Marked

My average days are becoming thick with the Wyrd.

While cooking, he showed me his hand. A line of paler, still tender flesh ran vertically across the palm, not so unlike the Fate Line in palmistry. This is the mark he received several nights prior after wrapping his hand around a handle of a hot cast-iron skillet. One that I had unintentionally heated while preparing for baking. I heard him talk about the pans, and I saw him approach the counter. My mind shouted “Don’t touch!” while my mouth lagged behind the message. He burned himself due to my lack of intervention. He forgives graciously, but forgetting is not an option.

“That mark will probably be permanent,” he says.

I furrow my brow in disappointment in myself and in beseechment of forgiveness from him once again.

He shrugged and smiled. “Now I get to say that this mark is from the Witch I live with that scarred me for life.”

Silent laughter erupted as we both nodded and exchanged knowing looks. “It’s true,” we both agreed.

And then I said: “Witches tend to do that, y’know…”

*****

We ascended the majestic staircase side-by-side; it was important for our ascendance to be just that way. Neither could attempt to lead or follow. When one rushed forward or fell back, the staircase flattened and stretched, becoming a conveyor belt that sent us backward.

So we walked together, talking and enjoying each other’s company. The air grew thin and the visuals danced like stop-motion oil paintings. Agape we pressed onward: Up, Up and Away.

Parasites, auto theft, and forced restraint

The events I am about to recount all took place on his territory; I did not come Home the entire time. Many of my material possessions mentioned are not actually mine. People without names are fillers or symbols of some sort. The negativity is dense and unpleasant to trudge through, but these messages need a place.

A disjointed snippet manifests: I awake in Radar’s apartment next to him. Two of our friends had stayed the night: J&K. Upon waking, we all rise and begin to scratch ourselves. Each one comments on the small bites we see on our bodies. J is the first to remove his shirt, saying he thinks there are parasites in the bedding. Indeed, we see a handful of small black and red arachnids spill out of his shirt. We freak at the sight and all begin to remove our clothes. Before too long, the bugs become overwhelming underfoot. Heading to the front door, we stomp them into insect pancakes. Outside and mostly naked, we try to formulate a plan to get rid of as many inside as possible as they are multiplying.

Cut

I was at Radar’s apartment. What we were doing- I can’t remember. I was in my lounging clothes while he was fully dressed, obviously expecting company besides myself. Almost in unison, Lomax and Renee turn up at the door. Lomax quickly addresses Rada, and they start immediately going over plans. Renee is distraught. She comes to me with her typically neatly packed emotional totes, and I can see what a mess the contents have made. I tend to her needs as the men continue planning. Through her tear-streaked lament, I vaguely hear Radar in the background asking me about particular food at a particular place. He stands close, his eyes boring into me as I try to focus on Renee and deliver her the TLC she so sorely needs. Lomax becomes more impatient as the seconds tick away. Nudging his friend, again the inappropriately timed questions interrupt. Renee doesn’t pay attention to them, but my ears get twitchy and hot at their insensitivity. I give the universal “one minute” signal to Radar as we girls move to the kitchen. The conversation comes to a close with hugs and tissues  in a few minutes. Renee thanks me sincerely and then takes her leave.

The door closes on a quiet apartment. Radar and Lomax have vacated. I send a text asking why they refused to wait less than 10 minutes for the situation to be resolved. The response I get reads that they were hungry, and it seemed like I had no interest in that particular food at that particular place. Through the symbols on the glowing background I can feel Radar’s spite and acerbity. I do not respond. Instead, the anger and resentment welling up in me drives me to collect my things in preparation to GTFO. In my storm of packing, I come across several pieces of paper strewn on Radar’s bed. They obviously came from the ajar nightstand drawer. A good person may have piled them neatly together and placed them back in the drawer, ignoring the temptation to read the unguarded information. …but a smart person would never do such a thing. I studied the text carefully. Radar’s handwriting was less familiar to me than I would have wished. The first few stanzas of the poem spoke of affection for me, and my heart softened as my grip on my bags loosened. Tears were beginning to form as I almost scolded myself for being so rash as to run off in a huff. The next stanza revealed his insecurity and uncertainty. The third stanza chipped away at my character and exalted his own. In the final stanza, an accusation broke through as my image was cast as nothing more than a whore. I left the papers where I found them and exited the apartment, bags in hand, numb and crestfallen.

