Wednesday, July 27, 2011
ROVING REPORTER RANTS: BRING BACK THE LASH! DEALING WITH CLERICS IN PART...
ROVING REPORTER RANTS: BRING BACK THE LASH! DEALING WITH CLERICS IN PART...: " Admittedly, I have had some bad reviews. Some! Did I mention that I have received a few curses in Latin? Well, here goes then. ..."
BRING BACK THE LASH! DEALING WITH CLERICS IN PARTICULAR AND CLERGYMEN IN GENERAL
Admittedly, I have had some bad reviews. Some! Did I mention that I have received a few curses in Latin? Well, here goes then.
It seems it's O.K. to talk about mystical union with the One who is creating us, but it is not acceptable to enter into the psychological depths of the intricacies and necessities of a Woman's Orgasm in the same article. This is what, sacrilege? What century are we living in?
May I suggest to you - it's not such a big step from the 21st century back to the 16th century, when they had public lashings and brandings! But it wasn't all fun and games.
Do you know how long the Spanish Inquisition lasted for? A hundred years? Oh, no the private torture chambers continued long and long. And the public didn't get to see! Nor did they get to see the hidden repressed spasmodic orgasms of the long-robed clergy... Nor do we now, for the most part, but we get to see them weeping in their beers the morning after, begging for forgiveness.
( The Spanish Inquisition continued on for 600 years.)
My position is this: forgiveness is the Christian way. Ho! Ho! But before we forgive these pale, limp-wristed members of our clergy - skin that makes 'em look like they've been hiding under lily pads all their lives: it's our absolute and holy duty to put them through a few hoops.
The hoops should be: (1) Fearful public humiliation; (2) a taste of the lash over some months.
As Charlie's Nana used to say most mornings at breakfast, from the time Charles was three: "Cowards fear pain; and they hate to cower in public; and to scream like eunichs every time they feel a taste of the Lash! This is good for their grovelling souls; and to expect more of the same each Sunday morning, with exacting regularity... It makes them think."
"And one thing you can be sure of: never will such a half-man/ half-newt transgress again! In fact, it's quite possible you'll never see the fearful little shrimp in public again for the rest of his life!"
"No one will miss him! Besides, the Lash is cheap! It doesn't cost a hundred grand a year to keep the little fruit behind bars. And also there is the social aspect to consider: it's fun for the whole family to watch such a wimp begging in public - on his naked knees, "Please don't lash me again. No, please! And his weeping and loud bawling: everyone enjoys that! Especially when he tries to wiggle and crawl off into the audience; and there's no escape nor mercy anywhere."
"Then she'd pat me on the head," says Charlie, and she'd look into my eyes with the deepest seriousness: "Never forget, sonny, 'Hilarity is to the public's good.'"
Says Charles. "I never knew what that phrase meant. Nor do I ever want to know."
(3) Oh yes, the third hoop that must be written permanently into our Criminal Code is this: "Any anal tears the perpetrator causes, he shall receive in kind." Now as a former defense attorney I must admit, this provision sounds a bit ominous, especially when followed by this following clause "All provisions of this section shall be judicially interpreted solely in terms of the tenets of the Old Testament."
This entire section is a bit like Wonder Bread - you eat it and wonder. And I can only shake my head and wonder about the implications. Though, having listened to the Affadavits of Charlie's grandmother, I must say, "All in all I approve wholeheartedly."
You must weight the limited pain to a few dubious defendants against the health,
happiness and psychological well being of the entire non-offending Community.
I do forsee a few possible legal problems with any admissions against interest the clergyman makes in public, while under the lash. But we'll deal with those ducks when they start to quack.
One thing I must say, though, after a six months program of screamings and lashings, our public prisoner would have no psychological blockages left. Though he might have developed a few tics, involuntary quavers and shudders he'd prefer no one ever see him do in public ever again.
So it goes. Explore every mystery, no matter how disgusting the journey might become;
your Roving Reporter will see it all the way through to the end!
"Discard nothing. Everything may serve." Carpe diem.
__________
It seems it's O.K. to talk about mystical union with the One who is creating us, but it is not acceptable to enter into the psychological depths of the intricacies and necessities of a Woman's Orgasm in the same article. This is what, sacrilege? What century are we living in?
May I suggest to you - it's not such a big step from the 21st century back to the 16th century, when they had public lashings and brandings! But it wasn't all fun and games.
Do you know how long the Spanish Inquisition lasted for? A hundred years? Oh, no the private torture chambers continued long and long. And the public didn't get to see! Nor did they get to see the hidden repressed spasmodic orgasms of the long-robed clergy... Nor do we now, for the most part, but we get to see them weeping in their beers the morning after, begging for forgiveness.
( The Spanish Inquisition continued on for 600 years.)
My position is this: forgiveness is the Christian way. Ho! Ho! But before we forgive these pale, limp-wristed members of our clergy - skin that makes 'em look like they've been hiding under lily pads all their lives: it's our absolute and holy duty to put them through a few hoops.
The hoops should be: (1) Fearful public humiliation; (2) a taste of the lash over some months.
As Charlie's Nana used to say most mornings at breakfast, from the time Charles was three: "Cowards fear pain; and they hate to cower in public; and to scream like eunichs every time they feel a taste of the Lash! This is good for their grovelling souls; and to expect more of the same each Sunday morning, with exacting regularity... It makes them think."
"And one thing you can be sure of: never will such a half-man/ half-newt transgress again! In fact, it's quite possible you'll never see the fearful little shrimp in public again for the rest of his life!"
"No one will miss him! Besides, the Lash is cheap! It doesn't cost a hundred grand a year to keep the little fruit behind bars. And also there is the social aspect to consider: it's fun for the whole family to watch such a wimp begging in public - on his naked knees, "Please don't lash me again. No, please! And his weeping and loud bawling: everyone enjoys that! Especially when he tries to wiggle and crawl off into the audience; and there's no escape nor mercy anywhere."
"Then she'd pat me on the head," says Charlie, and she'd look into my eyes with the deepest seriousness: "Never forget, sonny, 'Hilarity is to the public's good.'"
Says Charles. "I never knew what that phrase meant. Nor do I ever want to know."
(3) Oh yes, the third hoop that must be written permanently into our Criminal Code is this: "Any anal tears the perpetrator causes, he shall receive in kind." Now as a former defense attorney I must admit, this provision sounds a bit ominous, especially when followed by this following clause "All provisions of this section shall be judicially interpreted solely in terms of the tenets of the Old Testament."
This entire section is a bit like Wonder Bread - you eat it and wonder. And I can only shake my head and wonder about the implications. Though, having listened to the Affadavits of Charlie's grandmother, I must say, "All in all I approve wholeheartedly."
You must weight the limited pain to a few dubious defendants against the health,
happiness and psychological well being of the entire non-offending Community.
I do forsee a few possible legal problems with any admissions against interest the clergyman makes in public, while under the lash. But we'll deal with those ducks when they start to quack.
One thing I must say, though, after a six months program of screamings and lashings, our public prisoner would have no psychological blockages left. Though he might have developed a few tics, involuntary quavers and shudders he'd prefer no one ever see him do in public ever again.
So it goes. Explore every mystery, no matter how disgusting the journey might become;
your Roving Reporter will see it all the way through to the end!
"Discard nothing. Everything may serve." Carpe diem.
__________
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
BAD LUCK AND DARK NIGHTS: BANSHEES WAILING FOR MY SKULL
Things have been turning sour for me the last five or six days, and nobody gives a damn, and I'm not sure I care too much myself. All I needed was a short period of time when nobody showed up naked, nobody tried to sell me suspicious objects from underneath his coat; and nobody tried to kick in my door in a shrieking frenzy, screaming horrible things up from the lane out back.
There are times when a person has to say "no" to everyone and everything, sit in a comfortable chair and catch his breath. "Breathe," as a healer said to me recently. Breathe right
into the earth; take your shoes off and let your feet feel the earth. I did this back of the house, but then I saw two cars I recognized coming my way, so I had to duck back inside and play possum. I want to say that this breathing business works, and I'm going to try it again soon.
I have a thought: "Everybody hates me!" But what kind of twisted, pitiful thinking is this - not to say paranoid? Everybody might hate you from time to time, but it's highly unlikely that they all will turn the foul beacon of their hatred on you, at the same time.
It's highly unlikely that everyone's going to hate you/me at the same time for the simple reason that no one is important enough for everyone to think of at once, and therefore hate all at once. As my father said to me one time when I was sixteen, when he saw me staring at a pimple on my chin for a long time in the mirror: "you wouldn't worry so much about how you look, if you realized nobody is going to pay much attention to you anyway."
I had to think about that one.
When a wave of paranoia overtakes you when walking through a public place,
when you feel: "O God they're after me!" And you try desperately not to break out into a mad wild run, and flee through the mall... Maybe my father's advice will help: that people don't pay attention, and maybe it won't. But remember this saying of a famous psychologist: "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that someone isn't actually following you!"
The truth is, the editors back at the office of "The Talk of the Town Press", Bay City and
formerly of Ottawa told me I'd better lay off the Study of the Female Orgasm until they could look more deeply into the legal ramifications of the matter. "It's not so much the articles that we're worried about," Calvin tells me: "It's that the paper might actually be liable for 'the primitive methods' you employ in your field work'.
"Primitive methods are essential," I said.
Calvin held up his hand and said, "Let's talk another day. Today's been dark enough already."
And it was going to get darker.
My neighbour, Tim, dropped by and when I told him about the legal liability worries of the editors, he laughed!
"That's not the way I heard it!" he chuckled "I heard that two of the editors think you might be turning into a dangerous asshole! Writing about mysticism one week and sex the next." "The two subjects aren't really different at all. And every case was researched minutely. Everything really happened and was reported inconsiderable detail."
