Quantum Shaman (tm)

Is it just me, or is the medical profession comprised of the biggest bunch of bozos and wankers ever to come down the sewer pipes?  Went to the doc a few weeks ago 'cuz I was having chest pains - probably related to my back, also probably related to the stress (what?  me?  stress?) that accompanies running one's own business in an economy that has been programmed to decline and continue to decline even when there is (and I quote) "not much logical reason for the continuing deterioration."  But no matter...  The world is a nuthouse and the lunatics are running the asylum, so... nothing new there. 

Chest pains, I say.  So the doc stares at me for awhile, doesn't even offer to listen to my heart to see if I'm dead or alive, then starts writing prescriptions for the most expensive drugs on the market without so much as a by-your-leave.  "You are a diabetic," he reminds me in his thick accent, as if that should explain so much for so many at a time when it seems to me that "diabetes" is the fad diagnosis of the 21st century in the same way ADHA and MPD were the fad diagnoses of the '90s.  Put another way:  he is telling me to behave like the label he has stuck to my ass, and gets uppity when I remind him that I am neither a label nor a dis-ease.  I am a person with a name and a life partner and a cat and a dog.  I am not just a "diabetic" - and with good reason - for once we become labeled by our handlers (doctors, lawyers and charlatans of all walks of life), we become to them nothing more than the label itself.  And let's face it, folks.  Diabetes is the cash cow of the decade!  Walk into any Walmart or Rite-Aid or the like, and you will find not just a small shelf of diabetis supplies, but an entire aisle consisting of a cornucopia of products designed to put a smile on any CEO's face.  So keep in mind that when your doctor tells you you're a diabetic, what he's REALLY seeing is not your potential well-being or lack thereof, but a long line of checks in the form of kickbacks from the pharmaceutical companies - who KNOWINGLY market products which have more side-effects than potential benefits.  Any doubt, do your own research.  I did - and I was appalled!

 

Maybe it stands to reason that when I came out of a store yesterday and glanced at the newspaper racks, there was a glaring headline which read something like, "Diabetes expected to triple by the year 2050 - 1 in 3 will have the disease!"  Be afraid!  Be very afraid!  Run to the priests of the scalpel and ask your doctor about all those yummie drugs that are just as likely to kill you as to cure you.  Wear this label!  Act out your dis-ease!  Be a good patient!  Play your role!

Role.  You're in a play, you know.  We all are.   Yes, including your doctor, who probably knows a lot less about your body than you do.  A few months ago, one doc tried to schedule me for a prostate exam.  ???  That could get interesting.

 Here's the thing, folks.  And this is NOT the exception to the rule near as I can tell.  In 2004, my mother had 2 colonoscopies, both of which returned "normal" results.  She died in 2006 of colon cancer, which had been present "for years" according to the medical examiner's final report.  In 2008, my ex-husband was diagnosed with scabies (bugs, to the uninformed), and subsequently treated with expensive skin care products.  The reality?  His gall bladder was enlarged to twice its size, and gall stones had turn up the bile duct - NONE of which showed up on MRIs, blood tests, or the like. By the time he got a correct diagnosis and had the gallbladder removed, he had suffered severe damage of the bile duct, lost over 80 pounds, and was wandering around town in a confused state because of the resulting toxins which had built up in his system.  Several years ago, a good friend went to the emergency room complaining of abdominal pain so severe she couldn't stand and could barely breathe.  She was told to go home and take a laxative and an enema.  She died a week later of peritonitis, caused when her impacted bowels ruptured.

Need I continue?

Why on Earth or any other civilized planet do we trust these clowns, when it is proven time and time again that they kill more people than they cure?  Enough already!  I go in with chest pains, and the doc gives me a prescription for pain pills and muscle relaxants!  About 18 years ago, when I went in with a large lump in my breast, I was told by the first quack, "I'd recommend ignoring it for awhile and see if it goes away."  Arugh!  What?

 The bottom line is that WE give these gonzos the power of life and death over our bodies - and it's high time we stopped just buying into their sweet-scented bullshit.  So today as I was sitting in the waiting room of the lab - for over 2 hours, I might add - I found myself looking at the downtrodden, frightened people waiting to be told whether they would live or die, whether they would be asked to play the role of a Diabetic or a Heart Patient or a Cancer Victim. 