Dusty winds railed me outside in the heat of the evening summer sun. The parking lot resembled a desert, and the gas station may as well have been a halfway house. Approaching my car, I saw two women (one blonde biker and one black drag queen) hovering over my car and one (white and obese) already inside the driver’s seat. I caught that this was an attempted auto theft. My patience had long since checked out, only leaving disdain, attitude and a foolish absence of fear. I nonchalantly waved them off as if they were mere flies. “C’mon, ladies, piss off. This is my car, and, though you may be attempting to steal it, I’m here now. If you all clear out, we’ll forget this ever happened. If not, I will not hesitate to stab you in the eyes with this eyeliner.”

The two hovering ladies cleared out while donning matching looks of contrived contempt. Missing scenes. I am in the passenger seat of my car now. The obese woman is driving. It is now getting dark, and, apparently, we had been talking some. The general message of her story is that she has problems, mostly financial. Sob story blah blah blah. She needs to get somewhere to meet two of her friends- that’s why she needed a car. I decide that the easiest solution is for me to drop her off and have her “owe me one.” First we stop by Radar’s for some reason. He’s still out with Lomax, thankfully. The obese woman lights a cigarette indoors as she starts texting her friends. I tell her to take it outside as I wave the smoke out the door. In a few minutes, she has coordinates of their meeting place. I drive her to her destination, which is no more than 10 minutes away. On my ride home, a “good” feeling starts to settle in. I was a nice person.

Arriving back at Radar’s apartment, I see he has returned home alone. I entertain the thought of telling him how lucky he is that my mood has changed, but instead, we greet each other as if there was no unspoken tiff. Within seconds, our hands and mouths are all over each other. Missing scenes (unfortunately).

Cut.

I am in Radar’s bedroom, tied and bound in duct tape, in a nonsexual and potentially violent way. My face is wet, so I know I had been crying. Lomax (maybe? or someone that resembles him) is in view of the door frame. His face displays aggression as he pushes two people in the room with me. My brother and Launch, two very important people to me, fall into the room, also bound. Launch is cursing and fighting against his restraints. My brother is quietly plotting escape routes. We are all saddened by seeing each other in such a state. The scene ends here with no resolution.

 

yeah, that

My playlist for the last week or so, on repeat:

Enjoy the transformed angst, the cool acceptance, the unwashed candor, the raw and bittersweet reflections.

Silence on The Journey

I am the Silent One. ~~~

At every Beginning stands the Possibility of Death. At every End stands the Conquering of Death… for that Time. Where are we in The Journey?

***

Footprints show Direction and Path. So many footprints for each individual nowadays; silicon prints do not wash away like muddy ones. We can follow.

<><><>

The Scanner scans in loops. Reconnaissance is cyclical.

<*><*><*>

You don’t look so much anymore at something you’ve grown to presume to know. The landscape, the climate, is forever changing.

~<*>~<*>~

No matter how much we entertain the notion or how much we meditate on the abstraction, Death is always unanticipated. We await the journey Home.

The QUEST(ion)er and The QUEST(ioned)

My naïve sensibilities tell me that the QUEST is inherent to a question. There are many reasons to quest: to understand, to know, to grasp, to experience. More often than not, a quest is initiated due to the desire for the something, the finding. One does not embark on a quest unless one truly and honestly is a Seeker or seeks something. Often, with many a human or otherworldly entity, the seeking is almost synonymous with the want for something; however, it is my humble opinion that the seeking can be done with little of the want for something beyond the quest, but done out of joy of seeking and not the finding.

In my simplistic vision, I think it best to not predict outcomes or presume conditions upon entering on a quest. It is my understanding that once one predicts outcomes, one is to become disheartened, disappointed, discouraged, enraged or unhappy when the quest does not lead to the predicted outcomes. It is also my understanding that once one presumes to know conditions or overconfidently presumes one can handle the perceived conditions of the quest, the conditions of or in the quest often change. Once again, one may find oneself disheartened, disappointed, discouraged, enraged or unhappy. What’s more, one may find oneself incapacitated, disabled, victimized, lost, confused, disoriented, deluded, deranged, or any other list of horrible adjectives. My understanding is that one ought not have so much invested in the finding to become crushed upon the reality of the quest, but one ought to have enough invested to see the quest through to one ‘end’ or another. Yet, we should bear in mind that every end is arbitrary and wholly based on our perspective; The Story continues long after we have played our part. The Story never ends, and so The Quest is forever ongoing.

