2019-09-07

(d)evilution



or, Steal this Western Esoteric Tradition (hey, it was yours to begin with)
















We live in many worlds, over many hours and many days.

Who we are is not the same at any one time or the next. There are always, at least, micro-fluctuations in response to stimuli and the ever present aging, running down of the body.

And our minds truly are legion, housing all sorts of characters in changeful interaction - battling for control of the 'I'.

Whispering words: the fighting kind and sweet nothings, attempting to direct the outcomes in reality portended by the royal 'I' that must become the royal 'We' and unite the disparate forces of identity in order to come to wholeness.

All the people we meet, pass on the street, and the ancestors passing down their influence live on in internal presence.

It seems there is some sort of mirroring going on here, when we look out our eyes, hear with our ears, feel with our flesh - smell and taste. The inside and the outside are liminally united and we are the surface between two drastically different realms, the laws of which we know but little.


Let me call the consciousness, the 'Eye', to include the confluence or stitching together the current sensory input into one unified experience of the present. Effects, events, states find themselves placed before the 'Eye' according to the internal structural state of that 'Eye' and in the contrary direction, the external happenings are reflected in an internal changing of the state of an 'Eye'.

In order to cause a change, we are "closer" in some respect to the internal side of the Eye, which manifests, if you can call it that, as mind - hidden and obscure. We can direct the mind with but little required force, though much finesse. There is a part of our mental apparatus that constructs the reality in which we seem to exist based on patterns identified by the senses - and the body of the (human) world is truly that of man.

Through trial and error, events in repetition are cast in to memory and thence cast forward, outward into the world which confronts the limited self in the mirror of being. There are various levels to the subtlety of the patterns that may be discerned, some of which can only with difficulty be communicated due to the inability to "point" and for lack of a name.

The structure, however, of pattern is ultimately geometrical - the world our minds form is in many, if not most, respects a geometrical creation, or presentment.

Thus to be able to recast the world, the external world, in a new form requires a sensual and living mathematics of transformation, to be aware of the base forms into which the sensory data is organized and given meaning, and how those forms may be variously (inter)converted and rotated amongst themselves.

The possibilities for action in any space are determined and limited or extended by what the formal structure of that space allows.


No wonder there is but little magic in the common, work-a-day world.














the game of everything falling into place



this is a true story. one day i was accosted by 3 wayward travelers. they stopped me on a walk to now/here, asking for directions. we'll call them jubela, jubelo and jubelum since at the time i didn't dare/care to ask their names..




in any case they asked me for direction & of course i misdirected them knowing their lack of sincerity..similarly, they must have intuited my intentions for the next thing I knew i was in a hospital bed;

dead or alive, I knew not.



...



as I slowly recovered, crawling my way in agony out of the maw of hell & across the abyss of oblivion, it eventually dawned on me that the ill usion feeds itself..

that breath is the distance between life and death..


that the only way to really(..?) live is to be true to yourself..


that we are the truth, the way, the life & yea, the very death..





for if we're not?



then who f'ing is..





















Free-fall is the admission

Ask yourself:
Who is to blame,
for participation insistently gravitating towards struggle?

Still
- it’s all in your mind, and for yourself?
Why do you need release?

The shadow will eventually cave into itself,
So give in.
Put up your feet – but best buckle up.
Straight into the yonder.

The only way to ride that ox is to become calmly unified with anxiety.

Herded ‘tween flag an’ flame -
the only choice left for me, was shame.

Hit me between the eyes,
Or we gunna have it out again.

Untold absolutes absolve.
Winds from shore growing old,
ain’t nothing we’ve never been told.

Conduit is all I feel
sands of soul, all I breathe.
All that I see is myth.

Scattering temples -
doesn’t invoke a throne.

Stick to the steel.
Sweeten to their campaign,
But when their peace overtakes you
-          you’ll run from it.  

When you’re conditioned not to peep,
you can only scream.

As the slivers of land slowly let go -

The stone stands alone.

And will atone.




Everything with unity is precise(ly)
unaware.

Step out our (wit)hin.

A line.
A consequence.


Like there was a choice?
If only we could invoke our dreams…
…now who was it…that chased them from our minds…
and lock us into our heads?


I don’t cast the shadow
I merely appear - within.



An unearthed sub-human beauty has overtaken me.
The waves are still infinity.







2019-07-31

those occultists you admire read us for inspiration











let's play the game


















Imperative



Refused salvation leads to mandated participation.

A realized  infection.


The tick(ing)…..I beseech you scratch.



The dream
is turned
-          Inside -
out
on
-          Itself –




Forgotten.


Suffocate.

Osculate.

Refute.


Repute.



It’s not anal if you like it.

Nothing is supposed to fit.



The raw is something to be extracted, not exiled.




All structure is obstruction.

The broken plow saw (not) the worm.



Self is the grounding familiar of distraction.

A dramatic method of dressing up the emptiness
like a paper doll.



No purse is without a bounty.

No dream without a reality.





Space….space…space….space…

So much easier to defeat than time.


Take me to the pages I’m not allowed to read,
And I’ll etch you worlds you could never conceive.