Maybe it's all just a crap shoot.  Society tells ue we will die of something, yet this is the same society that once told us the earth was flat, and at the center of the universe.  So maybe it's time we stopped buying into the programs, turn off the idiot box that keeps trying to sell us on this or that drug and encouraing us to "Ask your doctor about mycoxafloppin..." and go back to living the way nature intended:

Eat well.

Run when the lion comes out of the jungle.

Love unconditionally.

Get fucked often (and NOT by the medical profession!)

 Take back your power.

 

 

 

The road home from South Lake Tahoe to Yucca Valley often feels interminable when we make our yearly trek up into the mountains for the 2-week faire in early June. Throughout the trip this time, there was a sense of heaviness, what some might call foreboding; and though nothing untoward actually occurred, it seemed the journey was fraught with omens and images, portends and visions which played out on the mind's eye, and through the wndow of the motorhome which looked out over the Sierra Nevadas for the better part of the trip.

The mountains themselves were capped with a heavy snowpack which had begun to melt rapidly due to the warmer temperatures of the past several days. As a result, the Walker River, which had flowed at a normal pace on the journey up, was now swelled to almost capacity, and was rushing wildly through the unparalleled beauty of the forest. Ah, but what no one else seemed to notice was that some of the whitecaps were wraiths, some of their faces twisted into watery grimaces, others blank as if possessing no awareness whatsoever. Faces in the water. Men. Women. Children. Forever caught in some macabre recreation of their deaths, I presumed. Ghosts of the river. Spirits of the water. Tumbling and pitching, but always with their faces pointed in the direction of the flow, to the north or the east, depending on the bend of the river... disappearing in shafts of sunlight, becoming visible again as the bank of the river bent underneath the shade of the tall pines. "Going nowhere forever," the voice of silent knowing whispered. "Caught in the finality of their own final moments, awareness trapped in the energetic fabric of the milieu itself, like a photograph embedded on the fabric of time."

But all too soon the river was gone, left behind as we continued along the lonesome road. A dead deer alongside the road stared upward, its lifeless brown eye reflecting the sky and the clouds, eternity caught in a mirror from which all awareness had departed. I wanted to weep, yet what would have been the point. So I smiled to myself instead. appreciating for a moment whatever life the young deer had lived. Brief, but hopefully sweet. Perhaps some fresh spring grass still in his mouth to go with the clouds in his eyes. That would be nice, though I rather doubt his last moments on Earth were in any way pleasant.

Further along the highway, a dragon lay sleeping in an open meadow. Yes, a real dragon. Or so it seemed. Perhaps 50 feet long, with golden wings and a scaly brown body. Sharply pointed ears, and a lovely tail that curled around the muscular hind legs, just so. Since Wendy was driving and didn't see it, I chose to keep it to myself, making no comment. No point arguing the "reality" of dragons, for then perhaps it would have become just another odd rock formation, just an array of sharp boulders with orange flowers growing nearby to give the illusion of wings. At that moment, I did not want the illusion shattered, so I simply let it go right on being a dragon. He winked as I made the decision, and it was a silence we shared out there in the nothing. Just me and the beastie. No consensus. No agreement. No argument. Dragons are good gentles, he told me in some universal language. Keep down the human hunters and escort the souls of road-slain deer to the Otherworld in their spare time. Yes, I decided dragons are much maligned, so I said nothing of his presence. And then he, too, was gone, just another odd memory from an odd journey down an odd road somewhere at the edge of time.

Further along, near the river but not close enough to see it, a run-down trailer park looking like something out of a Stephen King novel nestled up under the trees, and four little boys ranging in age from perhaps 3-8 had stripped down to their boxers and were spraying one another with the hose. The sight was incongruous but somehow perfectly preserved like a faded photograph in an old family album. As I watched, the boys grew up, exchanged their Buster Browns for business suits, one spending too much time in jail, one becoming a successful businessman, the other two living more or less uneventful lives... then in the rearview mirror, just old men sitting in front of an abandoned trailer somewhere in the dark forest at the edge of the River Lethe. Time chewed them up, spit them back out. They never saw it coming, never felt the cold brush of death until it was upon them, never stopped to wonder what might have been different had they turned left instead of right.

It wasn't a matter of judging them, just a matter of observing what was - not just in those 4 little boys with so much potential, but in the world at large. Live the programs long enough, buy into the dictates of the foreign installation too long... and life is over before it ever begins. Yesterday we were children, the voice of silent knowing reminded. Today we are warriors. And tomorrow we will die.

