Excerpt from The Book of Sa-Heti (by J. Michaud)

Section 2 – Spiritual Heritage

19 — The Chapter of the Rosy Light

A-UM !

12. And Chrishna, the Bringer of Light, spoke unto his Disciples, saying the ancient Precepts over again, as he had spoken them in previous Incarnations, aeons and aeons of ages ago on earth; in times long lost within the dark oblivion of the far, dim past.

13. ‘Have Faith, be it even a little faith, for this will save thee from many calamities and free thee from all fear.

14. ‘This is a great and simple Law: a Law unto the faithful; for men who trust in worldly aid live in complexity, having manifold intricate laws, which are like shifting sands that suck the wanderer who trusts in their solidity unto perdition.

15. ‘For such laws are like unto the souls that made them, whose only foundation is the nether world.

16. ‘Such have no faith, no trust; first, because they judge all other men by the faultiness of their own foundations, and secondly because all their laws consist of contradictions, twisted by rogues for the destruction of fools, who place in them their foolish worldly trust, and give credence to their makers and expounders.

17. ‘Have only faith in God and in the Lords of Life, whose words are Truth, whose Laws are just and sure, unchangeable and not to be distorted by the arts of devils’ ingenuity; for based they are upon the adamantine surety of God’s own Mercy and His Justice, which can no more be deviated by slick excuse and sly prevarication than an ant can overturn a mighty Alp.

18. ‘Therefore, in no man place thy trust, for he is powerless to aid thee by himself, or lead thee to the Safety of Light and Truth:

19. ‘For all men are but instruments, blind tools, who act upon the inspiration (quite unknown to them) which comes from God….or from the Serpent; and wise is he who knows the veritable source of ignorant man’s actions.

20. ‘The man who thinks he does thee well may be thine executioner.

21. ‘The man who hateth thee, can, mayhap, be just the very tool which opens up the door which leads unto the Path of thy Salvation.

22. ‘And only God can separate the false and the true and know the hidden purpose and the spring of all men’s slightest actions.

23. ‘Distrust the man who spurs thee on to do good works to reap the fruits of good deeds done;

24. ‘Who prophesies great wealth and power if thou do thus and thus, and so and so;

25. ‘Who prates to thee of endless lives on earth in utter bliss, if thou abound in charity and temple rites, of wealth and power, which (he says) is God’s reward for those who prop the State and Constitution;

26. ‘Who grants thee merit, bountiful, in future times for present works of ‘faith’, according to his precepts;

27. ‘Who promises to teach thee full control of all the elements and demon forces: that thou mayest rule the earth and all that’s on it and within, by means of magic rituals.

28. ‘For know that they who promise this, or who desire vast wealth and power, are lax of soul and mind, forsaken by the Father for their lies and greed, and handed over to the lower ones, to live and die in spiritual destitution.

29. ‘The man who puts his trust and faith in other men is lost for sure, and when he seeks the help of God at last, it is too late, for God will send him to the men in whom he placed that trust and faith, for such is the Law, in Truth and Justice.

30. ‘Be free of all the laws laid down by men: but do not act against them.

31. ‘Be free of all the rituals and priests: but let who will obey them.

32. ‘Be free of that self-righteousness which calculates its profits due when all its devilments are done: for the Serpent only will take profit in the end.

33. ‘Thou! Go forth when the time of thy Mission arrives; do right; ask not, and thou shalt not want.

34. ‘Be right deeds themselves thy reward, and not their fruits: for by acting rightly thou doest God’s own work at His behest, and not thine own.

35. ‘The fruit of all good deeds be God’s, not Man’s.

36. ‘Go forth, then, and act; dream not in self-pitying sloth, but labour mightily.

37. ‘Right acts must be thy piety, not mumbled prayers at the holy shrine; for this is the excuse of sluggards, to sit and pray instead of being up and doing.

38. ‘Plan not what thou shalt do ‘tomorrow’, nor prate about the work of later days: but do it NOW.

39. ‘Cast Self aside, condemning gain and merit.

40. ‘Be poised and calm in good and evil times; for those who in this way show God their love and trust will reach the Peace, unknown to men whose love and faith are in the world, instead of in the Father.

41. ‘Let the Soul be thy Heaven, counselling the Mind with Wisdom, and scorn all those who practise virtue in hope of reward.

