sends children off to wars, social/community or otherwise.

How do we know how important it is for human beings to meet each other in circumstances of shared worry, #metoo, and artful – perhaps witty – conversation?


We know because it is frightening to be honest and vulnerable. In this we are wise to trust our instincts, and avoid what does not feel emotionally safe. Find/notice your tribe. Have a celebration with good food, dancing, and as personally needed: intoxicants. Celebrate what, some might ask.

Our shared humanity and the wonders the ancients mysteries had expressed this way: As above, so below. As below, so above, for the wonder of the one true thing.




Pain, Pleasure, Consciousness

Pain, Pleasure, Consciousness

In the Light of the Eight Gates to Faerie

We see. We hear. We touch. We smell. We taste. We balance. We think. We move.

Our senses are open wounds of the soul. What seems to not be us, invades our consciousness. Light hurts when we move from darkness into the light. An errant smell can be experienced as not only unpleasant, but go so far as to induce extreme reflexive actions.

Meanwhile, Christ tells us in Luke: the kingdom of heaven is inside you. Not somewhere else. Inside you, … in the deeps of your secret self … waits a gift …

Once upon a time, in the way back long ago when before, our ancestors spoke to fairies. Some times we spoke to thunder, or star, but that kind of communion is more about listening, than ourselves speaking.

Then we lost the Garden. We lost the capacity to listen to the winds. We forgot about the little people … the elemental kingdoms of salamanders/fire; sylphs/air; undines/water; and, gnomes/earth.

This – the loss of Faerie – was a birth, and like all births filled with pain and dangers, yet when the work is done, sublime pleasure.

It isn’t that Faerie ceased to exist, we were just helped to forget.

The whole of the eight wounds – our sensorium – is/has/been/and always will be Faerie. Faerie never left, we were just blinded in the realm of thought. Why? So that this most intimate I&Thou relationship could/might arise by our choice. By our effort. By our work.

In the way back long ago when before, living midst Faerie and the Gods&Goddesses was a given. A grace, over which we had no choice. So we travel into a kind of spiritual darkness, losing sight of Faerie, and the Gods&Goddesses, in order later to have a personal/individual choice about such matters of the heart.

This loss of the perception of the kingdom of heaven that is “inside” us, also disconnected us from the perception of the “inside” of the World.

To get back within this inside, we have Eight Gates, that come in four pairs.

Life & Death … Fire/Will

Waking&Sleeping … Air/Intellect
Sanity&Madness … Water/Feeling
Remembering&Forgetting … Earth/Consciousness

These words just point a finger. The reader has to look. The reader is already always looking. The world is looking back. Our sense reality is a wave form of two conscious entities meeting at the boundary, that the movie Annihilation so eloquently calls: the shimmering.



We look – via our will – out through the eye, and the light – via Its Will – looks into us through that same clear lens. Our spirit is touched through the wounds of earthly consciousness.

In It (the Word) was Life, and the Life was the Light of the World.

He also said: “Blessed are those who do not see, yet still believe.” Pay attention to the wounds and the Gates. Trust you ability to perceive the “meaning” of existence through the own sense of thinking&thought. The heart’s mind is a garden, and we get to grow there whatever we wish. There is even a place there for fungi, and rot, … living thought/thinking is a continuous process of dying and becoming.


Reality's Open Secret

Reality’s Open Secret

The Labyrinth of the Day and the Maze of the Spirit

We associate the idea of a labyrinth as something that is walked, and can be walked again, and each time is its own teaching.

We associate the idea of a maze with the solving of puzzles.

There are what might be called laws. For example, we are always in the Now – the moment. Yet, that moment, while always in movement, has regularity as a given. Day and Night. Breathing.

Spirit is everywhere/when, and we are spirit. We cannot escape ourselves, …. another law.

Both the Labyrinth of the Day and the Maze of the Spirit are unique. The totality of these is individualized. Nothing in the whole of Reality is the same as us. Each different.

In the labyrinth of the day there are multiple individual and unique natures seeming interlocked in the same place and time. Seemingly.

We can’t get away from ourselves. We seemingly can’t get away from each other.

The movement of change – which we believe is what is called time – is endless.

Because of the Word we have language. Because of the Word we have breath. Because we are all “the Word”, we have meaning.

One of the riddles of the maze of the spirit (the heart’s mind), is: Am I supposed to be something else / or somewhere/when else?

In the labyrinth of the day, the maze of the spirit can believe much that is not true. The surrounding life we call culture and language, tells us stories, and we are/can be coerced to believe a story that is not true.



We are asked sometimes: Who are we? The better question is: What are we?

What we are is the Whole learning about Itself.

In the modern Age, on the cusp of the Third Millennium,

the Day of Purification,

our Baptism – by the Source of the Word – in Fire and Holy Breath,

during the dying and becoming of Western Civilization,

midst the debris of the last days of the Kali Yuga,

where things fall apart, the center cannot hold, and mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

we face our freedom as the Beast from the Abyss –

the Abyss of the Unknown and Uncreated formless chaos which is our Mother and Father.

The worry we have about “climate change” is just a foretaste of something much greater. History is disappearing. We are less and less bound to the past. We are all the right people, in the right place, at the right time.

Among the ideas that are present to us, and perhaps not Reality, are the ideas of who or what we should or ought become. Seek enlightenment sings a great part of the world. Crave power and wealth roars another.

The underlying confusion is that we are not yet enough, or at all in charge.

Look around. All our boats – our ways of living – are riding the same dangerous seas.

The real secret?

We are all already shamans. Surviving our life is shamaning/wisdom learning. The sages – who we do not honor by trying to be what we suspect they were like – tend to agree: Trust Yourself.

Name yourself. Change nothing, because change is already a constant. We all leak it into our lives, and are surrounded by it.

We are magic. Our daily routines are spiritual rites of our own making. We are artists in the labyrinth of the day, for each day is itself unique. The maze of the own mind is mystery as well. The heart’s mind itself is wonder procreating. There are no limits to the Imagination.