What we do in the interim determines our fate.

By the time we arrived home, the sun was low on the horizon, and descending into Yucca Valley was like a homecoming that was comfortrable and yet all too disturbing. The Joshua trees were dropping their seed pods, struggling to recreate themselves. Ravens perched atop the tall telephone poles, their mouths open to shed off the approach of summer, the desert heat. Standing in the driveway after Wendy had gone inside, the world was bright with all manner of bloom: acacia tree, oleander, ocotillo, and at least 4 different colors of cactus. Life asserting itself, dancing its colorful dance... then all too quickily losing its blossoms to the unrelenting wind.

The moon was barely a sliver, a faint whisper. Venus or Jupiter dangled from the crescent like a crystal reflecting the sun.

The crack between the worlds stood open in a way I had never quite seen it before. Like a doorway from one world to another, yet both worlds were the same world except in how they are perceived. Life. Death. Breath and awareness being the only dividing line.

I breathed. An exchange of energy between the observer and the observed.

The road is behind me now. And still and always ahead.

Throughout my journey as a warrior/seeker, there are recurring "themes" - perhaps the most common of the past few years being that of transmogrification. When we finally realize that we are beings who are going to die - really internalize that right down to the core level of the spirit - very little we think, say or do seems to matter anymore. Except one thing... preserving our awareness. Survival of the I-Am.

There are some who would say the I-Am survives regardless of the process of living and dying, but if that were the case, I rather doubt we would be imbued with the instinct to continue. One more breath. One more sunset. One more sunrise. Yes. To go on living. The physicality of it really isn't the issue. The perception of it all is.

What does this have to do with dreaming? Simply this. Over the weekend, as I was sitting in the motorhome looking out over a magnificent park under the light of a waning moon, I was filled with the thought that it's all so transient. Over the years as we've visited that same park, massive oaks have grown to maturity, died, and been replaced with young saplings. The huge stone picnic tables are taken on chips and nicks. The gopher who lives underneath the ground where our merchant booth is located has had babies several times. In all likelihood, she is long dead and her babies are having babies now.

Transient.

Given enough time, even the mountains will disappear, whittled to gravel by the immortal wind. Earth. Air. Fire. Water. Spirit. The five elements of creation. The five Immortals. And each one a part of us in some manner. We are made of eternity, yet we perceive ourselves as transients. Odd, that.

So as I sat there in the darkness pondering these things, I thought again of the concept of transmogrification - the transference/transcendence of our awareness from our humanform body into our dreaming body. Almost without consciously directing it, I heard myself ask Orlando, "Okay, what does it look like? How is it done? What is the procedure which would bring this state of being into Be-ing?"

His answer was immediate and succinct. "It's done in dreaming."

For the next two hours, a dialogue ensued which focused mainly on the feel of this type of dreaming. It's not a technique we might master. To think so would only be the height of ego, the grandstanding of pure ego. It's not some clever manipulation of energy dependent on some bit of yada we read in a book somewhere. It's not even a case of lucidity in dreaming.

These things Orlando explained first - because the bottom line with us humans is that we are so steeped in our programs (yes, even and especially our "warrior" programs) that we can't feel the forest because we're too busy trying to *see* the trees.

"In dreaming," Orlando explained as a large owl perched in the tree just above the motorhome and sang her lonesome song, "the mind doesn't question what just is. It simply does the impossible and accepts it as ordinary, and in doing so a new reality is created wherein actions such as flying or reading with your eyes closed or breathing underwater are merely aspects of your inventory, other abilities you may possess when your mind can allow it."

I thought about that for a long time that night, realizing that it would also include this seemingly mysterious act of transmogrification - which I personally believe is what the Tenant accomplished. If the myths are true (a big if, of course), s/he lives a relatively normal human life, with the grand exception that s/he is immortal, can apparently take any form/gender, and experiences a seamless awareness spanning centuries into the past, and who nows how far into the future? A being who was once a transient organic, transformed by will (dreaming?) into an inorganic awareness.