42. ‘For this is pure devotion and attunement with the Higher Worlds, and the Soul of God, and those who dwell within his Radiance.

43. ‘And cast aside good deeds and bad alike, following the Call of the Inner Voice, though thou hearest not its utterance with outward ears.

44. ‘By peaceful meditation (whilst thou workest) shall Light and Truth fulfil thy Self, shaking off the tangled cords of wrongful teachings, which guide the ignorant, alone.

45. ‘And thus, freed from man-made laws, doctrinal oracles, and priestly lore and dogma, and love of gain and fortune,

46. ‘Safe shalt thou dwell in life, quite sure within, untroubled by the world of men and their opinions, until the Day when Greater Life begins in Greater Light, in Bliss—and Peace—and Beauty’.

Read more at: http://www.occult-mysteries.org/chrishna-jeseus-index.html

Murdered Children/ Incoherent Rant

I don’t know if this is Gaza or Syria or whose doing it is or who they are.. but here are murdered children. Look at this picture. What are we? This is worse than primate behavior. Who does that? Who fucking murders babies? What does that even prove, man? Come on. Fuck. Even video games don’t allow you to injure civilians, leave alone toddlers. I just feel so ashamed of being human right now. I know we do a lot of good too. But it’s just damage control. We are all that’s wrong with this world.


Murdered Children

Injured Children

Murdered kids

Requiescat in pace, my darlings. I’m sorry we failed you so miserably. I know it doesn’t mean a thing. But I don’t know what else to say.

I hope it didn’t hurt. There’s no use saying cliched things like I hope you are in a better place, though wherever it is, even oblivion, it would be kinder than what our world did to you.

We’re not supposed to ask forgiveness from children for letting them die. We’re supposed to protect them.

Protect those weaker than you. Isn’t that what civilization is about? What does bombing or shooting a child prove?

What does murdering someone who can’t fight back fucking prove, man?

Fucking cowards.

Whoever did this.. indefensible act.. death’s too good for them.

They deserve to be damned.

The Journey East: Part I {Sanctuary}

When they got back to the village, it already resembled flaming ruins more than the bustling center of life it had been when they set out that morning. Before Rory could turn the jeep off, Anastasia had leapt out of the still moving vehicle, stumbling slightly as her injured ankle hit the ground first. Tonya was soon to follow. Liam and Richie quickly exchanged glances before following them into the smoke, Rory close behind.

Only Damien stood beside the vehicle, eyes blank, but scanning the perimeter nevertheless.

Then he slowly made his way after the others, taking the time to light himself a cigarette. What he found did not surprise him in the least. Carnage.

Street after street, lane after lane, house after house, there were only corpses. Brutally, mercilessly, murdered bodies. Some of them still stared forward with their faces twisted into grotesque masks of horror. Damien muttered off a string of curses under his breath. Then immediately started blessing the dead. The girls must be having a fit, he thought, darkly but not too unkindly. He had reason to be upset. The longer they stayed in one place, the easier it became to hunt them down.

Up ahead, Anastasia was making her way through the rubble, trying desperately to reach the Training hall. Damien paused in his rituals to watch her, his expression neutral, but eyes focused in inescapable scrutiny. She seemed genuinely distraught. He watched as Richie caught up to her and reached out as if to place a hand on her shoulder. A moment’s hesitation later, he seemed to think the better of it and instead joined her in clearing the rubble. Even in the midst of her obsessive need to get through to the main entrance of the Hall, she paused to turn and look at him gratefully, her dirt stained face scrunched up briefly in the likeness of a smile. Richie seemed to glow and Damien tutted to himself. That little monkey needed to be put on a leash!

He finished invoking the holy spirits and sanctifying the street before moving up to join the others. Just in time to see Anastasia finally loosen the last stone standing in her path and wriggle through into the darkness that was the Hall. Richie pulled out a couple more stones and squeezed through after her. Rory cursed at the two, and Damien found himself oddly glad to have someone to share the sentiment with. This girl was too much like their little Richie. Foolhardiness of youth, maybe? There was a line between bravery and foolishness, and he strongly believed those two needed constant reminding. Meanwhile Liam and Tonya had finally broadened the gap enough so that they could all go through, and Damien followed them inside, wondering what the hell they had gotten themselves into this time.

Banished

Hands reaching out like vines in a forest.
Always waiting to grab your soul.
Show me a way out, estranged lover,
Show me a way out, before you go..

