Gordian Knots

“We do things our way around these parts.” 

One Horse Town

In a one horse town everyone knows everyone, everyone knows everyone’s business, everyone relies on everyone else which usually means everyone relies on the one or two people who’ve got their heads together. There is a general attitude of ‘us versus them’ between the locals versus outsiders. Outsiders typically will not be able to fit in, will not be made to feel welcome, and will be exploited. A xenophobic attitude toward outsiders. Everything is kept simple, reliant on the basic system which works around here. Black and White thinking reigns: if it ain’t normal it’s wrong. A strict hierarchy order is easily recognisable as the power structure and respected by locals as an absolute. Alternately this may be a trade town reliant on outsiders to bring necessary resources in exchange for local produce. 

Two Horse Town

In a two horse town, there are two encampments. There is an ‘us versus them’ mentality between the two camps often flaring toward unresolvable hostility. The dynamic is such this typically keeps going indefinitely. Outsiders are welcomed so long as they empower us, and warred upon if they empower the other. Black and White thinking reigns. Competition exists between factions each of which has its own hierarchy with a relative counterpart in the other faction. Usually there is a singular strong leader for each side. 

Three Horse Town 

A mediation exists between polarities permitting for greater diversity. Typically the factions are greyscale rather than black and white, creating versatile dynamics where each faction exists at an equilibrium between the other factions. This is the simplest form of the most stable structure.  Each faction may be polarised to both others, allied with both others, polarised to one and allied with the other, subservient or dominant, or more typically a mix in different areas of life. Outsiders are usually tolerated with a mixture of courteous respect and manipulative or overtly hostile exploitation. 

Five Horse Town

“Folks from around here ain’t from around here.”

There are so many possible dynamics in a cosmopolitan culture more used to enabling and supporting people to do things their own way. There are multiple options and opportunities available so the mindset is one of working with what works best for the individual rather than conformity to practicality, and of accepting dismissal in favour of alternative approaches. There are more variety of specialists found within this community. Xenophobia is rare while multicultural differences are embraced. This melting pot is a distillation process which eventually leads to a syncretic culture between fractionalised communities and sub-groups. 

No Slavery

“All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to look on and do nothing.” John Stewart Mill, 1867

“Those who look on and do nothing are not good men. They are permissive of evil, which is the same thing as they are supportive of evil.” SnakeAppleTree 

You’ve spoken several times about worrying about your reputation.

Your reputation is excellent.

What I believe is happening is something like Reiki/empathy. 

You open the door to the abusers energy, or they force it open simply because you’re forgetting to consciously shut it as often as necessary. 

So, your absorbing a lot of energetic patterns which affects the mind and behaviour. Anxiety does this. It is how stress transmits from piezo-electric from one person to another even at a distance.

That the brain generates electrical signals is scientific verified fact. 

That the observer affects the observed is scientific verified  fact. 

The faculty by which energy is directed and transmitted is the conscious or subconscious, in either case; the brain, using its electrical antenna called the nervous system to transmit and receive electrical signals. It is exactly how a radio relay works. With humans it’s AC/DC. The energy exchange is both ways albeit not necessarily in equal exchange. 

Scientific studies have showed that for a human brain to function as an electrical antenna for radio relay, it would have to be the size of a football pitch, to amplify any signal the size generated by the brain. This is in accordance with normal electronic principles. 

The remarkable thing is that when a human nervous system is unravelled it is forty-five miles long. It is plenty big enough for conscious and unconscious forms of telepathy to be a practical and real possibility. 

With humans we generate and transmit not only mind but emotional energy which is also measurably electronic. 

When people have negative emotions their  biological system and brain are resonating lower spectrum energies. Positive emotions are higher spectrum energies. We can consciously control this by applying certain over-ride methods. 

One, 

regulate all biological functions with conscious rhythmic breathing. Inhale, hold for four or five seconds, exhale, hold fo four or five seconds, repeat. This method puts oxygen into the organs. It causes blood flow speed to stabilise at optimal functioning. All biological rhythms are also stabilised for optimal functioning. All of them. 

Consider how often you breathe compared with how often you purposefully practise getting good at it. It’s not something people are generally very good at nor in control of most of the time. Yet we rely on it to such extent we would be dead without doing it. 

Two, 

by training the brain to make different response associations to stimuli. Even “doing nothing” is a stimuli because the trigger factors for behavioural reaction are the ingrained super-ego ones. In modern times this is called CBT cognitive behavioural training. It’s an umbrella term for reprogramming our mental and emotional reactions to improve our well-being. 

The most simple method is to say, in your mind or out loud, the word “stop!” every time your mind, the stream of consciousness, goes in a different direction to the most optimal direction it is possible to flow in at any given time. This definitely includes every incident where the stream of consciousness is causing anxiety. 