After being on this path for so many years (a lifetime, actually), I have observed that no matter how impeccable we may be in our ordinary tonal lives, we are nonetheless affected by the humanform programs (which may well be hardwired into the DNA at some level), so whenever we are in waking awareness, there are things we simply cannot do which we would do easily in dreaming. Let's just talk about flying for a moment. In dreaming, we lift our feet off the ground, experience a profound moment of awe/ecstasy, and wonder how the hell we forgot how to do that. Maybe the experience propels us into lucidity, maybe not. But in dreaming, we accept without question that we can fly, whereas that really doesn't appear to be possible in ordinary awareness. Oh, someone is sure to say that monks in dank monasteries may levitate or float a coconut for the amusement of curious bystanders, but when that same monk goes soaring over London or Toronto, I do hope someone with a cell phone cam will snap a pic and post it on this forum... because even if "levitation" may be a reality, it's a far cry from what we can do in Dreaming.

So... of course the question turns to this. Even if we CAN fly in our dreams, we don't seem to be able to bring that ability into our waking awareness. So how would achieving the state of transmogrification be any different? Well, that's a work in progress. My sense of it as I sat there looking out over that magickal park in the middle of the night was that the act of transferring our awareness into our dreaming body would quite likely transcend ALL levels of awareness. Put another way, we would wake up inside the dreaming body and life would continue as before (or not) depending entirely on the intent/will of the warrior/seeker.

Ah well. As I said... a work in progress. Some stray thoughts on a magnificent morning while the quail are talking quietly among themselves at the pond, the weenie dog is sleeping in my lap, and the cat is preening in the window.

 

       
All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights 

The good thing about tasks is that they are finite.

I had originally thought to simply walk away from this phase of my life - what I might call "The Internet Toltec Years" - but after considerable private deliberation, multiple conversations with Mel, Fox, Dan, Wendy, Crystal, Vicky W. and others, combined with input from Orlando... I find myself compelled to say a few words about absolutely nothing of importance, but nonetheless stuff that needs to be laid to rest, for myself if nothing else. If this posts makes no sense to you, then it is not meant for you. If it angers you or strokes that raw nerve you've been cultivating for just such occasions, best ask yourself why.

I will start with this: it was spring of 2000 when I first began putting my website together. It was at the urging of Orlando and one of my mentors that I initially decided to launch the site and, subsequently, my first forum. I was told by Orlando at the time, "You will do this for 5 years with great enthusiasm, and for another 5 years with less than great enthusiasm, but it is important that you complete the task." It was also made clear to me that the next 10 years would result in the loss of longstanding "friendships", the turning upside down of my personal life, and essentially the rearranging of everything I had ever held to be true. I must confess I didn't really believe the warnings at the time - but they have turned out to be accurate, and to a far greater extent than I ever could have imagined.

Over the years, when I would question Orlando about this task, he would consistently give two somewhat different but related answers. 1) "The task is for your own assimilation - it is how you will formulate and test your foundation." And 2) "You will meet people from whom you will learn, and people whom you will teach."

Personally, I think that's true for all of us, and I've learned a great deal from the past 10 years of being involved in the Toltec community. And yet, I never wanted to be anyone's teacher - largely because it's obvious to me that most people already think they know everything, and will fight to the death to prove it. Perpetual teenagers, IOW. There's a reason I never had kids - never wanted the headache of trying to raise them. LOL. They will rationalize and attempt to justify their belief systems by making up new rules as they go along. "We are already Buddhas." That's always good for a laugh. Somehow, I don't think Buddha became Buddha by sitting in a chatroom. He did the work. Imagine that! Another good one I've heard repeatedly is, "There's no such thing as enlightenment." (Of course not - state your limitation and you own it.) And the old standby... "It's all good."

Is it? Really? Or is that just the rhetoric one feeds oneself to avoid the necessity of doing anything that might involve walking away from the computer, turning off the television, stopping the internal dialog that's patting you on the back for your latest clever sarcasm, and actually doing something real.

Cyberspace is an illusion, folks. If you think otherwise, you're heading for one helluva disappointment. Many of the people you think you're talking to don't even exist, but are only sock puppets and avatars. False projections and hollow echoes. Sure, I've owned a sock puppet or two over the years, mainly as a way to get honest reactions from people, as opposed to the shallow BS some tend to spew when they think it's "Big Bad Della" to whom they're speaking. It's the art of stalking - becoming someone or something else for a brief time to see how different the world looks through those eyes. Very eye-opening, to be sure. People say the damndest things when they believe they are talking to a sympathetic stranger - particularly when they believe that 'stranger' might be someone they can seduce into their camp.

