I’ve been predicting things. Small things that people say, but always in silence. I feel really happy when these things happen, but today he called me. He was crying. He asked me to drive to him and scoop him up. I was ready. But he said he’d call me back in a second. I waited. I folded my fingers over my stomach. They say that you feel butterflies because of adrenaline, and when you blush your stomach turns red too. I wasn’t blushing for that reason. I reach for the phone to text him. As I press the “unlock” button, he calls. The “unlock” button became the “reject” button. I hung up on him.

I call him back. He said he was okay. He didn’t want a ride tonight, nor tomorrow, nor did he want to talk about it. I’m used to his secrets. I’m comfortable with his secrets. “Thank you for being on deck,” he says. I know he means it with ever fiber, and with every bone. I tell him that I touched my phone just as he called, which is why I rejected the call. He laughed. Things like this always happen to us. But when he hangs up all I can feel is dread. I feel sour sink-holes in my belly. I’m feeling so much. I’m feeling so much that I’m writing to bleed it out.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

Confidence comes from nothing, for confidence often-times is acting or theater, but the nature of life itself is sometimes fiction, yet we argue and dissect our own emotions searching for counterfeit cause, or we harshly judge others for being what we call “fake”, but bravery is fake, for bravery is being scared already, yet you continue and overcome, so bravery is certainly “fake”, and when the voices arise from the foreign parts of our mind shouting failure and futility; it is only your confidence that answers back but does not submit, and it is only your confidence which is like light born in the house of darkness that can defend you, or otherwise you rely on externals like flattery or certainty or stimulants, but true confidence comes from nowhere at all, for it is born from faith alone.

Relaxation sometimes means laziness, but I don’t like words that already imply a judgment, for laziness is the primordial soup from which all good things are born, and when I say laziness I mean a place of non-tension and non-direction where nothing gets done because nothing must be done, and I think about trees that grow when it’s time to grow, and remain silent when nothing must be done, for trees don’t have manuals and philosophical quotes from the internet, and you don’t see trees fretting over how little productivity they’ve made, yet trees grow purposefully and practically and appropriately, for a house could bar a tree’s way to the light, but the tree will simply grow to the left to feel the sun, yet some will say that the tree is lop-sided, and some would say that trees are lazy because no one can see their growth, so I see relaxation similarly, for sometimes nothing can be done, but in the midst of nothing our brains are re-scrambling into order, and our dreams are finding more silent ways of becoming real, and no one is the wiser until our senses can touch them.

Argumentativeness is like an egg because if it’s cracked from without the creature dies, but if cracked from within the creature is alive, so passions are like creatures in a way, and if that passion comes from within there is life, so argument is fueled from life, and is liken unto personal injury and necessity, but argument without passion is a fool’s errand, for these people are a nuisance, and publicly humiliate to relieve boredom, but arguments are sacred, for they are a dance of passion with passion, yet they are also dangerous for this reason, so a man who argues for the sake of passion is performing alchemy, but the man who creates counterfeit flames for the sake of public image is a shadow.

Kirikou and the Sorceress (full movie)

Thought #042314

If thou canst bear
Strong meat of simple truth
If thou durst my words compare
With what thou thinkest in my soul’s free youth,
Then take this fact unto thy soul,—
God dwells in thee.
It is no metaphor nor parable,
It is unknown to thousands, and to thee;
Yet there is God.

Give up to thy soul—
Let it have its way—
It is, I tell thee, God himself,
The selfsame One that rules the Whole,
Tho’ he speaks thro’ thee with a stifled voice,
And looks through thee, shorn of his beams.
But if thou listen to his voice,
If thou obey the royal thought,
It will grow clearer to thine ear,
More glorious to thine eye.
The clouds will burst that veil him now
And thou shalt see the Lord.

This is the reason why thou dost recognize
Things now first revealed,
Because in thee resides
The Spirit that lives in all;
And thou canst learn the laws of nature
Because its author is latent in thy breast.

Shall I ask wealth or power of God, who gave
An image of himself to be my soul?
As well might swilling ocean ask a wave,
Or the starred firmament a dying coal,—
For that which is in me lives in the whole.

