In The Picture

Multiple paths opened before me. As so often there was not an infinity of directions, only a few very clearly laid out before me. Step by step stages. Possibilities which could stem from them, based on probabilities. 

Probabilities based on known factors. The range of known factors based on experience. Analytical Virgoan in action, streamlined. 

A tree structure formed. I was given choice of which path to follow by enacting it, should I choose to act in any way at all. As usual the number of possibilities based on probabilities was limited to a small handful of options. I used intuition to guide me through it. 

The Headmaster was announcing in a surprise assembly that a most hideous crime had occurred. His wisdom in not allowing any student to use the newly refurbished school toilets was being proved. People, especially young people, cannot be trusted. Thus only visitors to the school, dignitaries above our station who the headmaster seeks to impress, were given a guided tour of the pristine and unused toilets. 

The headmaster had the only key. If students need to toilet they must put up with a soaking from the perpetual rain and miss half their lesson to visit a grotty demountable toilet building, a so-called ‘temporary’ shack in its second or third decade of use with green growing up the outside and the smell of pure evil itself emanating from within. 

“The betrayal to myself personally and breach of trust to the school is the worst offence I have encountered in over a hundred years of my teaching in this school.” Mr Grief was livid. His grey skin was a slightly less pale than usual shade of grey, borderline military grey.

Nobody dared to mention how the funds used to refurbish the nations most elite school toilets had come directly from the budget for textbooks and paper to write on. We had been unofficially requested to bring our own paper into lessons. Some of the better teachers were handing out sheets of lined paper from notepads they had paid for themselves, expecting the kids to keep their work in pristine condition despite it being stuffed loose into schoolbags along with mouldy sports kits and whatever else the kids might happen to be carrying. 

“Pst!” Hissed Chris who was sitting cross legged on the floor next to me. I hadn’t seen Chris for awhile. He usually avoided everyone because he was one of the favourite victims of Jerkoff and Asshole, the school bullies and general social dissidents. Their schoolbags were usually full of metal jaguar sculptures pulled off from jaguar cars in their competition to collect the most trophies. 

Asshole’s dad was rich and Jerkoff’s mum was shagging someone rich, possibly Asshole’s dad, most kids didn’t bother to get close enough to the pair to find out. Most students dedicated more effort to avoiding them, with the exception of a couple of the girls who could often be overheard in their huddle in the corridor, excitedly discussing how allowing those specific boys to discretely fiddle with the girls bodies was the only way anybody could hope to keep control over the lads behaviour. 

Asshole and Jerkoff were the school rich kids, made sure everyone knew about it. As a result they continuously got away with everything, crimes unimaginable to the majority of us. Anyone who dared stand up against them usually received the experience of being pinned up against a wall by the school tie and punched in the guts as a warning. 

I looked over to Chris. For some strange reason the two of us were sitting in the exact centre of the school hall. We had all filed in lines, a class at a time. The teachers were standing around the edges of the room. I had been marvelling at the fates having put me in exactly that spot while the Headmaster had been waffling on about the latest tragedy to afflict the normal daily running of his empire.

“Hi Chris.” I whispered. He appeared stressed. I liked Chris, he was usually optimistic despite regularly being targeted by the school thugs. We shared some classes together. 

Mr Grief stood on the stage at the front of the hall which did little to emphasise his lack of height. He continued his seething oration. “Somebody, I believe it to be a student form this school, has broken into the Newly Refurbished School Toilets! A facility which is absolutely out of bounds to everybody! (Except for important dignitaries visiting the school who I want to impress).” Shrieked the Headmaster.  

There was the pause, a momentary stillness comparable with a tide receding, the moment before its waves crash forward again. The wind stopped. Several hundred children and members of staff inhaled sharply in unison, followed immediately by the uncomfortable sensation of several hundred children and members of staff trying not to laugh loudly, which would incur the targeted wrath of the headmaster. Nobody in the room looked at each others eyes for fear of the collective  yet unspoken agreement overwhelming the senses. Nobody wanted to start the riot. The sound of several hundred lips being bitten to stifle laughter is barely audible. Chests were exploding with a need to release the tension. 

Somehow the school collectively managed to do it, united in the strangest of mutual understanding. We bit our lips and held our breathes with adept skill. The Headmaster continued his monologue. Several hundred minds had begun working on the problem, imagining some insidious person with lock-picking skills to have gained entry to the sacred toilets without consent. 

