>>>>>~RaNdOM MaTtErS~<<<<

get zapped!

J'DYSATTVA — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 01:48:06 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ISil7IHzxc&feature=player_embedded

THROBBING SLALOM

J'DYSATTVA — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 23:33:07 GMT

Throbbing Slalom http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZbSsOk00Cc

GRACE INDEED

J'DYSATTVA — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 01:10:46 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Ke1H98ou_Q&feature=related

THINK PINK

J'DYSATTVA — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 02:48:00 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-h7wg0iOtc

WE ALL WANNA BE PRINCE

J'DYSATTVA — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 00:28:29 GMT

...so true... http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=62221191

AMAZING PUBLIC ANIMATION

J'DYSATTVA — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 20:19:45 GMT

WOW! This is genius! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuGaqLT-gO4&feature=related

QUOTE

J'DYSATTVA — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 23:03:48 GMT

“The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honours the servant and has forgotten the gift.” -- Albert Einstein

put yourself into perspective...

J'DYSATTVA — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 03:18:06 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41gWUkVQ-9U

GEORGE CARLIN FOR PRESIDENT!

J'DYSATTVA — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 03:12:07 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oI5EY5kqiBU&feature=related

FREAK!

J'DYSATTVA — Sat, 16 Feb 2008 02:12:50 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gQAHMj2qFxE&feature=related

a few thoughts........

J'DYSATTVA — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 04:46:24 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aufuwMiKmE

By The Time I Get To AZ

J'DYSATTVA — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 04:29:38 GMT

gotta luv the horn blowers.... http://evolution-control.com/sounds/gunderphonic/09%20-%20The%20ECC%20-%20By%20The%20Time%20I%20Get%20To%20Arizona%20(Whipped%20Cream%20Mix).mp3

It's a ROCKET LAUNCHER!

J'DYSATTVA — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 17:48:09 GMT

"amplifiers optional"! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPWEnmEYxqs OR... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yeHZzEZ-WY

AN ENTHUSIASTIC REMINDER...

J'DYSATTVA — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 04:55:06 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qbe33jNTKz4

LET MY PEOPLE COME!

J'DYSATTVA — Sun, 28 Oct 2007 00:02:12 GMT

Has anyone heard this or seen this play?...here's the song "I'm Gay" from the 1974 show Let My People Come .....enjoy:) http://ubu.wfmu.org/sound/365/07/365-Days-Project-07-05-let-my-people-come-im-gay-1974.mp3

GUMBASIA!!!

J'DYSATTVA — Wed, 05 Sep 2007 19:17:50 GMT

Splendid claymation from Art Clokey...primordial Gumby:) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgqK_WW7E2Y

THEY'RE NOT MAKING HARLOTS LIKE THEY USED TO............................

J'DYSATTVA — Sat, 30 Jun 2007 02:18:26 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0u8YvR9eL8Q