—-Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Gnothi Seauton”

When the Barabajagals moved in across the street, our neighborhood had a meeting in my living room. While the five families adjusted their belts and tugged on their sweater-vests, exchanging niceties, I was clinging to the window, letting the lace curtain billow over me again and again, like the ocean washing the shore, lost in some dream. But then they spoke.

"— her flowers don’t grow naturally,” chirped Mrs. Henderson, balancing her tea saucer on her skirt. “The morning they moved in I saw her singing in her garden, and the next day her magnolias had bloomed before there were even buds!”

I crept closer.

"Kalkein isn’t unusual, I would say,” sighed Mr. Jennedaiya, referring to Mr. Barabajagal. “He gets his hair cut at the same barber on Avondale that I go to. He polishes his shoes and combs over his hair like the rest of us. But he always has this habit of showing up just at the right time— like we’ll need him in the office and he’ll just walk in, too soon for it to be coincidental. And once, when we didn’t need him at work, we called his land-line. He said he’d had a dream that I came to his door and told him not to come in—”

"That’s it! We have to call the No-Names!” boomed my father.

I shook.

Mother cleared her throat. “Now now, I think we should gather more informa—”

"And what will you say to the One-God on judgment day?" my father spat, leering. "That we dishonored his word by letting wizards live on our streets?”

A week later, the magnolia tree was torn down, and the No-Names took Mr and Mrs. Barabajagal away to the W.A.R.S.K., the Wizard Rehabilitation Center of Kindness. They had bags over their heads.

"Wizards are second-class citizens," my father told me on the way to school. As we drove through the patches of lawn of the dew-kissed suburb, I saw the No-Names sanitizing the Barabajagal home and driving a “For Sale” into the dirt. 

"You don’t want to be like them, Lazlo," my father continued. "Magic unhinges the mind. It makes you unable to discern up from down, right from wrong, dream from reality. What’s worse, magic makes the body susceptible to strange diseases, sometimes impossible to diagnose— but the One-God holds the answers in his word. Their madness is punishment for tampering with the fruit of God, and no one who meddles with magic has a place in the After-World.”

I peered out the window.

A day later, there was a miracle. The magnolia tree had grown back, and the No-Names were surrounding the house again, uprooting it with their powerful machines. The day after, the tree had defied them again, but as a tiny shrub. The No-Names burnt it.

For days after, the magnolia tree didn’t grow back. I think it was too leaden by sadness to fight, too heartbroken. During the day, the No-Names would sanitize the soil, but at night I could see gentle globes of light leaping from the dirt, glowing gently, like floating teardrops.

“By placing humans at the top of the planet’s food chain, our culture has historically perpetuated a particular worldview that requires from its members a reduction of essential feelings and awareness- and it is this process of desensitization that we must understand if we would comprehend the underlying causes of oppression, exploitation, and spiritual disconnectedness.”

—Will Tuttle

(Read right to left)

(Read right to left)

She said that prophecy was not something to be boastful with. She said that she had no doubts that God had called me to be a messenger, and she asked about my spiritual conditioning on the path to being a world server. She said that, like a marathon runner, a prophet is conditioned and stripped of impediments for the upcoming race. She said that until I’ve been conditioned, my revelations will be small and my thirst will grow so large that from bowels to core I will yearn for the Universe’s hand.

In my heart, I knew this to be true, and I knew that I was a vessel of clay that no man’s hands could chisel, only the Divine, and I knew this yearning, this ache, and I confessed.

She said that first, the Universe challenges our abilities, our strengths. “Have you encountered this?” I said yes. I’ve always been a talented artist, but when I went to pursue a career, my enthusiasm evaporated, challenges arose from nowhere. When it came to writing, I felt equally lost. My mind was so full of mental concepts that I knew I wasn’t enriching the reader. I knew there was a wisdom I hadn’t grasped, and I was forced to relinquish my egotistical hold on my gifts, because I realized that God Herself was the one who powered and insulated my talents. I submitted.