Fascinating. I've been in chat rooms under the guise of some anonymous participant and seen myself (and most of you as well) raked over the proverbial coals by a bunch of Don Juannabes who seem to believe their opinion matters to the world at large. Beliefs and rumors are spewed forth in the guise of truth, when the reality is that it's all just a bunch of pixels in cyberspace, solid as a fart. Hot air. The rendered essence of pure bullshit. Amazing.

What I've always found interesting is that very few of those chatroom participants ever bother to even question those doing the spewing. Like zombies, they sit there and smile and nod, contented bobbleheads who seem to think they're being privvy to some inside scoop about someone else, when the reality is that the accusations and the defamations being dished out are usually filtered through a hefty dose of booze or speed or just plain old ego - the need to feel important at someone else's expense. Nothing new there, of course. I've seen fanciful accounts about how this one or that one "knows Della"... when the reality is that you only know of a stalker what a stalker wants you to know. You only see what a stalker allows you to see, and if you were truly a *seer*, you would already know that and save yourselves the embarrassment of trying to pretend you "know" me. People thought they knew Carlos, too. Though I seriously doubt anyone really did.

So, yet again, the ultimate lesson appears to be quite simple: the world is a nuthouse and the lunatics are running the asylum. To what end? you might ask. For what purpose?

Simple. It is the dictate of the foreign installation. Protect the status quo at all costs. Maintain the illusion. Service the machine.

But let's get real, people. If you're not Neo, you're Agent Smith. There's really not a lot of middle ground. You're either fighting FOR freedom, or fighting against it. You're either a warrior or a phantom. Pick one. Stand on your own two feet and stop trying to step all over mine. Be who YOU are and stop worrying about who **I** am. If that's too hard, then you need to go back to square one.

Nobody cares, of course. Life goes on. In a million years it won't make any difference. And that's a good thing.

So in December of 2009, I took a step back, did the math (took all 10 fingers but I managed), and breathed a sigh of relief to realize that the 10 year task would officially end in April of 2010. I have come to realize that Knowledge is limitless but my own patience for disseminating it isn't. I've said all I need to say on the subject - and most of it is archived here at TSW, or on my website. My own assimilation is finished - at least as much as can be accomplished through the written word, on forums, and the internet in general. The foundation which was formed during the first 44 years of my life has been tested for 10 years now, and I am pleased to realize that although it has gone through a few changes and revisions, the basic foundation has held against every onslaught, every naysayer, every heckler, every stalker, every bliss ninnie, every sock puppet, and every phantom who has held out their hand, saying, "Come with us, back to Ixtlan."

In hindsight, I have come to see that the task was the test and the test was the task. I've met some phenomenal warriors and some phenomenal phantoms. And I would like to thank each and every one of them. I mean that sincerely. Yes, even the petty tyrants and the snipers. Thank you for your role in helping me to test my foundation. But now we're finished.

Part of a warrior's task is also knowing when it is time to move forward - beyond the gaming environs, and into the unknown. Part of the task is knowing when relationships have run their course, and when it is time to release our attachments to others so as to continue our own path toward freedom. Part of the task is also learning to recognize that there are no final solutions. New clinical studies have proven there are no answers. And, that being the case, the ultimate test is knowing when to look into oneself for The Way and stop trying to place the blame or the credit on your latest guru, guidance counselor, life coach or soccer coach. You won't get where you're going by standing on the shoulders of Castaneda or anyone else. And you won't get there by grinding anyone else into the mud, either. That ain't how it's done.

I've heard it said recently that, "There are a lot of people who don't like you, Della." Good. If I were here for a popularity contest, I'd be a helluva lot more 'pleasant' and play all the games phantoms want to play. I'd talk about recipes and flowers. I'd sit in chat rooms and gossip from dawn till dusk. I'd form agreements and consensuses and upload them as convenient belief systems with no regard for their veracity. I'd be your friend and tell you you're right even when we both know you're dead wrong. I'd kiss your ass and stab you in the back with a smile. And yet, I cannot nurture your weaknesses and, in doing so, deny your strengths. If you want someone to tell you what you want to hear, ask your hooker or your dog.

I'm not a nice person and never pretended to be. I didn't come on the internet looking for friends. I came to share my story and, in the process, to test my foundation. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I cannot be who you want me to be because I can only be myself. Put another way, I cannot be lured, cajoled or hammered by phantoms on the road to Ixtlan who say, "Come play with us. All you have to do is to renounce who and what you are... come play with us..." And, yes, that very invitation was extended to me just this week. "Come play with us. Come be one of us."

Why on Earth or any other planet would I want to?