"It's the field work that worries them and your methods They feel the editors can be liable for putting you on such an assignment. Also, you're offending some of the wives."
Tim took off up the lane.
I sat on the steps to the lake, having dark thoughts.
All at once the full moon was emerging from behind a tall white pine tree. Suddenly a great howl called up right behind me, about 100 yards back.
"I hope that howls a dog and not the howl of the Wendigo calling me home," I thought.
The howl started up again. I could see the dog, right across the bay. "AAAAAAOOOOOOO!" I howled back. Then the dog replied. Then we howled together.
I could feel this primal scream therapy blowing out the cobwebs of my brain. I was feeling better already;I was feeling marvelous!
It's a primitive cure, but it works for me. The dogs across the lake started in, and I could see we were going to have a real party.There were fifteen or twenty dogs now. I could see the lights turn on one by one in the houses across the lake.
Primitive methods!
Sue me!
.
Friday, July 22, 2011
PROBLEM SOLVING WITH A GUN, COURAGEOUS WOMEN: PAIN IN THE ASS SYNDROME
In the wild and wholly North, things have a way of working themselves out. When you're living in a one acre clearing in a cabin north of the 60th parallel and the next village is 37 miles away and you're a nine year old girl, you are somewhat at the mercy of the elements.
What elements am I talking about? Not the deep patches of snow or the torrential stream that doesn't freeze over evenly, or the last three of your father's sled dogs.
No, the dogs like you because you feed them moose meat or cariboo, which you have shot yourself. No the elements that cause you trouble are the following: (1)You must be careful about the wolverines. There's a little known fact about wolverines - if you track a wolverine, the wolverine will circle back and track you
Now a wolverine is a big weasel. You don't want a big weasel on your tail. Because weasels don't fight fair - never have and never will. The notion of "fairness" really doesn't occur to wolverines. And if you ever sat down beside a wolverines ha ha, and took 3 hours to explain fairness to him ( if you could get a wolverine to sit still for 10 seconds, which you couldn't)
chances are you'd see the wolverine roll around on his back and laugh.
Problem is, wolverines don't seem to laugh. Otters seem to laugh when they're sliding down wet rocks and splashing into lake water. They seem to do a hell of a lot of chattering together, which seems like laughter to me. There's a pack of them down from my cabin.
When wolverines fight, they go straight for the balls. And they're really quick and they're
low - about thigh level to a Kodiak bear. A wolverine will consistently drive a Kodiak bear away from a kill the bear has made. These 1000 pound bears want to protect their balls just like any other sensible male, aware that his "man"hood is dangling 3 inches below his groin - detachable and free. The wolverine keeps making quick snaps and thrust with his powerful neck, and the Kodiak bear ( or grisley bear) runs away.
Wolverines also have a nasty habit of pissing all over their food and then burying the food, leaving in there for a week, and coming back and eating it when it's extra tasty. Wolverine piss smells as strongly as a spray from a skunk. If you start to irritate a wolverine, he'll break into your cabin, tear the place apart, smash everything, steal your food and piss all over the remains. Grown men have been known to abandon their homes. Some northern tribes believe the wolverine is the devil. Enough said.
Polar bears are a whole different ball game, sweet as they look on Coca Cola commercials, it's a mistake to approach one in the wild, because you are on the polar bear's food
chain. It's a mistake you'll only make once. I have never seen a polar bear and a wolverine engage.
And I'm not sure I want to.
Back to the story. The second element (2) the nine year old girl has to worry about is the northern lights. When you're far enough north, the northern lights make a sound: they seem to sing to you. And if they form a circle pattern and thrust down at you rhythmically and repeatedly; you can get lost in them - effectively you become hypnotized, if you're sober, If you're not sober, if you eat those funny red-capped mushrooms that seem to grow near evergreen trees, and then you stare at the northern lights... you may not get up for days....**
And then you have to worry about the third (3) element of danger in your environment: if you lie still for too long: you'll be raped by your insane uncle, who has sniffed too much gasoline.
Nancy was raped by her insane uncle every day for two years, from when she was nine til when she was eleven. And she lay still for it because if she didn't, her uncle would rape her younger brother. Then she took matters into her own hands and when uncle came at her one more time, she stabbed him 189 times in the face and the chest and the groin.
Then she fed uncle to the sled dogs.
Problem solved. No investigation required.
Three years later a visitor was abusing her mother, so she shot him right between the eyes with a 303 rifle.
Same problem, same solution.
The dogs got fed.
In this case, I am assured that Nancy is orgasmic, and I believe her. Her illness is really
not of a repressive nature, because she found her own solution. She was a victim, but she didn't stay a victim for three decades.
Her neurosis manifests in a very common way - common to women who have been abused at a young age. She flaunts her sexuality, in order to taunt and tease and piss off everyone.
She's actually still quite angry and she is sexually obsessed. So she'll walk down Main Street with her breasts exposed, which is not really a problem. But she is judged by a lot of Christians, especially when she stands outside the chapel door exposing her teats during one of those boring
Anglo Saxon hymns.
The pastor tends to call the cops, because "she is causing impure thoughts!"
Not in me!
The police can't really hold her anyway, because it's no longer illegal in Canada
to walk around sunning your breasts.
In my opinion, all they can really charge her with is, "Causing a disturbance." But she doesn't really make any noise.The police think the situation is funny, and you have to agree with them. The root causes aren't funny, but the present manifestation.
I have to admire her courage. She found her own solution to a difficult situation, and she's not really crazy, though she sometimes pretends she is.
I had a problem yesterday, when the mother of my eight year old daughter showed up and Nancy was sitting topless in my living room. Things got quite noisy. I pleaded for she and my daughter to stay, and said there was really no problem. But pleading doesn't work in this world. Nor will it work in the next.
Diagnosis? Nancy has "pain-in-the-ass" syndrome. She can be a real pain in the ass!
But I like difficult people... I must.
** By the way, the Lapplanders have a system for mushroom-eating, passed down to them by their ancestors. They discovered, through the wisdom of the ages, that their reindeers loved to eat the red capped mushrooms with white flecks. (Read a children's fairy tale and you'll see one, or read about the early Christians...) ( amanita muscaria )
Some of these guys are a little too close to their herds, and I can only suspect
that their ancestors were closer still. They observed their reindeer eating the mushrooms. And because, I can only surmise
reindeer piss was part of their regular diet - an early morning drink perhaps, before they had booze or coffee. And these "poor" primitive people started getting extremely high. When they went out in a sled pulled by reindeers, their sled started to fly across the night sky (so high they were). They started a myth about a fat holy man with a big sack (for gathering mushrooms), who'd wander around evergreen trees where the mushrooms grew. And he dressed in red and white, like the mushrooms.
And he'd get high and his sled would fly, and he'd laugh: Ho! Ho! Ho! And so we get this lovely story, more fact than fiction, usually told around the winter solstice: all as a result of: reindeer piss!
Mock nothing! Everything may serve.
Case 4. Respectfully submitted.
Monday, July 18, 2011
PURITANS! EUROPE IS LAUGHING AT US!
They think we are a bunch of Puritans! Even my native friends think we're a bunch of
PURITANS.... well, mostly the women think this. Because they are the ones who work the gardens, bleed every month, carry the water and the wood, do the cooking have the Children and PRETEND
to take the priests seriously.
Then we make 'em walk to the LIQUOR CONTROL BOARD and buy us our booze!
That's what we have up here - way the hell and gone up into the Great White North.
You can't walk into the rather austere room of the CONTROL Board hammered, or even pretending that you're hammered, or laughing too loudly. That way you you won't get a drink. And you can be banned for weeks....!
In the Victorian Era, (which Charlie's grandmother stepped right out of... Hell, she was born in the 1880s. She was Victorian! And she was not kidding about the LASH! ). In the Victorian
era. if a table leg had a curve to it, or had a gathering at the knee, or. worse still, an ankle. These
suggestive 'wooden body parts' were covered up with cloth... I think this was mostly in England,
but I'm sure there were some clothed table legs over here! There probably still are clothed
tabled legs in parts of New England and Ontario.
It's not the fad so much in L.A.
And I haven't seen A Liquor CONTROL Board south of the Canadian- U.S. border.
Nor do you see this phenomenon so much in Mexico or Peru. And I'm told that Sweden and South Africa are determined to get rid of linens on table leg ankles. Though certain of our Zulu brethern
and my Jamaican Rasta friends are getting to like cloths on table legs: because it gives them a place to hide from their women!
We have a rock and blues festival up here in North Bay. It takes place in August.
And 80,000 people attend and buy drinks. The festival takes place in a large park overlooking
a lake. Two people I know well were having sex on a tiny island about fifty yards out from the
crowds. The woman was kneeling on all fours ( to keep a look out). The man was kneeling behind
her. He was moving in a strange fashion, rather like a dog humping in the street.
On his face was an expression of pain. Well, he was in pain because tiny rocks and
sharp pieces of shells were digging into his bare knees.. He couldn't have lasted much longer because of the pains in his knees.
They sent a police boat after them! But they didn't stop screwing. It became a race
between the couple finishing the act and the arrival of the police boat.
Now the crowd caught onto this action and they stopped watching the stage. And eighty thousand people started cheering the couple on. With a loud rhythmic chant shouting something like, "GO! GO! GO!" It was hard to make out the words.
Well, the man didn't orgasm but the woman certainly did. And I'm sure the
woman helped the man out later.
But this wouldn't happen it Sweden. Would it? Please e-mail me at zappadat@themenace.ca. Of course, in Sweden naturally they'd be having sex. But would they send the police boat?
The point is: WE ARE A BUNCH OF PURITANS! And it's not good for our health.
I mean, we impeach a president because someone's giving him pleasure with her mouth! Come on!
And we despise the Taliban because they want women to wear veils? We're in the same league, I can tell you - only everybody's wearing a psychic condom they're not aware of.