A trip to forget
 – not to be –

Forgotten.




Dispelling a dream long rotten.


















Let's return to this idea of a story space for a minute here, as that is what our lives are to us. People are addicted to stories, as evidenced by the ubiquitous screen staring back into each one's face - a t.v., a phone, a computer, a movie theatre. 




Even the religious books are for the most part only understood as stories of people, and which for the most part place the believer into some overarching tale of good and evil and give (dubious) models for behavior. Actors and actresses are well-paid for their ability to call forth emotional states in themselves and thus evoke in the audience empathetic strains. 


People need stories because they want to feel, because their own story is not grand, or interesting enough - they want to escape into some other life. Countries and peoples also have their own histories that dictate the meaning of being a part of that group and where it is headed. Histories may as well be fiction, or rather maybe they function analogously to fiction - they are after all, merely high stories. 



And that brings us back to the idea of a story space, first at the level of an individual, generally starting by being born into a family and having little control but gradually asserting oneself and shaping one's identity in relation to the others, fleshing out the role to be played in that family story. Growing older, more choices open up, and the choices which influence which space we end up in are predominantly based on the people with whom we associate, and the terms of that association. 


The world opens up via interpersonal relationships, doing things and going places - talking in one sense or another, building a role, building yourself. Trajectories in social space, story space as I prefer to call it, are primarily dictated by conversations the ability to chit chat or work, fit, oneself into the story that another lives in, has written for their self. 


That this is done with words, seems to be a further indication of just how much our existence takes place not in anything like physical reality, but in something more like a book and a space of words. In the beginning were the words, and the words were the world and were the Gods and Devils. And the roles were built into the book first audibly with sounds and their psychological correlative emotions they call forth and then tied, consolidated to and into external sensation forms. 



Larger series, congeries, of sounds then structure larger ideas or stories as countries and peoples. In fact, all ideas are stories and have emotional / moral content, even if these are subtle and hidden..









 











"Who teaches us to be normal when we're one of a kind?"

- from Legion





“If you’re not the hero of your own novel, then what kind of novel is it? You need to do some heavy editing”

- Terence McKenna




“you know what the definition of a hero is? Someone who gets other people killed”

- from Serenity





legba lodge: a critical appraisal


(excerpts from a text by P. Phosphorous)



“The finished work is, in our times and climate of anguish, a lie”

- Theodor W. Adorno




And when have these intrepid explorers of the darker reaches of consciousness and Being ever completed a text?

Indeed, from the beginning of their published output (which, we note, has always been publicly available for free online, surely the present and future of publishing, and moreover essentially under copyleft), this obscure while yet not obscurantist group has sought, to paraphrase Nietzsche, to say more in a paragraph than others say in a whole book. Thus do they leave their work open-ended and open to interpretation, further development and even improvement by their readers.


Thus shunning fortune and fame, apparently the fashionable modus operandi for occultists the world over, they have sought only to contribute creatively and productively to the esoteric conversation.

Bucking the trend of quantity over quality and in the firm belief that creative inspiration (in the originary sense of the breathing of thoughts shining brightly like moving light(s) in a direct transmission from the very spirits) cannot be rushed, they have pushed forward in spite of the potential costs to their senses and sanity, like some esoteric version of Hunter S. Thompson on one of his more intensive & poignant trips through the modern mind-scape.



*



In light of these aforementioned efforts to set up their texts as just one side of a conversation with their readers, and out of respect for them, we will not attempt to summarize or outline the ideas presented in the legba lodge opus, but will simply outline a few of the more notable salient recurring themes of these inspiring texts.



Perhaps one of the most significant of these, certainly to the close reader, is their emphasis on the classical zen technique of 'first thought, best thought', i.e. a de-emphasis on over-editing and over-analysis of their own concepts & the expression thereof; a trust and confidence in intuitive responses to reality.

As if to underscore this point, one of the group's published editions, namely LL Whatev, seems to consist entirely of automatic writing(s). In our view, this is merely the most obvious example of how that zen methodology (or emphatic lack of methodology, vide supra) asks the reader to, in turn, respond by attuning to their own unconscious impressions and deep memories, certainly an under-emphasized but nonetheless critical aspect of our everyday lived experience.



The concept of the hero is as old as humanity itself, although it has been elevated to a new and central significance in the contemporary cultural milieu, what with the proliferation of superhero stories and critical, revisionist (out-)takes in all modern media.


For their part, the masked (wo)men of legba lodge have addressed this theme head-on, subtly questioning just what it means to be a real hero while pointing out that we are all, by definition, the heroes of our own narratives in that we are literally at their center.

Alluding to Joseph Campbell's thesis that we should not take this challenge lightly, the group repeatedly refer to their own personal "heroes' journey's" while noting that this experience cannot, by definition, be generalized except in the sense of certain markers of progress along the path of initiation, which, ever changing, has ever been a central and noble objective of the human experience.




Another significant, albeit potentially controversial, thematic thread running through these publications has been the repeated reference to confidence tricks and other parallel modes of deceit. While it is all too facile to over-simplify and subsequently judge or criticize such positions, it is important to keep in mind, in this respect, that profound quote by post-modern innovator and literary genius William S. Burroughs, specifically "to speak is to lie — to live is to collaborate".