A hand went up. It was bloody Hermione Granger. “Perhaps someone needed the toilet, sir.” She said out loud. This was the tension release needed. Several hundred people including most members of staff laughed out loud. 

The Headmaster was not impressed. He was so unimpressed he ignored the question. By now he was building up steam. His rant must continue its course uninterrupted for the peak effect to be achieved. This assembly was not over yet.

Next to me, Chris was discretely unzipping his schoolbag.

“Somebody!!!” Exclaimed the Headmaster, his voice rising a whole octave in pitch. For a short man his voice carried power. Windows rattled. 

The opening on Chris’ school bag was several inches wide, enough for me to see inside. 

“Somebody from the school has. stolen. one. of. the. pictures. from. a. wall!” He stabbed the air with his words for maximum impact. Everybody in the room felt each word as if the headmaster was personally prodding them repeatedly in the chest with his finger. The hate, the anger, was solid in the air. 

None of the students had any idea there were any pictures on the walls of the golden throne room. None of us had been in there to find out. 

In Chris’ schoolbag, only two feet away from me, was a red plastic A5 picture frame containing a photograph of a classic red sports car. 

I looked at Chris. 

Chris looked at me. 

“Asshole and Jerkoff put it there.” Said Chris quickly. “Just before we came in (to the assembly).” 

I looked around the room. There was no sign of Asshole and Jerkoff at all. Neither was there any sign of their female fanclub. 

It was at this moment, several possibilities flooded through my head. Multiple paths opened up before me. 

First of all; was Chris lying? 

My feelings and my calculations connected with the same answer: If Chris was lying, he would not have showed me the picture in his bag in the first place. Chris is a nice guy, he wouldn’t have done this. Asshole and Jerkoff do things like this all the time. I decided 100% to back Chris to the best of my ability. 

Possibility number one: I could grab the picture, stand up, holding it aloft above my head, and say “It is here, sir, and the culprits are not!” 

Hoped for outcome: I would be regarded as the schools Golden Child by the Headmaster. I would be a hero to his mind. He might even trust me and grant me permission to use the holy toilet. Every other person in the school would assume I’d stolen the picture myself and was trying to return it while gaining favour to get myself out of trouble. 

Probable outcome: The Headmaster would incorrectly identify myself as the thief and believe I was trying to pass the blame onto other people namely Chris, given that Asshole and Jerkoff had for our entire school life been exempt from any punishment at all. 

Possibility number two: I could discretely explain the situation to a trusted teacher and hope for the best. 

Hoped for outcome: I would be regarded as the schools Golden Child by the Headmaster. I would be a hero to his mind. He might even trust me and grant me permission to use the holy toilet. Nobody else need know about it. 

Probable outcome: The Headmaster would incorrectly identify myself as the thief and believe I was trying to pass the blame onto other people namely Chris, given that Asshole and Jerkoff had for our entire school life been exempt from any punishment at all. 

Probability number three: I could remain quiet and console myself in much amusement about how the desecration of the Headmasters shitty show-room was desecration deserved, given how the consequences of banning pupils from using the school toilets had resulted in much misery and chaos. For example, being bullied by Asshole and Jerkoff as they hid in the only available toilet to smoke cigarettes, stroke girls and beat kids up.  

“Zip your bag.” I whispered.

The Headmaster scrutinised the assembled school. Everybody looked bored. He ranted about  coming forward with information leading to catching the criminals and this being a classic example of why the toilets must remain locked at all times until further notice forever so help me god. 

During the noise made by several hundred people standing up to leave the assembly, I whispered to Chris 

“Get rid of it.” We were both going back to different classrooms and it was the most help I was able to give him. I didn’t see him again after this. It is possible he was caught in possession and discretely expelled. It is also possible he was afraid of me because I had something on him, was avoiding me too. 

I didn’t report it. Chris was my friend and innocent in the situation. Also directly in the firing line of being blamed for theft simply because he was in possession of the cheap and nasty picture, albeit against his will. I knew this from the education the school had given me in how authorities work. 

But that’s another story.

Parallax Twins

 

“Egyptian Culture 23” by Maryam Mughal

1  A Mirror Between

My brother having sex with my girlfriends behind my back with our mothers encouragement was a lesson I had to go through many times. 

Eventually I did the obvious thing, I ceased all contact with my mother and my brother and got on with my own life in another part of the world. 