Sexual liberation? It lasted fifteen minutes and we forgot what we learned.
I can tell you, Europe is laughing at us! Well, maybe not England. England understands us perfectly. But at least the English are intelligent enough to have developed a strong and sophisticated industry of sadomasocism. (Though I'm told members of Parliament keep trying
to turn back the clock and criminalize practices the nation should be proud of. Fools! Give the matter to the Tourist Bureau instead and have them advertise the Whipping Trade overseas.
I can tell you a lot of North Americans would come, and need to attend, and they'd be dropping their pants while pretending to study the Parliament Buildings)
I was laughing, too. But not with a police boat approaching.
And SEX! OOOPS! No one ever wanted to openly admit there was such a thing .
Things aren't so bad any more. But a perverted repression and all-pervasive guilt still resides
deep down in the psyche of North America.
And if you don't believe me, let me hypnotize you, if you live in North America
(And even if you don't). And we'll do some regression therapy together, and we'll see where you're
stuck and why.
And I promise not to bring out the electric sex toys until you're awake!
Years ago all the liquor bottles were hidden. We weren't allowed to see them.
That might have been an inducement for us to get plastered. Everything was hidden behind a white
partition wall. You had to write out your order quietly on a little slip. Then a government employee
in a smock would walk through a little door in the back, and bring you your bottle.
It was like watching a woman strip, when she never did take her clothes off.
And I'm at expert at stripping and the tease. I lived at a Burlesque Palace for a year and a half.
And I played guitar there every day.
So that's one ambition I've achieved. I'd always wanted to play in a band in a strip club, ever since I saw this woman take her clothes off and dance around this thick hanging rope, in a tiny club in Vienna with a hot three piece band.
Oh, and to be fair I must say: now when we walk into the Liquour Control
Board of Ontario, we can actually SEE the bottles! And we can touch 'em, too! And the people
working the cash registers are pleasant people, not judgmental fools!
So Europe is laughing and other parts of the world, as well. And that's O.K.
I was laughing, too, until they sent the cops.
PURITANS.... well, mostly the women think this. Because they are the ones who work the gardens, bleed every month, carry the water and the wood, do the cooking have the Children and PRETEND
to take the priests seriously.
Then we make 'em walk to the LIQUOR CONTROL BOARD and buy us our booze!
That's what we have up here - way the hell and gone up into the Great White North.
You can't walk into the rather austere room of the CONTROL Board hammered, or even pretending that you're hammered, or laughing too loudly. That way you you won't get a drink. And you can be banned for weeks....!
In the Victorian Era, (which Charlie's grandmother stepped right out of... Hell, she was born in the 1880s. She was Victorian! And she was not kidding about the LASH! ). In the Victorian
era. if a table leg had a curve to it, or had a gathering at the knee, or. worse still, an ankle. These
suggestive 'wooden body parts' were covered up with cloth... I think this was mostly in England,
but I'm sure there were some clothed table legs over here! There probably still are clothed
tabled legs in parts of New England and Ontario.
It's not the fad so much in L.A.
And I haven't seen A Liquor CONTROL Board south of the Canadian- U.S. border.
Nor do you see this phenomenon so much in Mexico or Peru. And I'm told that Sweden and South Africa are determined to get rid of linens on table leg ankles. Though certain of our Zulu brethern
and my Jamaican Rasta friends are getting to like cloths on table legs: because it gives them a place to hide from their women!
We have a rock and blues festival up here in North Bay. It takes place in August.
And 80,000 people attend and buy drinks. The festival takes place in a large park overlooking
a lake. Two people I know well were having sex on a tiny island about fifty yards out from the
crowds. The woman was kneeling on all fours ( to keep a look out). The man was kneeling behind
her. He was moving in a strange fashion, rather like a dog humping in the street.
On his face was an expression of pain. Well, he was in pain because tiny rocks and
sharp pieces of shells were digging into his bare knees.. He couldn't have lasted much longer because of the pains in his knees.
They sent a police boat after them! But they didn't stop screwing. It became a race
between the couple finishing the act and the arrival of the police boat.
Now the crowd caught onto this action and they stopped watching the stage. And eighty thousand people started cheering the couple on. With a loud rhythmic chant shouting something like, "GO! GO! GO!" It was hard to make out the words.
Well, the man didn't orgasm but the woman certainly did. And I'm sure the
woman helped the man out later.
But this wouldn't happen it Sweden. Would it? Please e-mail me at zappadat@themenace.ca. Of course, in Sweden naturally they'd be having sex. But would they send the police boat?
The point is: WE ARE A BUNCH OF PURITANS! And it's not good for our health.
I mean, we impeach a president because someone's giving him pleasure with her mouth! Come on!
And we despise the Taliban because they want women to wear veils? We're in the same league, I can tell you - only everybody's wearing a psychic condom they're not aware of.
Sexual liberation? It lasted fifteen minutes and we forgot what we learned.
I can tell you, Europe is laughing at us! Well, maybe not England. England understands us perfectly. But at least the English are intelligent enough to have developed a strong and sophisticated industry of sadomasocism. (Though I'm told members of Parliament keep trying
to turn back the clock and criminalize practices the nation should be proud of. Fools! Give the matter to the Tourist Bureau instead and have them advertise the Whipping Trade overseas.
I can tell you a lot of North Americans would come, and need to attend, and they'd be dropping their pants while pretending to study the Parliament Buildings)
I was laughing, too. But not with a police boat approaching.
And SEX! OOOPS! No one ever wanted to openly admit there was such a thing .
Things aren't so bad any more. But a perverted repression and all-pervasive guilt still resides
deep down in the psyche of North America.
And if you don't believe me, let me hypnotize you, if you live in North America
(And even if you don't). And we'll do some regression therapy together, and we'll see where you're
stuck and why.
And I promise not to bring out the electric sex toys until you're awake!
Years ago all the liquor bottles were hidden. We weren't allowed to see them.
That might have been an inducement for us to get plastered. Everything was hidden behind a white
partition wall. You had to write out your order quietly on a little slip. Then a government employee
in a smock would walk through a little door in the back, and bring you your bottle.
It was like watching a woman strip, when she never did take her clothes off.
And I'm at expert at stripping and the tease. I lived at a Burlesque Palace for a year and a half.
And I played guitar there every day.
So that's one ambition I've achieved. I'd always wanted to play in a band in a strip club, ever since I saw this woman take her clothes off and dance around this thick hanging rope, in a tiny club in Vienna with a hot three piece band.
Oh, and to be fair I must say: now when we walk into the Liquour Control
Board of Ontario, we can actually SEE the bottles! And we can touch 'em, too! And the people
working the cash registers are pleasant people, not judgmental fools!
So Europe is laughing and other parts of the world, as well. And that's O.K.
I was laughing, too, until they sent the cops.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
SHAME OF ONE'S COUNTRY and THE IMAGINATION OF FOOLS!
. I have spent some time in Northern India and I grew up for ten years in St. Anne's parish, Jamaica. I've sat around campfires with people that's all they had was campfires, who were still willing to share the little food they had with me.
And they were happy to share that food with a stranger, and I made sure to give them food
back as soon as possible. Otherwise I would have been acting without honour. And when I see modern Canadian tanks shooting into the lands of a destitute people, I am ashamed of my country
for the first time in my life. Because we are acting without honour.
You cannot mess around with people living at a subsistence level, as are many of the people living in Afghanistan. (Watch, "Love Crimes of Kabul" and you'll see what I mean). Some of my army buddies call me a 'bleeding heart" or a "milktoast". But they smile and they're
joking when they say it. And remember, these are the guys who haven't been there yet!
And I'm a better shot than all of them - ( with one exception). The guys coming back tell a different story, and they are not quite so happy with themselves.
I spend more time in the Northern Canadian bush than I should probably admit, and the only people who can stand to spend more than a day there with me are native people. Because a lot of native people are used to the bush and they don't go crazy when they are in it. And they roll on the ground laughing when I start, "Shouting at the Birds".
They don't fall prey to that, "I'M LOST!" panic and start running back and forth until someone runs into a tree or steps through a canoe. And then you've a twelve mile "walk" with a broken leg up over rock and down through swamps, and the agony you feel... or worse - the indifference you can feel - lying still and watching every square inch of your body seethe with insects!
And you're at peace.... only you shouldn't be a peace. Because peace at such times is dangerous. Peace at such times will kill you: you'll be eaten alive.
Sometimes steps have to be taken, whether you want to or not.
We are living at a time when all the civil rights of the populace have been suspended
in Canada and the United States, in North America, once "Land of the Free", we incarcerate
more people per capita than any another country in the world.
And that was before the Patriot Act and the Anti-Terrorist Bills in both our countries.
Hell, now we can be incarcerated without trial, so watch those jails fill up! Oh, they're already full?
That's why they're building large "containment camps" - for the crowd that is sure to follow!
When the full reality of the Treason that has been perpetrated sinks into the hearts and minds and souls of the North American People, they will become so incensed that I think we might
be look at a lynchin' - like what used to happen in stories of the American West.
When people catch on that we have been screwed around, by some Fat Cats who think
they're above the law and immune to prosecuting, the military industrial complex is going to need
those mercenaries they keep hiring. But they won't be enough. And several States in the West will have to be walled off to form a big enough containment camp.
What's happening in Egypt is going to look like a kiddie hotdog picnic in the park when
it truly sinks in that we've been sold a bill of goods
I'm not blaming our troops, for they are stuck in a Bad Situation, just like we are in the populations, feeling like marks. Because it's terribly hard to fight an enemy who may not exist.
We may be fighting an enemy that exists only in some treasonous fool's imagination -
that fool being the one who made up a bedtime story for us, so we'd wake up hopping mad in the morning.