the ILLUSION OF MONEY

J'DYSATTVA — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 19:08:46 GMT

The Real Story of the Money-Control Over America $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ This study on money is not copyrighted. It may be reproduced in whole or in part for the purpose of helping the American people. $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Americans, living in what is called the richest nation on earth, seem always to be short of money. Wives are working in unprecedented numbers, husbands hope for overtime hours to earn more, or take part-time jobs evenings and weekends, children look for odd jobs for spending money, the family debt climbs higher, and psychologists say one of the biggest causes of family quarrels and breakups is "arguments over money." Much of this trouble can be traced to our present "debt-money" system. Economists use the term "create" when speaking of the process by which money comes into existence. Now, creation means making something that did not exist before. Lumbermen make boards from trees, workers build houses from lumber, and factories manufacture automobiles from metal, glass and other materials. But in all these they did not "create," they only changed existing materials into a more usable and, therefore, more valuable form. This is not so with money. Here, and here alone, man actually "creates" something out of nothing. A piece of paper of little value is printed so that it is worth a piece of lumber. With different figures it can buy the automobile or even the house. Its value has been "created" in the true meaning of the word. Money "Creating" Profitable: As is seen by the above, money is very cheap to make, and whoever does the "creating" of money in a nation can make a tremendous profit! Builders work hard to make a profit of 5% above their cost to build a house. Auto makers sell their cars for 1% to 2% above the cost of manufacture and it is considered good business. But money "manufacturers" have no limit on their profits, since a few cents will print a $1 bill or a $10,000 bill. That profit is part of our story, but first let us consider another unique characteristic of the thing -- money, the love of which is the "root of all evil." $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ An adequate supply of money is indispensable to civilized society. We could forego many other things, but without money industry would grind to a halt, farms would become only self-sustaining units, surplus food would disappear, jobs requiring the work of more than one man or one family would remain undone, shipping and large movements of goods would cease, hungry people would plunder and kill to remain alive, and all government except family or tribe would cease to function. An overstatement, you say? Not at all. Money is the blood of civilized society, the means of all commercial trade except simple barter. It is the measure and the instrument by which one product is sold and another purchased. Remove money or even reduce the supply below that which is necessary to carry on current levels of trade, and the results are catastrophic. For an example, we need only look at America's Depression of the early 1930's. The Bankers Depression of the 1930's: In 1930 America did not lack industrial capacity, fertile farmland, skilled and willing workers or industrious farm families. It had an extensive and highly efficient transportation system in railroads, road networks, and inland and ocean waterways. Communications between regions and localities were the best in the world, utilizing telephone, teletype, radio, and a well-operated government mail system. No war had ravaged the cities or the countryside, no pestilence weakened the population, nor had famine stalked the land. The United States of America in 1930 lacked only one thing: an adequate supply of money to carry on trade and commerce. In the early 1930's, Bankers, the only source of new money and credit, deliberately refused loans to industries, stores and farms. Payments on existing loans were required however, and money rapidly disappeared from circulation. Goods were available to be purchased, jobs waiting to be done, but the lack of money brought the nation to a standstill. By this simple ploy America was put in a "depression" and the greedy Bankers took possession of hundreds of thousands of farms, homes, and business properties. The people were told, "times are hard," and "money is short." Not understanding the system, they were cruelly robbed of their earnings, their savings, and their property. Money for Peace? No! Money for War? Yes! World War II ended the "depression." The same Bankers who in the early 30's had no loans for peacetime houses, food and clothing, suddenly had unlimited billions to lend for Army barracks, K-rations and uniforms! A nation that in 1934 couldn't produce food for sale, suddenly could produce bombs to send free to Germany and Japan! (More on this riddle later.) With the sudden increase in money, people were hired, farms sold their produce, factories went to two shifts, mines re-opened, and "The Great Depression" was over! Some politicians were blamed for it and others took credit for ending it. The truth is the lack of money (caused by the Bankers) brought on the depression, and adequate money ended it. The people were never told that simple truth and in this article we will endeavor to show how these same Bankers who control our money and credit have used their control to plunder America and place us in bondage. Power to Coin and Regulate Money: When we can see the disastrous' results of an artificially created shortage of money, we can better understand why our Founding Fathers, who understood both money and God's Laws, insisted on placing the power to "create" money and the power to control it ONLY in the hands of the Federal Congress. They believed that ALL citizens should share in the profits of its "creation" and therefore the national government must be the ONLY creator of money. They further believed that ALL citizens, of whatever State or Territory, or station in life would benefit by an adequate and stable currency and therefore, the national government must also be, by law, the ONLY controller of the value of money. Since the Federal Congress was the only legislative body subject to all the citizens at the ballot box, it was, to their minds, the only safe depository of so much profit and so much power. They wrote it out in the simple, but all-inclusive: "Congress shall have the Power to Coin Money and Regulate the Value Thereof." How the People Lost Control to the Federal Reserve: Instead of the Constitutional method of creating our money and putting it into circulation, we now have an entirely unconstitutional system. This has resulted in almost disastrous conditions, as we shall see. Since our money was handled both legally and illegally before 1913, we shall consider only the years following 1913, since from that year on, ALL of our money has been created and issued by an illegal method that will eventually destroy the United States if it is not changed. Prior to 1913, America was a prosperous, powerful, and growing nation, at peace with its neighbors and the envy of the world. But -- in December of 1913, Congress, with many members away for the Christmas holidays, passed what has since been known as the FEDERAL RESERVE ACT. (For the full story of how this infamous legislation was forced through our Congress, read Conquest or Consent, by W. B. Uennard). Omitting the burdensome details, it simply authorized the establishment of a Federal Reserve Corporation, with a Board of Directors (The Federal Reserve Board) to run it, and the United States was divided into 12 Federal Reserve "Districts." This simple, but