It did mean becoming a part of an entirely new social network of people which is not a bad thing although uprooting myself meant I became “the traveller moving into town” character in the minds of the locals, which was not an easy integration.

To understand the storyline in context requires beginning at the beginning. An appropriate place to begin with this story would be with Anaya Meadow. 

We were sent to the same school and got to know each other there. We all went through puberty together, the transition from being children to awareness of our selves as sexual beings, flooded with hormones taking us in directions we’d never imagined before. 

Anaya has wavy black hair, rich parents, petite frame, the cutest face, bubbly personality, confident and intelligent, sexy, everybody found her attractive.

I’ve never understood why she turned them all down because of being attracted to me. It was probably hormones. The same way baby duck will attach to the first creature it sees and believe it to be their mother. Anaya did that to me probably because I was not like the others.

I was the first person to reject her which shook her out of her child-like state and thrust her into a more mature mindset that she did not get everything by wanting it,  some things she would have to work at. 

It was a test but it was also taking the development of a child’s soul into my hands as a parental figure, which a good boyfriend and a good man does for the people around them. It’s an alpha trait and I proved it. 

Anaya was taken aback, unsure how serious I was about rejecting her and unsure how serious she was about wanting me. She levelled up and rose to the challenge. She made a decision that yes, she definitely did want me, she was not going to let me reject her like that. She forgave me. 

So we hooked up. I was the first person she kissed. We kissed a lot. Every time we saw each other. We cuddled. It never developed further sexually because we were very young and neither of us had been in a relationship before. 

It lasted through school until my brother got wind of what was happening. He wanted her. She knew he was my kid brother. I do not fully know to this day what happened between them at that stage. 

He was the first person she had sex with. It would be easy to believe she did it to punish me because I had initially rejected her. I’m not self obsessed enough to be convinced of that.

I did not find about it until afterwards, because she hid it from me although I knew at once her behaviour with me had changed. We still kissed and cuddled for a short while until she confessed. 

She told me it was a mistake and she wished she had lost her virginity to me. She was curious and he had been persuasive and it just happened. Hormones seizing control. My brother full well knew what he was doing, that she and I had been in a relationship for some time. 

That moment I made my decision. Actually, Anaya had already made the decision by her actions. She had decided to set the brothers up against each other to see who won, and by all accounts my brother was winning. That is the reptilian context. 

I chose not to see the situation in that way. Was not entirely convinced that Anaya knew what she was doing by playing the game of brother verses brother over a woman. My not knowing for sure; that’s how she was playing me. When I recognised it, that’s how I knew for sure. 

I walked away. I ended our relationship by completely dismissing and ignoring her from then onwards forever, and let him have her. 

She broke my heart. My course of action broke my heart. I possibly broke her heart too and she found comfort in my brothers bed. They made an assumption that I didn’t care about her and therefore I was a bastard. My brother made sure that it was known how much of a bastard I’d been to her and how lucky she was that he cared enough to take her on and look after her while she was distraught. She enabled that version because it took the steam off of her adulterous role in the story. They both saved face by blaming it on me. Let them get on with it. 

As I said, I had moved on. I rarely looked back mostly because it hurt to do so. But I also realised much as I had loved her, it was not deep enough love for us to deserve each other. She had been infatuated and in figuring that out I had become so too. Had it been love, she would not have betrayed me and I would not have rejected her twice, once to strengthen her desire and once to get her off my back entirely. 

I could see alternate possibilities emerging which is why I made the choice I did. 

One of those possibilities, she would bounce between my brother and myself indefinitely, either in separate places or in the same bed as a threesome until such day came we didn’t know which of us was the father of her child. 

Else she would eventually become bored of us both and go in a totally different direction with some other guy, leaving both of us to wallow together in the loss of her. Perhaps that was her attempt to bind us and bring us closer. 

We did not. Such shared understanding, of having and being similar to each other, an affinity brought about through respecting the girls methods of unifying brothers in mutual respect and recognition, never developed. The rift between us never healed. I wasn’t gambling on the only positivity I could see emerging from that game. 

I sidestepped all of it, met someone else outside of my brothers circle, outside of Anaya’s circle. The roots of a traveller mentality developing. 

Multiply the age we were at that time by two. I returned from my travels and many adventures to visit the old family home. It happened not only that my brother was visiting the place on same day but also Anaya was visiting him there after their not having seen each other in nearly a decade. I had not seen her in long over a decade. 

At that time she had not settled but she did have a steady job and an expensive bright red sports car. 