"The year 2000 will be branded in history as the 'year of the Doomed Election,' which caused millions of Americans to question themselves & suffer loss of Self Esteem for seemingly
unexplainable reasons"......"the Presidency has been corrupted and the U.S. Supreme Court.
Millions of Americans will never again be Confident that their vote will be counted in any election."
(Hunter S. Thompson, my friend all too briefly, R.I.P.)
from, "Hey, Rube"
Hunter S. Thompson
What's insulting about the obvious fraud that took place in Building 7: nobody's even bothering to make an intelligent coverup! Now that's arrogance, and what does that tell you?
And they were happy to share that food with a stranger, and I made sure to give them food
back as soon as possible. Otherwise I would have been acting without honour. And when I see modern Canadian tanks shooting into the lands of a destitute people, I am ashamed of my country
for the first time in my life. Because we are acting without honour.
You cannot mess around with people living at a subsistence level, as are many of the people living in Afghanistan. (Watch, "Love Crimes of Kabul" and you'll see what I mean). Some of my army buddies call me a 'bleeding heart" or a "milktoast". But they smile and they're
joking when they say it. And remember, these are the guys who haven't been there yet!
And I'm a better shot than all of them - ( with one exception). The guys coming back tell a different story, and they are not quite so happy with themselves.
I spend more time in the Northern Canadian bush than I should probably admit, and the only people who can stand to spend more than a day there with me are native people. Because a lot of native people are used to the bush and they don't go crazy when they are in it. And they roll on the ground laughing when I start, "Shouting at the Birds".
They don't fall prey to that, "I'M LOST!" panic and start running back and forth until someone runs into a tree or steps through a canoe. And then you've a twelve mile "walk" with a broken leg up over rock and down through swamps, and the agony you feel... or worse - the indifference you can feel - lying still and watching every square inch of your body seethe with insects!
And you're at peace.... only you shouldn't be a peace. Because peace at such times is dangerous. Peace at such times will kill you: you'll be eaten alive.
Sometimes steps have to be taken, whether you want to or not.
We are living at a time when all the civil rights of the populace have been suspended
in Canada and the United States, in North America, once "Land of the Free", we incarcerate
more people per capita than any another country in the world.
And that was before the Patriot Act and the Anti-Terrorist Bills in both our countries.
Hell, now we can be incarcerated without trial, so watch those jails fill up! Oh, they're already full?
That's why they're building large "containment camps" - for the crowd that is sure to follow!
When the full reality of the Treason that has been perpetrated sinks into the hearts and minds and souls of the North American People, they will become so incensed that I think we might
be look at a lynchin' - like what used to happen in stories of the American West.
When people catch on that we have been screwed around, by some Fat Cats who think
they're above the law and immune to prosecuting, the military industrial complex is going to need
those mercenaries they keep hiring. But they won't be enough. And several States in the West will have to be walled off to form a big enough containment camp.
What's happening in Egypt is going to look like a kiddie hotdog picnic in the park when
it truly sinks in that we've been sold a bill of goods
I'm not blaming our troops, for they are stuck in a Bad Situation, just like we are in the populations, feeling like marks. Because it's terribly hard to fight an enemy who may not exist.
We may be fighting an enemy that exists only in some treasonous fool's imagination -
that fool being the one who made up a bedtime story for us, so we'd wake up hopping mad in the morning.
"The year 2000 will be branded in history as the 'year of the Doomed Election,' which caused millions of Americans to question themselves & suffer loss of Self Esteem for seemingly
unexplainable reasons"......"the Presidency has been corrupted and the U.S. Supreme Court.
Millions of Americans will never again be Confident that their vote will be counted in any election."
(Hunter S. Thompson, my friend all too briefly, R.I.P.)
from, "Hey, Rube"
Hunter S. Thompson
What's insulting about the obvious fraud that took place in Building 7: nobody's even bothering to make an intelligent coverup! Now that's arrogance, and what does that tell you?
Saturday, July 16, 2011
STUDIES IN ORGASM: " IF YOUR FETISH IS NOT HIGHLY EMBARASSING, IT IS NOT YOUR FETISH!
I'm going to try to keep this article short, because it is not a Case Study. Our psychologist is indisposed. And our attending physician looks at me with the old fish eye. Is it something I've done? Is it something I've said? Does everybody hate me?
Who cares? If you're not careful a few negative thoughts can transform into a real BLACK MAMBO SNAKE OF A NEGATIVE SCRIPT. Negative scripts usually derive from parental voices,but this is not always the case. Sometimes it's too much exposure to an evil priest. Or it can be a thieving predatory Uncle. Or maybe your grandmother fixes you with a cold, condemning stare
and says something understanding to you, like: "They should bring back the lash!"
And this is a perfect segue into the case of a Male Masocist, who we'll call Charles. We'll maintain our policy of anonymity, because a person can tell an intimate story after a few drinks and be horrified that he said a word in the morning. And if that person feels true dread about what he might have said, he doesn't want to see his story appear in some kind of headline the next day!
CASE 3 - CHARLES
_________________
This case is just as Charles related it. (I might have added an adjective here or there).
" I can only imagine the horrors she visited upon me when I was a naked babe of six months, lolling and gurgling in my bassinette, fondling my infantile erection and watching the seagulls
fly past the windows to the south."
"I seem to remember a few of those early times quite clearly. I remember being sexually stimulated before I reached one year of age. Many people will say, 'Oh that's bullshit!' But I can tell you, the existence of infantile arousal is a fact that is beyond dispute. I remember quite a few very intense moments while I was still standing in my crib with the walls up, so I wouldn't chase some hot number down the stairs on my hands and knees.There were those two Scandanavian
maids.. but they are another story."
"There are a few other suspects. I had visitors when I was in naked in the mini-bath. There was my grandmother, "Nana" who had a snake-eyed cold streak sometimes when she stared down at me. Her primary interests were: Flogging, Punishment, and the Lash! So I was not imagining her evil eye. I am almost certain that my early arousals did not have anything to do with this reptilian mind from the Victorian era. She was not a woman who believed in titillation. You can trust me in this."
"Then there was my mother, who was a hot number; and in the fifties, stylish women wore tight skirts that hugged the hips and descended to constrain the knees - almost as if they were in
bondage.Thoughts of bondage prey upon my mind, even to this day. I remember watching her hips sway as she sauntered teasingly out of my bedroom. I was standing there, a prisoner in my crib. I probably was screaming and begging her to stay. I remember the feeling of begging which arouses me even now."
"I discovered this recently, to my shock and surprise. Helplessly begging for a woman's favours, even grovelling while I beg: this is a real turn-on for me."
(I know this is not the subject of this BLOG. But a masocistic fetish is very similar in men and women)
" I remember there was a party going on downstairs. I was allowed to join the cocktail party before going to bed. I crawled under my mother's skirt and it was some kind of crinoline affair. I stood under her dress for about twenty minutes while my mother talked to other drinkers. I remember staring up at her crotch and buttocks all tightly encased in a taut girdle. I stood there looking up for what seemed like twenty minutes. It was probably closer to five minutes - but no less than that! A young fella can absorb a whole lot of reality in that length of time!"
"I wanted to stay at the party for obvious reasons. I remember feeling heat in my groin.
Then she carried me upstairs and said goodnight to me and I watched her teasingly walk away,
as deliberate in her taunting as any hooker I followed down Mainstreet in later years. Exactly the same, really. And then she killed the lights and slowly and with exacting firmness shut the door. There was a sadistic streak in the way she shut the door."
"I was left to my own devices and it took me a long time to catch my breath and lose my boner. All my life I've been trying to analyse why I've been a masocist aroused by pain and and a
humiliating sense of my own helplessness. For the longest time I had no idea what happened to me! Now I think I have a clue. But discovery has taken 30 years."
"And to be honest, as I grew to maturity I found these truths about myself highly embarassing. What man wants to be intensely hot and tumescent over feeling ineffectual, helpless and powerless? It has been very hard on my self esteem."
"After 2,000 hours of psychotherapy, I see that embarrassment can be part of the fun.
But it's only when I'm in the control of a dominant woman with a sadistic streak that I can have any fun at all."
After reviewing Charles' story, let me enumerate one definite principle of sexology:
PRINCIPLE 7: IF YOUR FETISH IS NOT HIGHLY EMBARRASSING AND SHAMEFUL TO YOU, IT IS NOT YOUR REAL FETISH!
Charles: "Yes, begging mother not to leave. I wanted her to stay, for all the wrong reasons. And I can clearly see her sauntering away, slowly, teasingly swinging her hips, while I was panting and begging her to stay, screaming and pleading. I remember her shutting off my bedroom lights, walking towards the light in the hall. and without turning around, I remember she deliberately and very firmly shut my bedroom door. I have reenacted that denial many times throughout the years in many demeaning ways."
JOHN ROCK AND THE ANGELS --- WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT: A STUDY IN WOMEN'S LOVE
O.K. It's time for me to be even more honest, which I hope you will not hold against me!
(Isn't this a country song: "If I Said you have a Beautiful Body, would you hold it against me?)
There are five people who participate in this blog, on the writing and experimetial end - no, I must say, "Six." For there are the courageous women who form this group.
There is nothing, nowhere, and no place: where any human being from six to one hundred and sixteen is any more vulnerable than in his/her sex. Now that's just a fact, and you can trust me in this: I used to be a singer-songwriter, and I led my own band and played a terrific rhythm guitar. And in all honesty, women used to line up by the stage to have sex with me.(Though truly for the first six months, I had NO IDEA what these gorgeous,intelligent patient and
pneumatic, clear-eyed, strong and hungry female human animals were doing in a line.)
Let's say there were eight to fifteen women before the stage in one very orderly
line that formed a near perfect right-angel with the line of stage monitors ( a line that defines the front of the stage.) 90 degrees! And these were quiet cats. They didn't talk to each other. They had no need to talk to each other. All these fine women (with great musical taste and fulsome limbs)
they were of one Mind. And let's call it the Mind of Diana the Huntress.