I don't WANT to be a phantom, forming agreements with other phantoms just to create and inhabit comfort zones. For at the end of that day (and the next day and that other day and the day after that), what is really accomplished? Where is the forward motion on one's own path? Where is the work on the Self when one's sole focus is rooted in agreements with strangers we've never met and never will? What is accomplished if 10 people in a cyberlounge decide to agree that Suarez is authentic and Gomez is self-righteous and Smith is a false prophet and Jesse Jackson is the second incarnation of Juan Gonzalez?

Millions of people once agreed that the flat earth was at the center of the universe. They believed it. The church sanctioned it. All the world said amen.

And none of it had anything to do with reality.

What you believe about someone or something may have no basis in reality either, but if you believe it long enough, one thing is certain: it will blind you to whatever truth lies beyond the veil of your false beliefs. But no matter. Easier to believe than to do the work required to Know. It's up to you.

Agreements. Belief systems. Comfort zones. The stock in trade of the internet. The unreal estate of PhantomHood. You protect my status quo and I'll protect yours. We'll even agree that anyone who threatens that status quo is a fraud, a liar and a charlatan... yup that's the story and we're stickin' to it.

Sorry. No.

You have to decide. Do you want to hang out on the internet pretending to do the work, or do you want to DO the work? Do you want to listen to gossip and enter into a consensus with others desperately seeking such a consensus, or do you want to open your eyes and take a look around you. Do you know who you are, or are you only an extension of those around you, a mouthpiece of the foreign installation? Who are you without your agreements?

Easy enough to shovel these words under the rug like so much dog shit. And that's exactly what they are. Heh. Like I said in the beginning, nothing of importance here. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain. Seriously. Why are you still reading? Go! Run! Death is stalking you. You don't have time for this! You don't have time to sit there planning your clever response. If you think any of this matters, go straight to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200 - you're learned nothing. Time to get a clue, get a life, grab an afterlife, and wake up. No one can do it for you.

Someone said to me today, "Why do you care what someone else thinks of you?"

I don't. What someone THINKS about me is really not my problem. What I DO care about is when the phantoms start demanding that I deny who I am just so they can feel more comfortable. What I DO care about is when those same phantoms essentially decide that if I don't renounce my identity, they will hound and heckle until I do. After awhile, it's just plain tedious. And silly. And revealing.

I-Am. Just me.

It's pretty simple folks. If you don't like what I have to say, change the channel. If you think someone is a fraud or a saint based on what you heard in a chatroom, shame on you for not thinking for yourself. If you believe for a moment that the agreements you form in cyberspace are going to save you from the Eagle at the moment of your death... you go right on believing.

Who or what **I** am matters not one bit. If you think it does, then you are living the lie, just another Agent Smith servicing the cogs of the machine. It's who YOU are that matters. Until you see that, you do not really see.

The task is completed. My work here is done.

Believe nothing. Follow no one. Fare well.

       

I was recently asked, "Why did you quit?"

Interesting question, which sheds considerable light on the questioner's perspective.

What must be acknowledged at some point is that all paths - including this one - run the high risk of dead-ending into madhouses where the inmates, long-starved, will tear away at anything and anyone within their reach.

Knowing we cannot cure the madmen, knowing we cannot even slake their thirst, is the first step toward the true goal of the path.

Freedom.

Why did I quit?

To be free of the madness.

...and also... keep in mind that believing someone else has "quit" may only reveal your own limited perceptions and your own self-importance - implying abandonment. What I do elsewhere on the net... remains within my silence. What I do elsewhere in the real world... remains within my experience.

Be free.

Even if it means slaughtering the madmen and burning the madhouse to the ground.

Be. Free.

Question to Orlando:  I can almost wrap around this but if it's possible (and it might not be?) could you give a bit more info on the paragraph above? I know some things have to be intuited and if that's the case here no problem. What I'm wondering is whether this is like a meditation thing or a not-doing or what steps someone might take to engage the active process. How would this long term commitment really work as to the ins and outs?
 

       

Question to Orlando:  I'm fighting some addictions and some indulgences and not always sure I know the difference. I used to be a real fine warrior if I say so myself but got sidetracked a few years back with a woman I met along the way. Not even sure she was human if you catch my drift but what the hell, it was one hell of a ride and I don't have any regrets except that now I can't get my focus back and it's like she's attached to my dreaming awareness so much that it's all I can think about.
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