I had been studying with crystals and was able to place one in her hands as she sat at the family table. My brother was angry with my presence because he still saw me as a threat regarding his friendship with Anaya. He watched bitterly as her and my eyes connected. 

A lot of unspoken emotion and mind-work passed between us. There was a shared recognition of a need from the core of our hearts to heal the wound we had inflicted on each other, which clearly would not be possible to discuss at all with my brother there. We both looked away from each others eyes and faced an uncomfortable, rising tension. 

I took a deep breath and decided to relieve the tension by use of distraction. I placed a large chunk of quartz into her hands which I had acquired that morning. Explained it’s a healing tool, the path I had been on recently. Seemed a safe way to transmit a lot of positivity into the scene. 

Anaya was surprised. She said “oh”, held the quartz shard and looked at it. I made excuses and left. Later I returned to find it on the table, she could have taken it with her but had decided not to. Probably she was unsure the social etiquette involved. I wouldn’t have minded at all had she kept it. 

2 A Reflected Opening

After ending my relationship with my first love Anaya, I discovered it to have been only puppy love. I did not fully trust her through fault of her own infidelity. Not long after it I met my first deep love, who my mother interjected and split us up. 

Five years passed in which time a lot happened and I gained enough experience to know what I was doing a considerably more. I was living outside the range of my brother and mother to control my relationships. 

I met Talia. 

Talia’s hair is wavy black hair, rich parents, petite frame, the cutest face, bubbly personality, confident and intelligent, sexy, everybody found her attractive. She is also incredibly talented at drawing the human figure, her life-size charcoal works are stunning. 

Talia is a clone of Anaya. 

I had been given a second chance by the universe. I wasted no time. 

She agreed to meet me, she invited me back to her place and in the back of her flatmates van I reached out and held her hand. I knew she was involved with at least one other guy, did not let that put me off claiming her as my own. 

In her room we drank red wine, smoked weed, listened to music, discussed art philosophy and kissed.  

As if in slow motion to make sure she was okay with it, I pushed her to the floor and took her. She let me, she wanted me to. 

We were together for five years during which time she explained to me the reason she knew so deeply that I wanted her was because I had taken her. 

It had gone deep into her psychology, into her emotional stability, to trust me because I had showed her I would break all social restrictions to claim her as my own. She absolutely loved me for it. 

The trust between us grew and as it grew our sex life got better than either of us had ever imagined. 

Eventually my brother had sex with her and my mother found a way to split us up and destroy our friendship. Neither of us recovered from it for a very long time. At the age we had met, doubled, is how long it took for us to detach from the pain, to fully heal and move on. 

We measured it by the stars, the astrology marked that path of healing although we had not foreseen the dreadful destruction of intervention. 

Among the last times I spoke with Talia, she was self-employed, her business was thriving, she had bought herself an expensive bright red sports car.

Takbr In Aquarius

So much suffering in this world. 

From people choosing the wrong paths for them and it affecting others. 

It’s not always people’s own fault because we’re not responsible for everything and everyone; we all buffer against each other and overlap and affect each other. 

Understanding our pains is part of the healing process and accepting “it is what it is” helps to stabilise us in relation to any situation. 

It’s what Buddhists are talking about with “desire leads to suffering” and Islam is talking about with “accepting the world as it is, now” to plug into the harmony, it’s why they say “Allah Akbar” translates to “god is good” which sounds like religious zombie programming to those who don’t get it. What is meant by it is “I accept the harmony” It’s a ritual to get there and a statement of being there. 

That’s the core of Islam and it’s the core of Buddhism. Probably early Christianity too, they use the word “Amen” from Egyptian it’s the same as Ohm, Aum, the chant which connects us to the harmony of the galaxy. Scientists measured it at 13 cycles per second. 

Growing up in Britain in a culture where there is so much anger and hatred toward religion by people who can’t see the intended purpose of why formal schools teach how to attain inner peace. 

Churches of manipulative sociopaths believing themselves superior because they wear a crucifix without themselves understanding the purpose of the religion. 

The anger gets targeted toward whatever social issues of the day, permitting and enabling anger instead of focus on letting it go. The same with manipulation, self-deception and a culture of reinforced delusion. 

I see this in people every day and in myself sometimes too.

It’s resonance though, vibration of people around us and we absorb that if we’re not careful. Again, anger aimed at sensitive empathic people who are trying to explain what it’s like being an energy being in a world of shifting energies...