"How else?" she asked. I told her that I was being challenged in my friendships. Making friends and maintaining harmony within my friendships were intrinsic to me, as if they’d been written on my DNA, but I found my friendships being challenged. I was forced to see and deliver harsh truths, I was forced to leave seemingly innocent environments because they separated me from the Divine, and I was feeling the call of solitude more and more, the call to withdraw, and I was becoming more embittered with the social world. I didn’t want to forge friendships. I didn’t want to charm. I was understanding that the social world’s wonders were fool’s gold, and deeper and deeper I sought the Divine.

She said that God will challenge us through our strengths because often they divorce us from the authority of the Cosmos. The Universe will send us a message and we puff our chest at the opportunity because it’s our gift. She said that prophets are like microphones. When we pick up a microphone we expect it to work, not just when it wants to, or when it desires. Anytime, day or night, we must be called to intuit, to speak, to pray. Our talents are challenged so that we learn to rely on the Cosmos Herself and not externals.

"What about your weaknesses?" she asked.

I told her that God was exposing my rigidness. I was struggling within my mind. Intellectual perception left me feeling lost and confused. The choices between paths and ideologies and facts only left me limp with defeat, and wound up like a schizophrenic. I had to learn to put my mental constructs aside and see life through a different lens: a watery lens that flows and flowers into meaning, and I had to shape myself into a swimmer that could ebb and curve with changes with finesse and serenity. I had to learn to relax and not think.

Also, I was forced to see that my intellectual nature was detrimental to my relationships. God exposed that I had poor emotional capacity. I had to become emotive, compassionate, and not offer philosophy and mental concept, but to be “human”. My words of wisdom were falling short as soon as they left my lips, and I saw that I must develop my compassion, my humanity. No more advice or philosophy, simply love and language. It has been hard to do, but I was letting the challenge mold me.

She said that after being properly refined by Her hand, when I speak, fire would erupt. She said that I would be able to bring forces down, that I would be able to free people, but not with my own words, my own thoughts, but with the language of the Logos, the Divine Spirit. She said once I got out the way, She would speak through me, and my thirst would be quenched.

"I want you to see in the spirit that God has given you that call. You’ve received that prophetic call right there," she said. "What - are you going - to do about it? Are you gonna run around and boast that you have a prophetic call? Or are you gonna get on the bus, and allow the Lord to prepare you for this journey that is ahead?”

I said I was ready, and we prayed.

Hewo.

I’m becoming more and more myself everyday . . It’s like I’m waking into a dream. The easiest way I can convey this is through the prevailing model of consumerism, and I don’t mean it’s political or corporate rip-roars. It’s the subtleties of consumerism that I want to illustrate:

A consumer says to himself, “I am bored. If only I had this product, I wouldn’t be bored.”  

A child entangled in a consumerist idiom will say, “If I only had their approval, I could approve of myself.”

A teenager in a consumerist idiom will say, “If only I had a lover, I could love myself.”

See the subtle co-relation? Now I’ll get tricky:

A spiritualist in a consumerist idiom will say, “If only I had a guru, I could find enlightenment.”

A lost existentialist in a consumerist idiom will say, “If only I had a religion, I could find serenity.”

A young woman in a consumerist idiom will say, “If only I had (whatever women want), I could feel beautiful.”

Now, seeking isn’t a problem. I don’t believe in many absolutes. Some gurus, products, and support systems are necessary, but it’s the concept that everything good is outside that trains consumers to have habitual inferior visions. Their first impulse is to go find it, go buy it, go seduce it into our dens, when the truth is within us for our beauty, serenity, approval, etc.

Anyway, back to the main point, I feel more myself than ever. This groovy, mystical, dark and spunky wizard has always been me all along, without any help from gurus, books, or pats on the head. I’m thankful for every season of my journey, but “he” has always been here, and I despaired for a while because I wanted to be kinder, non-judgmental, more spiritual, until I realized I was that— someone had just made me feel like I wasn’t!

I don’t know if any of you have experienced what I’m talking about, but I’m discovering the colorful luminous wealth that exists within me. The world without has conformed to the world within, and I truly feel like I’ve awoken into power, into self-mastery. I hope what I’ve said has triggered something in you about the goals you are seeking. I love you. Intangibles intangibles intangibles . .