I remember being washed clean
Before all of this trading of pain
Since then, admittedly, I have fallen
to new depths again and again

From grace,
time and space
While all I recall
is that look upon your face.

My words fall too, yes,
Like broken fragments of glass
Nothing good ever comes from a  journey
Ceaselessly, into the past

Yet, here I stand bewildered
How does it matter which way I choose?
Still, your order of banishment stands dictated
And who am I to refuse?

The End

Sorrow, like an albatross
hangs about my throat
Watching with possessive eyes
as on my own words, I choke.

I have always said I craved to be
at the least, more than free
But freedom is its strongest chain
So much larger than me

Yes, we do what we must
that alone is true
And you don’t love me
But I’ll always love you.

So, I hold you no ill will
No wishes of regret
Just promise me one thing,
that you will never forget..

Songs of light, chains of gold
And flowers of twisted steel
A seashore that weeps and weeps
And things that time can never heal

I know, you did what you had to
so that you could be free
Now, darling, be reasonable
And expect no lesser from me

I have loved you for ages
And never thought I’d find thee
here of all places,
quietly waiting for me

So forgive me for not taking the hint
Forgive me for being unable to flee
Forgive me for bothering you with the truth
But I cannot go, and I will not leave

And as the sun rises on my setting heart
I know this burden is mine alone to bear
How long, how long, will I slide?
I do not know, and you cannot care

What I Want

I want to write about other things, happier things, things that don’t get stronger the weaker I get.

I want to laugh freely, feel the wind in my hair, truly live under the infinite night sky.

I want to dream of beautiful things, and wake up to happiness.

I want to stop waiting for brimstone and hellfire.

I want to be waited for, appreciated, wanted.

I want to believe in things and people.

I want to forget the bad memories.

I want to be more than this.

I want to be ecstatic.

And

I always

do what I want.

Arizona Phoenix

I have spent so long under this hot desert sun, dreaming up cages and sweet releases of rain and thunderstorms, that I somehow stumbled past the realization of no longer being tied to any wire. The freedom I craved was apparently mine to bestow upon myself – for quite a while now. But I had spent so long deceiving myself when it came to my reasons for staying, I had truly come to believe that I was stranded. Abandoned off some highway so distant and untraveled, that my weary wings would never be able to bear me to civilization ever again.

And I lay on the ever hardening, burning Earth, convinced that what I felt was coldness inside. Was it? I don’t know anymore.. Have no way of knowing. At least not immediately. But, fighting pain with more pain is a hatchling habit that should have died a long time ago. Except my obsession with souvenirs includes saving remnants of who I have been. Living ghost memories of parallel personalities that allowed me to sneak past life events before being able to fully comprehend them. Guardians that  may or may not have outlived their purposes, but it doesn’t matter, because I never learned to let go.

And we have sailed, with inappropriate laughter and tears, to this utterly bizarre point in time, all out of sync except when it comes to the burning rage at the core of us all. I think it’s the scintillating fusion of burning rage and the helplessness that comes with being not strong enough that gave birth to most of these ghosts in the first place, not quite unlike every other phoenix. Except since they never die, they are never reborn – simply frozen in time like ghosts that should fade, but never learned how to.

These are the ghosts that bind me. The remnants of a past so distant, I cannot even think of that person – those persons – as myself. And thus my frozen portraits bind me to the present, unable to move forward in time long enough to burn to ashes and be reborn. My sentimental heart longs for one more rain before it will allow me to go. But she is untrustworthy, and no amount of water will ever be enough. She shall always be thirsty.

I remember an old professor now. Back when I was so young that even the dreariest day brought with it abundant hope and the promise of adventure. The World was our’s. And he told us how it worked. How sometimes, it didn’t matter how much effort, time, capital or energy you had invested in a project. Sometimes, you had to realize that there would be no returns. Sometimes, you had to simply cut your losses. Those losses are your “Sunk Costs”, and well, it was an economical serenade to the concept of letting go. Harsh, practical and so true.

Except, I must be bird brained. Because despite knowing that, here I am. Cooking in the middle of a desert where I’m not even wanted, and where I have *never* wanted to be. What for? For years and years of sunk costs, I say. Years and years. And I’ve been putting away my turning to ashes and being reborn by one last thunderstorm and one last volcanic eruption and one last winter and one last smile – but my time has run out.

Change or Die.

That is not the question.

That’s the answer.