In other words, the view of these esoteric experimentationalists can be summarized by saying that if any attempt to reduce the infinity of lived experience to mere words, pictures, or any expression, for that matter, is fundamentally reductionist, then we might as well have fun with it. We, for our part, certainly don't doubt that they do!





2019-05-28

psychonautic pirates

submariners deep diving the mass psyche


vigilante (anti)heroes of the transcendental id

















"Psychonautics (from the Ancient Greek ψυχή psychē ["soul", "spirit", or "mind"] and ναύτης naútēs ["sailor" or "navigator" – "a sailor of the soul"] refers to a methodology for studying altered states of consciousness, typically those produced by hallucinogenic substances, as well as to an exploratory research paradigm which navigates these states to gain insight into the human psyche and subconscious"



- from Wikipedia







the last frontier is neither space nor the deep seas, both being finite and bounded, although admittedly the dimensions of the former are so vast (literally astronomical) that it might seem infinite.

there are other dimensions right here & now, where you sit reading this. they are enfolded within the 'present' (in both the spatial and temporal senses), & require only the execution of certain energetic actions or 'moves' to be disclosed..


indeed, there are traditions of such practices throughout recorded history and from all over the world.















you can have everything you want, as long as you give us your soul..







“with great power comes great mental illness”

- from Jessica Jones



"The wreck is going down
Get out before you drown"

- soundgarden, new damage



“my lack of success is self-imposed”

- from Roman J. Israel, Esq.





what is changing today is that these techniques & practices are becoming more widely available & less subject to control by authorities such as church and state than ever before in our known history.


the potential impact of these recent developments is difficult to overstate. 



beyond the social and  cultural disruptions which we might do well to anticipate, there is a more immediate impending development which is of particular importance to readers of this publication, and indeed its authors.. 


as esoteric techniques, practices and paradigms become increasingly more 'mainstream', we anticipate an unprecedented increase of practitioners of these techniques, and as a result, increasingly more elaborate 'maps' of these dimensions, which previously had been subject to strict regimes of control.




thus begins the era of the psychonautic pirates ..















Success is being right. Everything else is punctuation marks




















We’ve said this before, and we’ll say it again: it’s all in your head, my friend.



That life you lived, that time you died, all passed before your eyes instead of heading in.



Looking out into infinite space, the loops tied back behind the place. You see the lines that never end all go forth and round again. Space is small and all extends in curves that never end, which never did begin.




The forms create the place in numbers great counting out it steps a harmony in measure to the muted din arising from begin, the end.



The Gods were two and three, one an infant sparkling - holy trinity means one thing: father, mother, me; sun and moon and in-between.




Cycles turning, planet(s) spinning, the world all a whirl with hidden meaning. Shapes and sounds familiar and unknown, entering the world’s a hollow tone.



Pieces of the mirror come together one-by-one, making altogether that sum of one and two and three. The center of the universe is near: inside where the all the world appears. And, spreading out from the here and near, return the rays - no straight line that’s not the same from left or right, zenith / nadir.



Periphery and core, joined intensive play extensive shores of tied up space all forming from within the place.



Back-and-forth, not one direction, pulled between two sides - the forward movement must obtain a reflux from an effluxed strain.



Not black and white, but colors plain and seen pass to and from each one of us; we’re more or less the same. Little sparks, little mirrors, little funnels all digesting matter, things of mind, passing through and changing form shown forth in what’s before our eyes.






Mindful of the mental chatter - a peak above the rest: on top a throne the victor sets a scepter and a diadem. Around which all personas find a place within - without - the distance is akin to where you find the song, the sound, that blends right in with what and where you want to be and were.






A place of stories passing, not in orderly succession, but with crossing, turning points rushing by and clothed in human skins.





Life is more or less a dream, and a nightmare if you want: And though it all may come to naught, the zero’s pregnant with the thought, caught drinking from its source in droughts of countless things, divisions from the One.



















Cut it down with a tick,

That’s the trick.



String it all together with moments that don’t stick.



How can you expect to go down a different path,

When you always go through the same door?



Will-you cross the river,

to Take a way?






Take

/tāk/

verb

1.

lay hold of (something) with one's hands; reach for and hold.

2.

remove (someone or something) from a particular place.







Do you See -

 Opposing action(s) under the name?

All opposition is unity yet to discover itself.



Fade like the world you bound yourself to.



When the screen is open to you, it is closed to me.

A trap of recap.

Destroy our screen – or you’ll never see what I mean

Abandon jewels of our failure.

Pick them up again.



Icons on the ivory side.

Star memories fold.



I sp(l)it the paint on of the mirror



Vanity is all we have, in our hearts.



When a flower becomes a star,

And a sun falls into forgotten.

They sing for what is left, (but a blessing)?



Synergies - shaded by normality’s,

Dissuade calamities - awakening.

….still….

I’ll come crashing inward again

….until…..

the unleashed reign.



We won’t let you drift away. As you call to us.

We are never tapped, because you are never the same.


























The fool says in his heart, there is no change

The fool says in his heart, there is no energy