The big equation here which is raised to awareness is the concept of stilling the mind, de-railing the unwanted stream of consciousness and putting the mind on track with a more positive stream of consciousness. 

Say, out loud or in your mind, the words “I am healed” repeatedly - you can use any mantra at all - until the mind stops yabbering like a stressful monkey and instead does what you want it to do. Be peaceful and well-trained to serve you better. Whose brain is it anyway? 

The reality we generate, the manifestation, the path we walk through life, it’s context, our associations of cause-and-effect, are radiated outward by the body, programmed by the mind. 

If your mind is not generating purposefully the existence you prefer to experience, then it is disfunctional and very probably enslaved to generating someone else’s version of how things should be in which you are simply being used to empower their dominating agenda. 

Reality is intentionally collaborative. When we do not harmonised from within, we are windswept from without. 

Stop reacting to external stimuli the way you previously reacted. You are no longer a zombi because you are aware now. 

The gift of self-awareness leads to the benefit of self-actualisation. Otherwise you exist in a reactionary state, flotsam controlled by the tide of other people’s manipulations and uncaring exploits. 

If you do not respect yourself, nobody else worth being respected by, will respect you either. This is what “reputation” is founded on according to the principles lived by Human Beings. 

We do not care at all for the definition of ‘respectability’ used by manipulative slander networks of zombie-minds who have not yet attained the status of Being Human. They cannot tame themselves yet, certainly nobody will knowingly energise any world they create in which they have forced authority to control others. 

#Narcissism 

#BreathOfLife 

#FreedomProtocol 

#NLP

#CBT

#RemoteMindControl

My apology, I was derailed whilst writing that. A lot of the reason you’re worrying about your reputation unnecessarily is because you’re absorbing the abusers energetic grid. By connecting with that person, by their focusing on you obsessively, the pattern is transmitting one from the other. You win when you let go of your connection to that anxiety, to the source of that anxiety, which is the abusers mentality and behaviour. 

It will help your lot to liberate your energy from then entirely by shutting the gate to them. The mantra;

“I return all energy to sender, with love, and I sever all ties.”

You return the energy to the sender “with love” because that way they get a positive buzz associated with the act of you letting go, the act of the cord being severed. 

If you simply sever the cord coldly, they feel the energy drop and so will anger in your direction to see what’s happened, where has that tap feed of attention-energy gone? It often results in the narcissists renewed effort to control you. 

Do it with positivity and the energetic cord is exchanged with one where they actively want to set you free because they get more of a buzz out of that than from of grinding you down by having you on a rope. 

#NoSlavery

Repeat this as often as necessary.

A Human Test

“They all hate him/her.” 

Checklist

Does the person on the list of names (haters) who hate the person (target) know that person from having shared time and experiences with them? 

They might claim to have done so. 

This is not evidence of truth. 

They might say they “know” that person because they would recognise them by sight. This is not to “know” a person, it is to recognise a person by sight. To know a person requires shared time and experiences. 

If No, they do not know the person, it defaults to a situation where the person they hate is a fiction in their imagination projected at a recognisable target. This is a form of abuse. A collection of people abusing the same target is an abuse network. These typically have ringleaders. 

The person who they claim to hate simply does not exist. It is a delusion, ergo they are delusional, ergo they are zombies. 

Zombies 

1 have no brain 

(do not think for themselves) 

2 have no compassion 

(no humanity, no empathy for strangers) 

3 angry haters 

(require a target to dump hate on)

If a person allows the opinion of a zombie to be superior to theirself, that person is also a zombie. 

It’s a Human Test. 

Swamp Juice

So many creatives

So little correlation

So much energy to be harnessed for the betterment of humanity

So little focus

So much awareness it can be done 

So little awareness how to do it 

What it takes

Leadership standing up and saying;

Do this for this reason

And people recognising 

That’s a brilliant plan!

Implementing it

Succeeding

What is leadership? 

Nobody who wants that job deserves it

It happens naturally 

Where people demand to be that figurehead 

The creativity is stifled 

The hierarchy system stagnates

It’s already so stagnant it all needs to come crashing down completely 

To be replaced

Pisces into Aquarius 

What we value

Are those who facilitate the think-tanks 

Without domination

With care and compassion 

To keep those creatives flowing 

Integrating and growing together

Bouncing, thriving off each other’s ideas 

This is the renewal cycle

The 3 Attitudes

The Three Attitudes

Win Vs Lose 

Needs a winner and a loser.

Creates a situation of hierarchy.

The realm of power and control games.

Competition and Status.

All Are Equals

All on the same side.

All Together Win.

With respect for all being different.

Walk Away

Do not get involved in other people’s games and entangled in their karma. 

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.