 

If She Knew Her Name

I’m hungry and no sort of food is fulfilling. 

What I hunger for? 

This is why people travel. It matters not where I go, I will bring the hunger with me. 

I cannot tell if it is my hunger or something absorbed from another somewhere along the way. 

Is this what it is to be alive? 

To improve myself or satisfy whatever lustful need I can’t identify? 

To be moving feels better but to where? 

For why? 

A restlessness deep within. 

Since being here I’ve closed a lid on it for the time it took to contemplate. 

Always, it’s has always been there. I have tried alcohol and other drugs, art, history, knowledge, hard crafts, sex, sports, flagellation, altruism, music, discovering one by one through those journeys they are the of absorbing other people’s paths, temporary distractions to ease the pain and not anything definitive which can end it permanently. 

I’ve studied spiritism, mediumship and discussed with ghosts the hunger, to learn it continues along with us even after we leave our bodies behind and pass forward into worlds of higher forms of energy. 

Yet not all. 

Whatever it is, an internal thing. 

Sometimes it is gone completely, when I’m satisfied with all things and in harmony, by accepting everything to be the way it is, a simple trick of letting go of all attachments. 

Thus I cured addiction, self-punishment, distraction and desire. 

At times the hunger remains. 

At such times it is deep within the centre of my heart, it hurts to go so far into myself to explore it. 

So far this writing is seductive because others recognise of what I speak.

It does not finish there. 

Though exploration of the hunger has taken me through many life’s and many experiences, much wisdom and feathers to my bow, I have broken beyond the awareness of its existence. 

I found some answers. 

This is where the exploration becomes taboo for many are not ready and willing to accept the answer I have found. 

Thus many will reject my answer. Perhaps it is unique although I believe sincerely the hunger is the same within us all and a part of our human condition. 

I lowered the hard shell around my heart, there to protect it, there because of it having been hurt. 

I lowered it from love obviously, the only reason we ever lower the defences of our heart. It’s a way to discover if this thing is love or infatuation, obsession or desire or some combination of all that and more. 

I have to let it go, and that is where the core is ripped out. That is where the hunger comes from. 

All which remains is the softened flesh of what used to be a hardened shell, only now it is soft, hot and fragile, with a hollow centre. And it hurts! The pain is it’s yearning to be complete. 

For men this is how our hearts are affected by love. It can only be healed when she is safe, content, at inner peace. It can only be healed by loving her, giving her more than I knew I encompassed. 

That is how she grows me, reforms me, changes me to become a better person, by letting go of the pains of the past so all which remains is dedication to her exclusively despite the hungry pain which is eating me up from within. 

This is what it is to be vulnerable. 

The intensity of this feeling is barely described by these words which hold a clue. I fear it would terrify her to know how much power she has and her humane reaction, to let me go, to shift her frequency, so we will drift apart to free us both. 

There is ancient art of a cat eating a heart. The story here is nothing new but recognised timelessly. It’s a common human experience because through every generation so many of us are hungry, a hollow deep within our core. 

For some it leads to bitter anger, trying to escape the pain beyond bearing. For others who work with the pain and experience it, who give voice to it, this is how her voice screams through my existence. 

This is what happens when I give her my heart because it is worse not to. 

After decades of being a wallflower, the last single in a group of couples, the one who will not bond because the fear of this pain. 

There is only one answer, to end the pain. To love her. To let her know how much. She will either reject it and push me away, the bond of our hearts sepatratig and no longer creating the tension there. 

A healing will swiftly follow. The hunger will ease. Normal food will suffice to pleasure the body with health. 

Or, she will accept and welcome, we will embrace. The pain will ease and cease as our hearts connect, for it is being apart from each other which causes the pain. The bond at a distance is why it hurts, when it needs to be together as a singularity. 

It is one heart which was torn in two, from the inside out and that is why it hurts so bad. 

This too is a lesson. 

But if I tell her, it changes everything. 

Concrete & Blue

“Why do you call me?” I asked, hiding empathic tears behind a mask of professionalism worn for her benefit to ease her into acceptance, not of me who she had already chosen to engage with but of herself who she had not yet. 

“I feel I have a hedgehog for a heart.” She stated in monotone. It might easily have been a choked voice if she had put emotion into her statement. She was not at that place. Her heart felt more like a stone to me, a nut with a hard shell. It’s seed could not break through without pain and greater effort than she alone could muster. Her voice, true voice of her heart, was dead. Her experiences had made her concrete. 