I'd walk by behind the amplifiers and when I glanced into the crowd, what I was
seeing was a phenomenon so strange that at first it did not compute in my brain. I remember
asking Charlie, our bass player, who was still standing on stage with his guitar, patiently
watching the sea of people get more and more roused to demand an encore: I asked him, "What
in God's Name are all those beautiful creature doing?"
He said, "They're waiting for you." And he smiled. Charlie is a little guy with one big sardonic smile.
"You're out of your mind!" I replied and he could see I meant it so he started to laugh. Now Charlie, was an experienced musician and he'd been to a lot of shows and many recording sessions. So I tended to trust him. But not in this case. This was too weird even for me to digest.
When I was 20-30-40 years old I was a good looking man. People told me this, but I never really believed them. And by the time I was mature enough to see a semi-semblance of
reality, I was no longer particularly good looking. In fact, I'd avoid mirrors until noon, because I definitely did not want to see my big bloodshot eyes staring intently back at me first thing in the A.M. The experience was frightening because I could see my own mortality clear as a coconut in a
dancing palm tree. And no one wants to see this before their first stiffener (in my case 190 proof full strength Wray and Nephew white rum fed with an eye-dropper into strong Blue Mountain coffee).
What's the point? The point is that any one of these women would have ignored me in a half-empty restaurant. These were Alpha females and they really looked the part. I'm an Alpha male, but I do all kinds of things to disguise this fact. And usually my disguise as a half-assed
sheepish comedian works.
Any man with half a brain, and who has studied Greek mythology and the Grimm fairy tales KNOWS that fifteen women of the tribe of Diana the Huntress standing together
with silent intent is a situation more dangerous than an 8.0 earthquake. Any one of these gals could absolutely devastate your life. And ten of them together might decide to divvy up your body parts for souvenirs.
With a bottle of whiskey in me I'd shake all their hands, kiss their cheeks, respectfully look in each woman's eyes and solemnly greet her, then lead four or five of them
upstairs. But almost always very little happened because I've been gradually turning into
more and more of a monk. We'd get down to bras and panties and underwear and do a lot of fondling. But we had very little out and out sex,
I'd order up five bottles of red wine and some club house sandwhich and we'd eat and talk and many times we'd all pass out in the same bed and I'd wake up at five in the
morning with all these lovely women coiled around me. And I'd gaze a long time at each of them
with utter attention. And I loved every one of them in my heart-mind and I stroked their hair, and I asked the Lord of the Meeting Rivers, God of Poetry and Song and the One whose presence
rides the clouds and I asked a blessing for all of us. And that's what we received.
These women were not coming upstairs with me just because they wanted
sexual love; they wanted an embrace and a communion of the eyes, and a glimpse of that
wondrous lover they'd always seen just a little bit out of reach, the magic man who was always disappearing around corners. This is the love they heard in my songs, and this is why I suppose they followed me upstairs.
And I loved them for the constancy of their dream. And when I left them
still safe and asleep, I was usually weeping as I looked back one last time and saw them
glowing in the light of early dawn, imbued with a beauty too strong for me to bear.
(Isn't this a country song: "If I Said you have a Beautiful Body, would you hold it against me?)
There are five people who participate in this blog, on the writing and experimetial end - no, I must say, "Six." For there are the courageous women who form this group.
There is nothing, nowhere, and no place: where any human being from six to one hundred and sixteen is any more vulnerable than in his/her sex. Now that's just a fact, and you can trust me in this: I used to be a singer-songwriter, and I led my own band and played a terrific rhythm guitar. And in all honesty, women used to line up by the stage to have sex with me.(Though truly for the first six months, I had NO IDEA what these gorgeous,intelligent patient and
pneumatic, clear-eyed, strong and hungry female human animals were doing in a line.)
Let's say there were eight to fifteen women before the stage in one very orderly
line that formed a near perfect right-angel with the line of stage monitors ( a line that defines the front of the stage.) 90 degrees! And these were quiet cats. They didn't talk to each other. They had no need to talk to each other. All these fine women (with great musical taste and fulsome limbs)
they were of one Mind. And let's call it the Mind of Diana the Huntress.
I'd walk by behind the amplifiers and when I glanced into the crowd, what I was
seeing was a phenomenon so strange that at first it did not compute in my brain. I remember
asking Charlie, our bass player, who was still standing on stage with his guitar, patiently
watching the sea of people get more and more roused to demand an encore: I asked him, "What
in God's Name are all those beautiful creature doing?"
He said, "They're waiting for you." And he smiled. Charlie is a little guy with one big sardonic smile.
"You're out of your mind!" I replied and he could see I meant it so he started to laugh. Now Charlie, was an experienced musician and he'd been to a lot of shows and many recording sessions. So I tended to trust him. But not in this case. This was too weird even for me to digest.
When I was 20-30-40 years old I was a good looking man. People told me this, but I never really believed them. And by the time I was mature enough to see a semi-semblance of
reality, I was no longer particularly good looking. In fact, I'd avoid mirrors until noon, because I definitely did not want to see my big bloodshot eyes staring intently back at me first thing in the A.M. The experience was frightening because I could see my own mortality clear as a coconut in a
dancing palm tree. And no one wants to see this before their first stiffener (in my case 190 proof full strength Wray and Nephew white rum fed with an eye-dropper into strong Blue Mountain coffee).
What's the point? The point is that any one of these women would have ignored me in a half-empty restaurant. These were Alpha females and they really looked the part. I'm an Alpha male, but I do all kinds of things to disguise this fact. And usually my disguise as a half-assed
sheepish comedian works.
Any man with half a brain, and who has studied Greek mythology and the Grimm fairy tales KNOWS that fifteen women of the tribe of Diana the Huntress standing together
with silent intent is a situation more dangerous than an 8.0 earthquake. Any one of these gals could absolutely devastate your life. And ten of them together might decide to divvy up your body parts for souvenirs.
With a bottle of whiskey in me I'd shake all their hands, kiss their cheeks, respectfully look in each woman's eyes and solemnly greet her, then lead four or five of them
upstairs. But almost always very little happened because I've been gradually turning into
more and more of a monk. We'd get down to bras and panties and underwear and do a lot of fondling. But we had very little out and out sex,
I'd order up five bottles of red wine and some club house sandwhich and we'd eat and talk and many times we'd all pass out in the same bed and I'd wake up at five in the
morning with all these lovely women coiled around me. And I'd gaze a long time at each of them
with utter attention. And I loved every one of them in my heart-mind and I stroked their hair, and I asked the Lord of the Meeting Rivers, God of Poetry and Song and the One whose presence
rides the clouds and I asked a blessing for all of us. And that's what we received.
These women were not coming upstairs with me just because they wanted
sexual love; they wanted an embrace and a communion of the eyes, and a glimpse of that
wondrous lover they'd always seen just a little bit out of reach, the magic man who was always disappearing around corners. This is the love they heard in my songs, and this is why I suppose they followed me upstairs.
And I loved them for the constancy of their dream. And when I left them
still safe and asleep, I was usually weeping as I looked back one last time and saw them
glowing in the light of early dawn, imbued with a beauty too strong for me to bear.
Friday, July 15, 2011
STUDIES IN THE FEMALE ORGASM - CASE TWO: MADELAINE: PRINCIPLES AND METHODS , RAISING THE CLEANSING HEAT OF PASSION
NOTICE - DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNDER 18. WARNING: DISTURBING MATERIALS OF A SEXUAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL NATURE.
Principle(5) Public humiliation, (or perceived public humiliation) is often a transporting factor.
Humiliation is also the arousing fetish in itself, ie: the source of arousal.
Usually the need is to be be punished for the shame of experiencing sex , (a "disgusting urge" that the woman can only allow herself to feel because she's being punished).
Spanking works well in this context. The heat felt in the buttocks during a good paddling
is the transporting factor that gives the woman permission to feel the shameful urge.
Male masocism works much the same way as female masocism. The need to utterly
give over one's power is fulfilled. Also, spanking is a sexual fetish all by itself.
In the same way, many and maybe even most women have secret fantasies of being
raped and utterly overpowered and taken by a ravaging man. There's a whole lot of guilt women
feel over rape fantasies. And a rape fantasy is not a secret a woman usually shares with her
mate. Of course, there are delightful exceptions.
More spanking is often required.
(6) DISTRACTION is also a very useful tool in allowing sexual arousal to build
For example, Madelaine can only experience sexual desire, excitement and arousal,
when she pretends none of it is happening. She must distract herself by reading a magazine and keeping her mind busy on another subject entirely, while she is pleasured orally and with the use of a vibrator.
Her husband felt that such a menial task was beneath him. And he was part of the problem. He insisted that she should be able to orgasm just from his penetrating her. But
the fact of the matter is, a woman who suffers from intense anxiety because of some interdiction
against sex (whether it be familial or religious or the result of some fearful abuse as a child), such a woman will not experience orgasm as a result of penetration alone, regardless of the size of the
organ penetrating her.
Orgasm will not occur without the aid of both psychological and physical tools.
In Madelaine's case it was necessary to place the husband in another room with the door shut,
while an assistant pleasured his wife.
You must understand, I had no idea what measures were required to move this
lovely woman into a primal experience. The idea of the magazine came later, when I noticed
her gritting her teeth and shaking when anyone approached her, especially her husband.
(6) The use of distraction is sometimes essential.
At first I tried an erotic book, but that didn't work at all. Finally we settled on
an architectural digest, which she read with desperate concentration. I inserted a thin
unobtrusive vibrator between her labia and let the tip of the vibrator "accidentally'
graze her clitoris from time to time. Then I gently and quietly inserted the vibrator into
her, and had an assistant press his tongue against her clitoris with no movement at all.