QUESTions beg more questions. There is no ‘end’ to the inquisition, just more rounds with different players. The only ends at which we arrive are those that satisfy our wants; we choose when and where the line ends. We choose what round we pick up, and what QUESTions interest us the most. We choose whether we are to QUESTion on our own accord, to fulfill our curiosities or desires, or whether we QUESTion on behalf of another, thereby acting as a proxy. Of course, QUEST(ion)ing by proxy usually has foreseeable complications. The proxy is a Fool and the wo/man behind the curtain is another kind of fool. Experience cannot be given, delivered or passed, and QUEST(ion)s in which one is not willing to participate may as well go undone. And so it will go undone, except for the Fool acting as the proxy; s/he will certainly find something altogether different than for what s/he was sent. Hiding behind the curtain, attempting to pull strings as others QUEST(ion) only casts one out further. Treat the QUEST(ion) as a game, and the players will become a part of The Game. Playing from behind the curtain is not playing at all.

Do not harbor so much hubris to presume that The Story, The QUEST(ion)s and The Game (not completely distinct at any given time) will bow to your control, your wants, your pleas, your whims, or your agenda. One can only be a good Storyteller by being a good character. One can only be a good QUEST(ion)er by being a good responder. One can only be a good Gamer when one is a good player. And when we meet our Selves as these, maybe we learn the (inherent?) value of acting as both and neither.

Until we see where the chips land, the possibilities reign. Predict where the chips will land, and you do not allow Possibility its moment in the sun. I doubt Possibility will be pleased so don’t be so surprised if it leaves you for those that value its presence.

pet Fun

I was astounded at the fun we could have together after skins were sloughed off. I showed you around my common haunts, directing your attention to bright colors, silly costumes, magnetic people and small pleasures. We were able to know each other as people in ways that have previously been off-limits for one reason or another. There was discussion without the format or scrutinization, and what followed was laughter and light-heartedness. It was a dream, a future potential that I would like to actualize. However, so often you seem uninterested in the frivolity, the play, fun for fun’s sake. I see you looking under the microscope more than I do, and that task is part of my daily life at work.

Maybe that’s just it: you’re always with or at work. Work is work, home is work, conversation is work, meetings are work, and play is work. I don’t see it coming naturally. The theory is laid out very nicely: reasons to open up and engage in play, what it does for us on many levels, also potentially how to  initiate it and maintain a certain level of play. The thing is, the practice is nothing like theory. Those theories and well laid plans, that’s not playing, that’s not fun.

Fun is spontaneity and improvisation. Fun does not have inhibition or fear. Fun doesn’t need reasons, and it usually doesn’t care much for your schedules and previous arrangements. I see you treating it as a pet at times. You do what you feel you need to do, and when most of the work is done, you let Fun in finally, after hours of waiting. It’s been such a good and patient boy. It’s ok to play for a certain amount of time, but then it is time to put Fun back outside for the night. He doesn’t sleep in the house; Fun might get too close to you as you sleep or keep you up at night, insisting to play some more. Perhaps if you let him in more often, he wouldn’t seem like such a disruption to your life devoted to Work. Fun misses you, and is beginning to develop a grudge against Work. If you don’t spend some more time with Fun, he’ll be gone. Fun is not interested in the pictures you take of him to show your friends and brag about what a fantastic breed he is. That’s not loving Fun. The love you do give Fun is always in the presence of Work. You and Fun never seem to have any private moments. Perhaps Fun would be less reserved, more expressive without Work always hanging around.

But I think you are slightly afraid of that: afraid of how much you might actually enjoy Fun if you could let Work go for a while. You’re too obsessed with whether or not Work will be ok by himself, or if he’ll run away and not return if you start spending time with Fun. The conditions must be just right to let Fun in: you have to be in the mood, and you prefer Fun to be around when certain others are or at certain times. So you have dictated times when Fun is let in and let out, and if there is no time tonight to let him in, well, there’s always tomorrow. One day, after days of neglect perhaps, you’ll go to let Fun in, only to realize that he left for more accepting companions. Then you’ll be able to spend as much time with Work as you want. You won’t need to worry about Fun any longer.