I gave her blue. She dreamed. 

“A porcupine whose spines burst open as peacock feathers, can you imagine what that would look like?” 

Unlocking the keys to genetic modification is already an existing technology. We already have bioluminescent trees and pavements in some cities. 

Within bdsm culture, once you have sifted through the available egotists and abusers to discover that rare, authentic Master, the training provided is equivalent to genetic science for the impact it can have in personal transition toward liberation, personal enlightenment and empowerment, using known methods, based on the principle of developing trust between socially kinked individuals by application of those methods. 

Yet a lot of people are afraid of it and resent it. They judge it. And yet, they know nothing about it. 

“I feel like I need the pain to get back there, to relive it, to heal it. It’s not that ‘I like pain’ so much as I feel dead without the stimulation training my nerves to wake up and feel alive. It’s what trauma conditioning does to people. That’s well documented.” 

She expressed with unusual clarity the attraction of such a lifestyle, shared her understanding of how it could help her by providing what she needs to find her way back to wholesomeness. “I can’t do it alone. I tried...” the scars, blade marks where she had inserted metaphorical hedgehog quills attempting to go deep enough into herself to fix the problem. 

It is not the physical act of torture and in extreme cases self-mutilation. The goal is to go deep enough into the soul to bring healing. One becomes symbolic for the other and therefore a gate through which to access it. Emotional and mental trauma from abuse and bereavement affecting relationships and self-harmony ability to function. 

The act is not the purpose. The act as a result of the purpose. The act of cutting a piece of wood is not the purpose. Having furniture to store things safely is the purpose. You don’t look at a person wielding a saw and label them as destructive, you label them as creative. 

That we can understand any experience a person going through as a step in the process toward a purpose. The experience is not the purpose. The consequence is the purpose.

It is this awareness which proves the difference between a master who knows what they’re doing, and an abuser exploiting novices within a culture. 

Neither is it grandiosity and egotism for the master serving the submissive. The master provides and aims to fulfil a purpose, that of healing, of harmonising and enlightening the submissive. 

This is not a simple task of kinky activities for the sake of kinky activities. Nothing is done without purpose. Every activity serves purpose. 

The observer sees only the physical, perhaps also audio and olfactory universes, and some level of empathic sympathy. The observer is a voyeur for their own sensory pleasure. Their presence if known may serve to stimulate the submissive toward a specific and pre-considered state. That is their function. 

The experience of the submissive is wholly encompassing, for it is real as a lived experience. The tastes involved invoke reaction. The nervous system reacts a determinable way, this is by intention. Hormonal release is controlled by the mistress or master. The submissive is being altered, neurologically, emotionally, psychologically. 

Our state of being is held in our body. In our stance, in our poise. Our past attachments are worn. These are massaged, counselled, through the act of bdsm experiences. 

BDSM primarily is not a physical activity. It is holistic. The trust relationship between Dominant and Submissive parties is the core principle of the bondage. The relationship in a word. 

Not Love although the development of that is a beautiful thing. It is Trust. 

For the submissive this means stepping into the unknown. Crossing the boundary to learn from experience what is on the other side. Until then the boundary is merely fiction. 

The Dom operates through whatever known means necessary to provide the service of holistic enlightenment of the sub. 

 

Bondage 

(relationship as addiction, trauma bonding, liberation)

Discipline 

(of others and self-discipline for all parties)

Domination and Submission 

(realms of consent, brats, slavery)

Sadism and Masochism

(providing a service through means known to work vs enjoyment of suffering) 

One Cross Two Snakes

Connecting with the core. 

This is represented by the vertical line, the direct connection between the lower density and the higher plane, this symbol is known as the direct communion with the divinity (God).

Then there is the flow of the social level, referred to by Masons as being on the level, the general consensus between all of the groups the wider community, things everybody agrees to regardless of their personal stance on any particular issue at hand. 

This is represented as a horizontal line, our passage on the land and the connection between the left and right hemispheres or, between us and them.

And then there is the weaving serpent path of those disconnected from the acknowledged recognition of the vertical and horizontal lines. This is the realm of self deception, delusion, errors mistakes and illusions, pretence, instability unknowing, false belief and trying to find a way through by use of whatever unscrupulous means because it is not connected to the stability.