After five minutes he started to lick her gently. And I turned the vibrations
up ever so slowly.
All this time she did not acknowledge the fact that there was a man between her thighs, nor did she look at me. I was sitting pretty much out of her view, but that didn't matter.
By the third session she had started to relax somewhat, and look forward to
the session.
The one light in the room was focused on the magazine. The bed was in relative darkness. When arousal started to break through to her, she started crying out with this
hot intense voice filled with aniety. She was certainly shocked and couldn't really believe that
this was happening to her; and she cried out more and more, and louder and louder and started
gasping.
Talk about a transporting experience! I was having more and more trouble maintaining my professional distance. The pressure built up more and more, and I made sure nothing changed; I knew the dam was going to burst. This woman had never once experiendced
orgasm in her entire life, and so when the moment finally came after incredible resistance on
her part, she shouted and clutched and throbbed and shouted at the top of her lungs.
Previously she had been a quiet, polite person, and very articulate, an English teacher.
The rhythmic pulsing shouts and howls from the deepest part of her lasted an incredibly long
time. She woke up a couple who were sound asleep on the third floor of this old brick and stone house, and we were in the basement.
She had passed through the barrier and had taken her first steps on the road back
to health.
Interestingly, she was able to give up her three pack a day smoking habit within the year.
I couldn't let her husband go near her for ten days. But having heard the sounds of her
orgasm from the next room, he was suddenly more than willing to co-operate in any way whatsoever. In fact, our psychologist was willing to give him lessons in performing oral sex
all that week.
When he finally was able to visit his wife once more, he gave her two dozen roses,
and had learned something. A lot of coaching was still required to prevent the same tension
from arising between them again, and ruining everything. The husband had an unfortunate habit of acting in a parental fashion. This reminded Madelaine of her father. And Madelaine's father had been a monster, who had terrified her as a child.
Madelaine had recurring dreams of the shadow of her father entering her bedroom in the middle of the night. And the shadow was holding a knife - an obvious phallic symbol. And maybe it wasn't just a symbol of a phallus, maybe it really was a hard-on in his hand. After dreams like that as a little girl, it was difficult for her to relax around sex as a grown woman.
And the father had the nerve to be moralistic about her sex, after performing in such a way himself. My God, the hypocrisy!
Guilt and terrifying dreams must be expunged. The tubes must be all blown out clean.
And your Roving Reporter has various means of blasting the psyche clean. Passion is a psychic
cleanser. And I've found that bending a woman bare-assed over a pile of pillows, so that her bum is raised as an obvious and vulnerable target: this is a highly erotic thing to do. It's erotic to her because she's given over her power, and she's utterly under your command .It's best to force her to assume this position gradually.
Then, holding her down with a hand on the small of her back, I've always found that a slow and deliberate whipping of her bare buttocks with a riding crop is an excellent way to
ignite passion.
CASE TWO - Respectfully submitted.
Principle(5) Public humiliation, (or perceived public humiliation) is often a transporting factor.
Humiliation is also the arousing fetish in itself, ie: the source of arousal.
Usually the need is to be be punished for the shame of experiencing sex , (a "disgusting urge" that the woman can only allow herself to feel because she's being punished).
Spanking works well in this context. The heat felt in the buttocks during a good paddling
is the transporting factor that gives the woman permission to feel the shameful urge.
Male masocism works much the same way as female masocism. The need to utterly
give over one's power is fulfilled. Also, spanking is a sexual fetish all by itself.
In the same way, many and maybe even most women have secret fantasies of being
raped and utterly overpowered and taken by a ravaging man. There's a whole lot of guilt women
feel over rape fantasies. And a rape fantasy is not a secret a woman usually shares with her
mate. Of course, there are delightful exceptions.
More spanking is often required.
(6) DISTRACTION is also a very useful tool in allowing sexual arousal to build
For example, Madelaine can only experience sexual desire, excitement and arousal,
when she pretends none of it is happening. She must distract herself by reading a magazine and keeping her mind busy on another subject entirely, while she is pleasured orally and with the use of a vibrator.
Her husband felt that such a menial task was beneath him. And he was part of the problem. He insisted that she should be able to orgasm just from his penetrating her. But
the fact of the matter is, a woman who suffers from intense anxiety because of some interdiction
against sex (whether it be familial or religious or the result of some fearful abuse as a child), such a woman will not experience orgasm as a result of penetration alone, regardless of the size of the
organ penetrating her.
Orgasm will not occur without the aid of both psychological and physical tools.
In Madelaine's case it was necessary to place the husband in another room with the door shut,
while an assistant pleasured his wife.
You must understand, I had no idea what measures were required to move this
lovely woman into a primal experience. The idea of the magazine came later, when I noticed
her gritting her teeth and shaking when anyone approached her, especially her husband.
(6) The use of distraction is sometimes essential.
At first I tried an erotic book, but that didn't work at all. Finally we settled on
an architectural digest, which she read with desperate concentration. I inserted a thin
unobtrusive vibrator between her labia and let the tip of the vibrator "accidentally'
graze her clitoris from time to time. Then I gently and quietly inserted the vibrator into
her, and had an assistant press his tongue against her clitoris with no movement at all.
After five minutes he started to lick her gently. And I turned the vibrations
up ever so slowly.
All this time she did not acknowledge the fact that there was a man between her thighs, nor did she look at me. I was sitting pretty much out of her view, but that didn't matter.
By the third session she had started to relax somewhat, and look forward to
the session.
The one light in the room was focused on the magazine. The bed was in relative darkness. When arousal started to break through to her, she started crying out with this
hot intense voice filled with aniety. She was certainly shocked and couldn't really believe that
this was happening to her; and she cried out more and more, and louder and louder and started
gasping.
Talk about a transporting experience! I was having more and more trouble maintaining my professional distance. The pressure built up more and more, and I made sure nothing changed; I knew the dam was going to burst. This woman had never once experiendced
orgasm in her entire life, and so when the moment finally came after incredible resistance on
her part, she shouted and clutched and throbbed and shouted at the top of her lungs.
Previously she had been a quiet, polite person, and very articulate, an English teacher.
The rhythmic pulsing shouts and howls from the deepest part of her lasted an incredibly long
time. She woke up a couple who were sound asleep on the third floor of this old brick and stone house, and we were in the basement.
She had passed through the barrier and had taken her first steps on the road back
to health.
Interestingly, she was able to give up her three pack a day smoking habit within the year.
I couldn't let her husband go near her for ten days. But having heard the sounds of her
orgasm from the next room, he was suddenly more than willing to co-operate in any way whatsoever. In fact, our psychologist was willing to give him lessons in performing oral sex
all that week.
When he finally was able to visit his wife once more, he gave her two dozen roses,
and had learned something. A lot of coaching was still required to prevent the same tension
from arising between them again, and ruining everything. The husband had an unfortunate habit of acting in a parental fashion. This reminded Madelaine of her father. And Madelaine's father had been a monster, who had terrified her as a child.
Madelaine had recurring dreams of the shadow of her father entering her bedroom in the middle of the night. And the shadow was holding a knife - an obvious phallic symbol. And maybe it wasn't just a symbol of a phallus, maybe it really was a hard-on in his hand. After dreams like that as a little girl, it was difficult for her to relax around sex as a grown woman.
And the father had the nerve to be moralistic about her sex, after performing in such a way himself. My God, the hypocrisy!
Guilt and terrifying dreams must be expunged. The tubes must be all blown out clean.
And your Roving Reporter has various means of blasting the psyche clean. Passion is a psychic
cleanser. And I've found that bending a woman bare-assed over a pile of pillows, so that her bum is raised as an obvious and vulnerable target: this is a highly erotic thing to do. It's erotic to her because she's given over her power, and she's utterly under your command .It's best to force her to assume this position gradually.
Then, holding her down with a hand on the small of her back, I've always found that a slow and deliberate whipping of her bare buttocks with a riding crop is an excellent way to
ignite passion.
CASE TWO - Respectfully submitted.
THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS; MELISSA IS SCREAMING IN THE GARAGE! STUDIES IN THE FEMALE ORGASM
I had to stop writing about religious matters because I was starting to see cross-eyed and I was getting threats from the religious community. Subtle comments like: "YOU ARE GOING TO HELL!"which got me laughing. Or, DO YOU KNOW WHAT HELL IS LIKE? I e-mailed back, "I can arrange tours. Starting at 2:45P.M today. Bring women and liquor!"
Then I got into this more important subject, and I ran into Walker Ballantine's famous article: "THERE ARE TWO REASONS I GET ON MY KNEES!" And I knew I was onto the scent. This story has already taken me into some strange and disreputable places. And Ballantine's mind is stranger and more disreputable than most washrooms in most train stations.
Take Melissa, for example. I have her tied over an armchair in the garage, an armchair I
have flipped over onto the cement upside down. So I could tie her naked limbs spread eagle to the legs of the chair. I can hear her screaming, howling really, into the night. I should shut the garage door.
It's 4:30 A.M. and the neighbours need to sleep.
My closest neighbour is my attending physician, but he'd rather not attend.
Oh, that was a good one! She's really putting her back into it No one can scream like that
unless they really mean it! The dogs around the lake are starting to bark...If the people in her legal office could see her now!
To put your minds at rest, your Roving Reporter comports himself with the utmost
integrity at all times. I obtained a 13 page "Medical and Legal Release" and had her sign it in triplicate. The RELEASE is iron-clad. I know because I drafted it myself.
Also I work with a male psychiatrist and a female Masters in psychology. Sometimes I have to employ a couple of hookers as well.
A few principles of sexology, penned by yours truly.