Students and Masters

Alejandro Jodorowsky’s Holy Mountain has many lessons and revelations packed densely within the art, the symbols and the spoken lines of the film. One of my favorites (paraphrased) is: “It is the Master that seeks the Student.” It occurs in a point in the plotline after the apprentice has completed many lessons from the Master. They have just finished the Student’s study of the Tarot. They stand on a rotating platform, surrounded by corrupt politicians and industrialists that represent the planetary influences in their most perverted forms. The music has faded out, and in the brief pause, the Master reveals the truth to the Student: that he has chosen the Student as an apprentice, not the other way around. Essentially, the interpretation can fall a number of ways:

1. the Student should guard against the temptation of hubris as if the Master is telling him: “Don’t flatter yourself in your ability in finding a teacher like me; I sought you out.”

2. the Student should be aware of others in the world that wish to capture him. “You were easy to bait; all it took was some knowledge on your psychology.”

3. the Student will one day be able to choose his Students at Will when he becomes a Master. “Once you are a Master, realize and exercise your Will. You know more than Students, and Students are plenty. Choose who suits you and your path; choose those whom which you sympathize or to which you are drawn.With your enlightenment, you can see who needs your help.”

The statement is simple, but yet we find numerous interpretations, messages and layers. A talented Master would speak in levels but would not shy from the truth. Speaking in levels is not the same as ambiguity. The statement that the Master makes is not ambiguous; he flat-out tells the Student that he has chosen him. What is the Student to feel about this? It is ultimately up to the Student. Furthermore, as the Student makes progress, he will be attuned to numerous potentials, equipped to recognize the layered structure of all communication, and, in fact, all of life. Part of the journey is learning to attune one’s mind and also to filter. It can be easy for a less advanced Student to become wrapped up in all the possible negative interpretations of the statement. “Did he mean that I am stupid? Is he saying that I once was that unaware to not recognize when I was called somewhere when I thought I went there of my own free will?” Likewise, it an be easy to become lost in all the positive interpretations: “He likes me best. He must have chosen me for my *insert positive attributes here*. After becoming Master, I will know more than my peers because I am the Chosen One.” Neither extreme is beneficial to spiritual progression as both are rooted in Ego and cyclical in thought patterns. We must realize that we are always in control of the interpretation when greeted with neutral statements. Additionally, we must realize that some statements disguised as neutral, may indeed, be passing judgment. This is where reading nuances and sniffing the air become important. Discretion is a trait born out of experience. It is my opinion that a benevolent Master heeds discretion. As Masters, we must bear in mind that power is not a toy, not unlimited and that we are always Students under another Master, whether it is human, inhuman, elemental, conditional, etc. Masters must always respect the free will of the Student. As Students, we are privy to remember that we always have a choice; we are not bound to the Master (even if we may be bound to the lesson, message or journey).

“Good” Students vs “Bad” Students and “Good” Masters vs “Bad” Masters

Lies. The terms “good” and “bad” are too broad and ambiguous for evaluating Students or Masters. A “good” student may be one that always obeys the Master without question or one who is diligent in his studies. Perhaps a “good” student actually questions authority or the lesson rather than acting as an unthinking doll. “Good” to one person may mean a nurturing and caring Master that looks after his Students, while to another person it means a competent and skilled Master, the best of his trade. For a Master to call his apprentice a “good Student” (or vice versa) is inherently meaningless without knowing the Master or Student personally or knowing the context of their relationship or material studied.

Perhaps one of the first indications of whether we have found the appropriate Student (or Master) is when one evaluates the other. Say you have just emerged from a ring of terror and are badly wounded. Your Master says “Well done. You are a good Student.” How does this make you feel? Do you agree with him? Do your wounds and efforts please you? Have you truly learned something from the ring of terror, or do you feel that you have been subjected to unnecessary, unjust treatment despite what lessons you may have learned in the pit? Is your Master “good” for throwing you into such a trying situation and trusting you to come out on top? Or is he a “bad” Master due to his negligence and obvious callousness towards your emotional well-being?

Every trial is an evaluation period for both the Student and the Master. Despite the common notion that the Master tests the Student, and the Student answers by performing. They both test each other, and they both respond. Essentially, once a Master accepts a Student, a Master is introducing another lesson to himself: how to instruct, how to guide. He is a Student of these processes, and the Student (his progression, success, attitude, etc) is ultimately the one to determine the Master’s success. In this way, the Master is the Student. Once a Student accepts a Master, he takes on the open role as a Student, but what is implied in this role is the ability to be Master of one’s Self. The Student dictates what and how he should learn, and from whom (if anyone) he will learn. In this way, the Student is the Master. A Student is necessary for a Lesson to occur; a Master can be found in forms other than human (and many times is). Yes, a human Master seeks the Student. Do abstract “Masters” seek Students out as well?