It is very unfortunate that the same symbol of a serpent is associated with this because the serpent is also identified by more cultures and for longer into prehistory as a healing path. In synchronism these two concepts have been fused into one in the western hermetic tradition. This has been a mistake which has resulted in a lot of confusion and a lot of bloodshed through the centuries.

Archaic revivalism, re-connection to our route heritage, necessitates recognition of the serpent as healer, not a Satanic. 

The medicine journey, the path of inquest resulting in healing through application of knowledge. It is about learning, and it is about shedding the skin of the old to grow into what suits best for our next stage of development. Assimilation of answers from inquiry and leaving behind that which no longer serves but inhibits, is evolution. 

The shamen understand this not only in terms of an individual who is most likely to be lost and disconnected, but also in terms of the wider culture and species evolution collectively at this point. Collective-consciousness is Gustav (Karl) Jungs’ term for it. 

The diversity for which our species is famous, and many would argue its purpose as a successful survival strategy, therefore an essential and effective aspect of the mind of nature; this diversity results in some cultures being off-line and disconnected in their developments not only from the main human average but also from the divinity. 

The divinity is the central core of the harmony of all things. 

The West has for centuries been exploring breaking away from that so as to impose its own order upon the external universe, an effort which has proved repeatedly to have been a mistake. A mistake for of the destruction it creates despite our perceived benefits, which many who are spiritually connected question; are they benefits at all or merely distractions and part of the delusion which is causing a toxic environment? 

All of our species pollution is the blatant example of this.

Health Freak

painted lady by Fabian Perez

“Pleasure is Health.” Dr Saida, Kama 

She did not like him thinking she is gross. 

Gross as an abbreviation for grotesque although the word also means “to profit financially” in the commercial context. 

Why did he think she is gross? 

In her mind, it is because she has a freedom he doesn’t and he’s envious. It triggers his anger because she’s gone deeper into healing base chakra development than he has. 

Tantra describes base chakra as “the seat of sexuality and anger” designed to tame one through the other, for us to evolve. Anthropologist Jared Diamond analysis of primates correlates with this spiritual awareness. 

In his mind, it is because she sells her body for sex and enjoys recreational gang-bangs, while he is looking for a monogamous relationship to partner up with another like-minded devotee in an exclusive relationship. 

She is encouraging him to believe there is something wrong with him for having old-fashioned values and unreal expectancies, especially in the post-post-post-modern world of lgbt+ and sexual liberation, in which the normal attitude is actively derogatory toward old-fashioned “family values”. 

Yet at this time the vast majority of women are in a public image culture where women have to pretend the uphold the same ideals toward which he aspires so as to avoid being slut-shamed and publicly humiliated. 

She does not regard it as humiliation, she regards it as liberation. Her self-image and behaviour is shameless, a dualistic word previously used as a disrespectful insult which now means she is honest and not deceptive, unlike the fake women who secretly desire to live her way. 

Therefore she is a stronger woman than the sort he is searching for. He is unfulfilled, she is easily fulfilled. Which lifestyle is better? 

He interprets her pressuring him toward the idea of hiring her body by her using advanced mental inserts to be a form of narcissistic abuse. This is part of the reason why he believes she is gross. 

She regards it as her attempting to liberate his mindset from a dysfunctional, old-fashioned prison in that it is unrewarding and does not bring him happiness, and toward one from which they could both prosper and enjoy their lives more. 

His retort: the sharing of flesh is a mutually beneficial equality, any financial exploitation on top of that is an abuse. Why should she not pay him for the same privilege? 

She asked him if he can get it for free so easily, and why he doesn’t treat her profession as any other type of massage, food, a book or movie, decorator, cleaner, any other commercially available, skilled, rentable commodity. 

She calls him prejudice and boring, not knowing how to accept a good thing when it crosses his path. That a real man would take what’s on offer gladly. 

He worries about his own reputation for even associating with her, which he does not go out of his way to do. She knocks on his door. She waits outside his house until he returns asking for favours. They pass in the street due to living in close proximity. 

Next time they met she had heard he had gotten himself a steady girlfriend so she turned up and invited herself in to make the girlfriend jealous, or to pressure them both into a threesome. 

They ignored her. She sat on the sofa while they hid in the bathroom until she had gone. Girlfriend gave him a hard time about knowing such people and the disruption to their happiness became an a wedge which grew between them before it split them up. 

After which she was sometimes aloof and sometimes friendly with him, playing him both ways. He contemplated that she was actually treating him now the same way how he had always previously treated her. 

He chose to ignore her.