Principle 1: There is nothing 'nice' about orgasm.( Especially in Melissa's case because she has not had an orgasm in 35 years. And frankly that's just damn unhealthy - for her and for everybody else. She's a strong woman physically and mentally. And around the office she's turning into a real prick. She came to me for help and I told her I'd take the job, but it wasn't going to be pleasant. And it was going to cost her!
Principle 2: Tools and fuel are necessary.
( NOTICE- PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS ARTICLE IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! I don't need more legal hassles. WARNING: THIS CASE STUDY INCLUDES SADOMASOCISTIC ELEMENTS. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY SUCH SUBJECTS, READ NO FURTHER)
Principle 3: Extreme Measures May Have to Be Taken.
Case History:(a) The subject attended a catholic girls school for 13 years.
(b) Her father is psychotic. The very thought that his daughter is having sex with anyone throws him into a destructive rage. Last week he managed to gain entrance into her underground parking garage and he attacked her BMW with a fire axe.
(c) Her mother's favourite expression when talking to her was: "A person of your quality need never cry." The psychological damage that this cruel advice has caused Melissa is incalculable.
Once she was tied up and naked with her buttocks up near the ceiling, I administered a sedative orally (which, believe me, she was going to need).
Melissa doesn't really like me, and her disdain is useful in this case.
Principle 4:Fear and shock are necessary psychological tools.
At the moment she is penetrated anally by a radio-controlled device designed especially for that purpose. I can adjust the speeds from up here in the house.
When she wakes up from the sedative in several hours, I have a surprise planned
that will scare the hell out of her. Then all her resistance will be gone. She will be utterly compliant
and I can really go to work on her.
She will endure orgasm soon after dawn. After 35 years, it will not be a quiet
procedure.
She will not forget the moment. It will be an experience she will treasure for the rest of her life. How she will feel about me afterwards remains to be seen.
But I am a professional. I am used to the mixed feelings of the women I cure. Sometimes their hatred persists.
PLEASE NOTE: THE ROVING REPORTER IS NOT A DOCTOR. AND DESPITE THE UNDOUBTED SUCCESS OF HIS METHODS, VERY FEW MEMBERS OF THE MEDICAL COMMUNITY APPROVE OF HIS PRINCIPLES.
Then I got into this more important subject, and I ran into Walker Ballantine's famous article: "THERE ARE TWO REASONS I GET ON MY KNEES!" And I knew I was onto the scent. This story has already taken me into some strange and disreputable places. And Ballantine's mind is stranger and more disreputable than most washrooms in most train stations.
Take Melissa, for example. I have her tied over an armchair in the garage, an armchair I
have flipped over onto the cement upside down. So I could tie her naked limbs spread eagle to the legs of the chair. I can hear her screaming, howling really, into the night. I should shut the garage door.
It's 4:30 A.M. and the neighbours need to sleep.
My closest neighbour is my attending physician, but he'd rather not attend.
Oh, that was a good one! She's really putting her back into it No one can scream like that
unless they really mean it! The dogs around the lake are starting to bark...If the people in her legal office could see her now!
To put your minds at rest, your Roving Reporter comports himself with the utmost
integrity at all times. I obtained a 13 page "Medical and Legal Release" and had her sign it in triplicate. The RELEASE is iron-clad. I know because I drafted it myself.
Also I work with a male psychiatrist and a female Masters in psychology. Sometimes I have to employ a couple of hookers as well.
A few principles of sexology, penned by yours truly.
Principle 1: There is nothing 'nice' about orgasm.( Especially in Melissa's case because she has not had an orgasm in 35 years. And frankly that's just damn unhealthy - for her and for everybody else. She's a strong woman physically and mentally. And around the office she's turning into a real prick. She came to me for help and I told her I'd take the job, but it wasn't going to be pleasant. And it was going to cost her!
Principle 2: Tools and fuel are necessary.
( NOTICE- PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS ARTICLE IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! I don't need more legal hassles. WARNING: THIS CASE STUDY INCLUDES SADOMASOCISTIC ELEMENTS. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY SUCH SUBJECTS, READ NO FURTHER)
Principle 3: Extreme Measures May Have to Be Taken.
Case History:(a) The subject attended a catholic girls school for 13 years.
(b) Her father is psychotic. The very thought that his daughter is having sex with anyone throws him into a destructive rage. Last week he managed to gain entrance into her underground parking garage and he attacked her BMW with a fire axe.
(c) Her mother's favourite expression when talking to her was: "A person of your quality need never cry." The psychological damage that this cruel advice has caused Melissa is incalculable.
Once she was tied up and naked with her buttocks up near the ceiling, I administered a sedative orally (which, believe me, she was going to need).
Melissa doesn't really like me, and her disdain is useful in this case.
Principle 4:Fear and shock are necessary psychological tools.
At the moment she is penetrated anally by a radio-controlled device designed especially for that purpose. I can adjust the speeds from up here in the house.
When she wakes up from the sedative in several hours, I have a surprise planned
that will scare the hell out of her. Then all her resistance will be gone. She will be utterly compliant
and I can really go to work on her.
She will endure orgasm soon after dawn. After 35 years, it will not be a quiet
procedure.
She will not forget the moment. It will be an experience she will treasure for the rest of her life. How she will feel about me afterwards remains to be seen.
But I am a professional. I am used to the mixed feelings of the women I cure. Sometimes their hatred persists.
PLEASE NOTE: THE ROVING REPORTER IS NOT A DOCTOR. AND DESPITE THE UNDOUBTED SUCCESS OF HIS METHODS, VERY FEW MEMBERS OF THE MEDICAL COMMUNITY APPROVE OF HIS PRINCIPLES.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Judgment Day? Karma?
The Zealots were expecting the Messiah to be a temporal king who would liberate the land from Roman rule.
The Christian Messiah, Christ or anointed one, it turned out, is not concerned with a regime of one specific time or place, but rather a timeless realm, beyond history: a realm that exists and will exist only in the 'eternal present'. It's rather like the "dream time" which Joseph Campbell discusses, an archetypal time, which has nothing to do with history.
Some Jewish friends tell me that they do not think the Messiah has come yet.
In the year 1000 A.D. flagellants walked through medieval towns in Europe naked or in tattered clothes, whipping themselves or dragging heavy crosses. They figured it was
Judgment Day then, ie: "The day is at hand; the end is near!"
Only it wasn't, and it isn't.
Judgment Day is impossible to compute, and I think we all know that. The earth has
another 4 billion years of life in it, if all goes according to a plan that is so immense as to be
beyond our calculations as to time and place.
Of course, if we take the notion/fact of karma seriously, every day is Judgment Day,
so we don't have to worry about dates. As it is said, if we deserve it, we are going to get it in the end.
The real question is, how do we get to that golden, eternal, timeless place of definitions.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
QUANTUM MYSTICS
"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." Hunter S. Thompson
Just as we have had to set aside the laws of Newtonian physics when we focus on sub-atomic
particles and enter in to a much more unpredictable, even weird world, so does our whole
approach to sacred reality have to change.
In centuries past, priests were speaking to an uneducated public. In fact, the public was not allowed to educate itself. Education was illegal and besides all the books were written in Latin
not the spoken language of the public. So the priests were allowed to get away with teaching
fairy tales, and for quite a long time no one could prove them wrong.
Well, times have changed!
I see no division between science and religion!
There is no need for such a split. If your local mystic (shaman) does not apprehend
reality completely, it's time to get another mystic!
The first law of the new universe is that subject and object no longer exist. So also,
all the old dualistic notions have to be thrown away. But have we really thought out or
discovered the implications of non duality?
How about the division between man and God? That no longer exists either.
So maybe when people say, "I am God" after a long night, maybe we should takes them
more seriously.
How about the division between flesh and spirit? This division must be thrown out also! This will screw up the old church's moralistic methods.
In the quantum world of endless possibilities and the sea of "empty" space, which is actually seething with unimaginable massive energy, what happens is not determined by anything that is part of the physical universe.
What's really mysterious is sub-atomic processes change when observed. In fact
the process changes according to how it is observed! This suggests something like intelligence
in the formative space of emptiness.
O.K. Anyone who has studied the mystics of the various religions will know that
intelligence in the midst of emptiness is an ancient notion of holy men everywhere.
What's happened is that science has caught up to the mystics.
People who go into deep meditation often use the phrase that:"It's like a mirror."
The one meditating seems to be in the midst of intelligence, even an intelligence that reflects back
to the mind of the meditator.
What's happening is you are in the midst of the Mind of the universe.
Bringing it back to the Christian world (which is more stunted than most religions),
this happens: the one lost in deep concentration facing a saying such as "In the beginning is the Word" has an earth-shattering experience. At least, it is earth-shaking to him.
If you focus on an expression which cannot be grasped or understood with the rational mind, say "Before Abraham was, I am", and if your concentration is absolute you
may undergo an implosion. The implosion is like an eggshell collapsing inwards revealing the life within. Or a T.V. set tossed off a hotel balcony, it also implodes. When this happens to you inwardly, you might hear a loud noise. Then the whole world changes for you, even your identity.
Intellectual problems will no longer exist for you. Paradoxes will make you laugh!
Monday, May 2, 2011
THE KINGDOM IS LAID OUT UPON THE FIELDS, AND MEN SEE IT NOT.
Well. today's my birthday and I feel great! So I'm probably going to talk too much. But I've got a few points rattling around in my brain, and this is bugging me. I like my brain to be absolutely
empty of all thoughts, but humming with a warm/hot energy of focus. Like when you play a sport
and you're panting hard, staring down field. You don't have a thought in your head! You have total focus on the ball.
These few points:
I went to church the other day (Easter Sunday). I normally avoid churches because the preacher/teacher/minister/priest always speaks of the Christ in the past tense. And his special resurrection is in the past, too.
Well, I've been getting a few unpleasant threats, some even in Latin, and little notes telling me I'm going to hell.
Here's why: Gospel of Philip: "If you are not resurrected in this life, you will not be resurrected in the next."
Resurrection/Realization occurs here and now. And this is the aim. This is the golden
fleece. This is Ithaca - Home.
The Christ is not so special. The Christ is the "anointed one". The one who speaks for God at any given moment. God is speaking now. Christ is the ultimate Identity of every man or woman on this planet. (Although Christ is sometimes called Buddha, or Krisna, Mohammed or
Allah). Earthly religions are really not that different: asks the mystics of each religion how different they are, and whether these differences are worth fighting over!
The mystics are the ones who know - they are not agnostics; they are not intermediaries
between you and your Source. They are the ones who have gone into the wilderness, themselves,
and have starved themselves or done any number of things in order that after days pass, and days and days and days - they have a glimpse of the meaning of things.
If you want to ask about the Truth which is timeless and which is the very Mind of God,
ask a mystic. Do not ask someone who takes a wage in order to support the established view!
Do you see now why I get all these threatening notes? If I were uncertain, well, I
guess I would be worried about hell and these Latin curses. But I am certain. I am a mystic
and I know what I know. I have (literally) sat on the cliff top and watched the winds pass
through me.
I have no worries at all!
Though I am trying not to get verbose.
Hail to you, in the name of the Most High, Rastaferai, Lord of the Meeting Rivers, Eternal Mind which is the Eye of the world, Jahweh who is the fertility of all the fields, greetings and love!
Your time has come.
empty of all thoughts, but humming with a warm/hot energy of focus. Like when you play a sport
and you're panting hard, staring down field. You don't have a thought in your head! You have total focus on the ball.
These few points:
I went to church the other day (Easter Sunday). I normally avoid churches because the preacher/teacher/minister/priest always speaks of the Christ in the past tense. And his special resurrection is in the past, too.
Well, I've been getting a few unpleasant threats, some even in Latin, and little notes telling me I'm going to hell.
Here's why: Gospel of Philip: "If you are not resurrected in this life, you will not be resurrected in the next."
Resurrection/Realization occurs here and now. And this is the aim. This is the golden
fleece. This is Ithaca - Home.
The Christ is not so special. The Christ is the "anointed one". The one who speaks for God at any given moment. God is speaking now. Christ is the ultimate Identity of every man or woman on this planet. (Although Christ is sometimes called Buddha, or Krisna, Mohammed or
Allah). Earthly religions are really not that different: asks the mystics of each religion how different they are, and whether these differences are worth fighting over!
The mystics are the ones who know - they are not agnostics; they are not intermediaries
between you and your Source. They are the ones who have gone into the wilderness, themselves,
and have starved themselves or done any number of things in order that after days pass, and days and days and days - they have a glimpse of the meaning of things.
If you want to ask about the Truth which is timeless and which is the very Mind of God,
ask a mystic. Do not ask someone who takes a wage in order to support the established view!
Do you see now why I get all these threatening notes? If I were uncertain, well, I
guess I would be worried about hell and these Latin curses. But I am certain. I am a mystic
and I know what I know. I have (literally) sat on the cliff top and watched the winds pass
through me.
I have no worries at all!
Though I am trying not to get verbose.
Hail to you, in the name of the Most High, Rastaferai, Lord of the Meeting Rivers, Eternal Mind which is the Eye of the world, Jahweh who is the fertility of all the fields, greetings and love!
Your time has come.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
LENNY'S LIGHTS or IN THE GALAXY OF TEARS I CAN HEAR LENNY LAUGHING
I am very tired of my own voice.
For obvious reasons.
Sitting on the street where Lenny was... Just breathing the free... air.
This is not a highway, but we'll call it that. Actually it's a street in Lionel Town, Jamaica.
To my right is a bright green field with seven palm trees in it. And I can just see the tail of one
cow in the bush. (We'll assume it's not a bull). The tail is switching flies.
No more on that.
I digress. At least I hope I am digressing.
Lenny was a Rastaman. He was also a poet. The two cultures sometimes
conflict.
Lenny also liked the odd drink of Wray and Nephew full strength overproof
rum. With Lenny it was always an ODD drink..
This not a commercial, but "full strength" in Jamaica is a euphemism for pure
at least 200 proof mind-clearing white rum. In a glass you can almost see the
fumes arising and disappearing into the air above. If you light this rum, of course it burns.
It burns for a long time in a shot glass. It is burning now.
This is one of Lenny's lights.
The stars are so bright they seem to be saying something especially to me.
I know many doctors in the North who would call this a psychotic thought.
I know one or two doctors who would say thoughts like this
are the very definition of sanity.
Hunter S. Thompson uses the term, "the place of definitions." If
he were here, he would use it now.
I don't entirely understand the proof system regarding rum like this.
That's O.K., courts in North America don't entirely understand the proof system
either. In a former life, I was a lawyer.
When I do not understand something, I let Walker Ballantine join me.
There's nothing that Walker Ballantine doesn't understand. Because Walker Ballantine
doesn't try to understand anything.
"It's a ridiculous pursuit," he says.
As a matter of fact, when I think about it (which I try not to) Walker Ballantine's
a lot like Lenny.
The poet, Charles Bukowski, used to say, "Don't try."
In fact, "DON'T TRY" is written on his tombstone.
Another famous poet used to say, "The smallest leaf of grass proves
there is no such thing as death."
These guys love Lenny, but someone is laughing. I pray to the Lord of
the Meeting Rivers, that that laughter is not mine.
I hear a voice say, "Stop burning the rum. We don't need lights
that badly!"
Did I say that?
No, that's not what I said. * (* see Walter de la Mare's poem on the subject)
The proof system no longer matters in the North** as much as it used to.
Because the North, if you look at the matter closely, no longer has civil rights. Ballantine
has a legal mind, frightening in it's clarity.
So does Lenny, but Lenny never spoke about such things. He said they
didn't matter.
This BLOG used to be about the fact that the Christian world needs a system
of initiation, a methodical step by step path with elders along the way aiding the traveller,
giving him directions, pointing a finger along the Way.... during the always painful process
of Realization.
Not any more.
Now this blog's about Lenny.
(The tail's still twitching in the weeds.)
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
BASIC STEPS TO DIVINE REALITY
A Few Premises:
(1) The Mind is not only in the brain. Stepping off the curb, you will sense
a car coming with your body as well as your head.
(2) Emotions are carried throughout the body-mind by chemical messengers.
Chemistry forms and carries our emotions.
(3) We think of chemistry as belonging to the external world of matter;
but clearly the world of matter (mass & energy) Is what we are.
(4) As above so below. Quantum processes have been seen to behave differently
when observed. It looks very much as if there is a consciousness in
sub-atomic processes.
(5) If there is a consciousness at the level of quantum physics, why do we assume there is no consciousness at the galactic level?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
NOWHERE TO GO BUT WHERE YOU ARE
In the name of the most high, the one who is the Eye of the world,
greetings!
To clarify a few things about God:
(1) Of course, there is no Santa Claus in the sky!
No, things are more mysterious than that. There are many paths
to the pure land. I prefer to choose a pathway of mystery and wonder
in a world where anything may happen. This is how I see the world
and wondrous things have happened to me.
(2) Consider the possibility of an Intelligence presently in the process
of creating all things, One who creates the spirals of DNA, One who
stares back at you when you are observing the particles and waves of
quantum physics, and the particles change when you observe them,
One who is the singing of the universe, a Mind that dances from
within.
"The eye through which you see God is the eye through which God
sees you." Meister Eckhart
The world is not "The Creation" or "the Created" past tense.
The universe is right now, this very instant, creating itself with
divine intelligence in a never-ending process. One who meditates deeply
can partake of the Mind of God.
(3) Those of us who go on a Vision Quest invariably report a
spirit guide, who aids them in their quest when they are destitute,
when they are at that last extreme and cannot think any more
because thinking is not enough; when the old grey rat enters
the dead end alley from which there is no escape: a higher faculty
may come to your aid at such times when you are finally able to
listen: a higher faculty of Mind which is within you and outside of
you.
It is said a person who had just had a Realization experience once
shouted: "Between heaven and earth, I alone exist!"
This sounds like the height of egotism. In fact, it is utter
egolessness.
The Fundamental Fact is the Realization experience. It is not preached
in modern day Christianity, but it was taught 2,000 years ago by
the early followers of Christ.
Christ, the anointed one, is a name for the fundamental Mind that
is the core of this universe, the eye of spiral galaxies, the golden mean.
When a seeker has passed through the "Chapel of the Black Hand", the
dark night of the soul, he is ripe for sudden illumination! Lightning
might strike; the implosion may occur.
I do not preach at you. I do not ask you to believe. I merely wish to
encourage you who are searching for the meaning of life. A path
exists but it has been obscured.
I wish to re-open the path for modern day Christians. I don't want
what happened to me to happen to you. I had the Liberation Experience
when I was twenty-three and I had no idea what had happened.
There was no support system in place to aid those who travelled
towards the goal. Finally, through the study of Hindu texts and
with the help of our Zen brothers and sisters, I discovered what
the hell had happened to me.
I had Realized. I had the fundamental knowing experience. There
is really only one such Experience, though it comes in many shapes
and sizes, through many paths. I had Realized Mind. Throughout
the entire universe, one eternal Mind.
I had Realized Christ as Mind. And this is the meaning of eternal
life and not tasting death: this Realization Experience. In the
east it is called Enlightenment, kensho, satori.
In the east, there is a system that supports the quest to see
this Fundamental Fact. We ought to build such a system in the West.
"Woe to the Pharisees, for they hold the keys to the kingdom, and they
do not enter, neither do they allow anyone else to enter."
Gospel of Thomas.
What you seek is within you and waiting to embrace you, and is the
fundamental fact of your existence. It is what you are. And there's nowhere
to go but where you are.
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