terrible, law completely removed from Congress the right to "create" money or to have any control over its "creation," and gave that function to the Federal Reserve Corporation. This was done with appropriate fanfare and propaganda that this would "remove money from politics" (they didn't say "and therefore from the people's control") and prevent "Boom and Bust" from hurting our citizens. The people were not told then, and most still do not know today, that the Federal Reserve Corporation is a private corporation controlled by bankers and therefore is operated for the financial gain of the bankers over the people rather than for the good of the people. The word "Federal" was used only to deceive the people. $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Since that "day of infamy," the small group of "privileged" people who lend us "our" money have accrued to themselves all of the profits of printing our money -- and more! Since 1913 they have "created" tens of billions of dollars in money and credit, which, as their own personal property, they then lend to our government and our people at interest. "The rich get richer and the poor get poorer" had become the secret policy of our National Government. An example of the process of "creation" and its conversion to people's "debt" will aid our understanding. $$$$$$$$$$$$$They Print It -- We Borrow It and Pay Them Interest$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ We shall start with the need for money. The Federal Government, having spent more than it has taken from its citizens in taxes, needs, for the sake of illustration, $1,000,000,000. Since it does not have the money, and Congress has given away its authority to "create" it, the Government must go the the "creators" for the $1 billion. But, the Federal Reserve, a private corporation, doesn't just give its money away! The Bankers are willing to deliver $1,000,000,000 in money or credit to the Federal Government in exchange for the Government's agreement to pay it back -- with interest! So Congress authorizes the Treasury Department to print $1,000,000,000 in U.S. Bonds, which are then delivered to the Federal Reserve Bankers. The Federal Reserve then pays the cost of printing the $1,000,000,000 (about $1,000) and makes the exchange. The Government then uses the money to pay its obligations. What are the results of this fantastic transaction? Well, $1 billion in Government bills are paid all right, but the Government has now indebted the people to the Bankers for $1 billion on which the people must pay interest! Tens of thousands of such transactions have taken place since 1913 so that by the 1980's, the U.S. Government is indebted to the Bankers for over $1,000,000,000,000 (trillion) on which the people pay over $100 billion a year in interest alone with no hope of ever paying off the principal. [In 1995, the total Federal Debt has grown to over $5 trillion, with an annual interest payment of $203 billion, 14% of the federal budget. -Ed] Supposedly our children and following generations will pay forever and forever! And There's More: You say, "This is terrible!" Yes, it is, but we have shown only part of the sordid story. Under this unholy system, those United States Bonds have now become "assets" of the Banks in the Reserve System which they then use as "reserves" to "create" more "credit" to lend. Current "reserve" requirements allow them to use that $1 billion in bonds to "create" as much as $15 billion in new "credit" to lend to States, Municipalities, to individuals and businesses. Added to the original $1 billion, they could have $16 billion of "created credit" out in loans paying them interest with their only cost being $1,000 for printing the origina1 $1 billion! Since the U.S. Congress has not issued Constitutional money since 1863 (over 100 years), in order for the people to have money to carry on trade and commerce they are forced to borrow the "created credit" of the Monoply Bankers and pay them usury-interest! And There's Still More............... In addition to the vast wealth drawn to them through this almost unlimited usury, the Bankers who control the money at the top are able to approve or disapprove large loans to large and successful corporations to the extent that refusal of a loan will bring about a reduction in the price that that Corporation's stock sells for on the market. After depressing the price, the Bankers' agents buy large blocks of the stock, after which the sometimes multi-million dollar loan is approved, the stock rises, and is then sold for a profit. In this manner billions of dollars are made with which to buy more stock. This practice is so refined today that the Federal Reserve Board need only announce to the newspapers an increase or decrease in their "rediscount rate" to send stocks up and down as they wish. Using this method since 1913, the Bankers and their agents have purchased secret or open control of almost every large corporation in America. Using that control, they then force the corporations to borrow huge sums from their banks so that corporation earnings are siphoned off in the form of interest to the banks. This leaves little as actual "profits" which can be paid as dividends and explains why stock prices are so depressed, while the banks reap billions in interest from corporate loans. In effect, the bankers get almost all of the profits, while individual stock holders are left holding the bag. The millions of working famlies of America are now indebted to the few thousand Banking Families for twice the assessed value of the entire United States. And these Banking Families obtained that debt against us for the cost of paper, ink, and bookkeeping! The Interest Amount is Never Created: The only way new money (which is not true money, but is "credit" representing a debt), goes into circulation in America is when it is borrowed from Bankers. When the State and people borrow large sums, we seem to prosper. However, the Bankers "create" only the amount of the principal of each loan, never the extra amount needed to pay the interest. Therefore, the new money never equals the new debt added. The amounts needed to pay the interest on loans is not "created," and therefore does not exist! Under this kind of a system, where new debt aiways exceeds the new money no matter how much or how little is borrowed, the total debt increasingly outstrips the amount of money available to pay the debt. The people can never, ever get out of debt! An example will show the viciousness of this usury-debt system with its "built-in" shortage of money. If $60,000 is Borrowed, $255,931.20 Must Be Paid Back When a citizen goes to a Banker to borrow $60,000 to purchase a home or a farm, the Bank clerk has the borrower agree to pay back the loan plus interest. At 14% interest for 30 years, the Borrower must agree to pay $710.92 per month for a tota1 of $255,931.20. The clerk then requires the citizen to assign to the Banker the right of ownership of the property if the Borrower does not make the required payments. The Bank clerk then gives the Borrower a $60,000 check or a $60,000 deposit slip crediting the Borrower's checking account with $60,000. The Borrower then writes checks to the builder, subcontractors, etc., who in turn write checks. $60,000 of new "checkbook" money is thereby added to "money in circulation." However, and this is the fatal flaw in a usury system, the only new money created and put into circulation is the amount of the loan, $60,000. The money to pay the interest is NOT created, and therefore was NOT added to "money in circulation." Even so, this Borrower (and those who follow him in ownership of the property) must earn and TAKE OUT OF CIRCULATION $255,931, almost $200,000 MORE than he put IN CIRCULATION when he borrowed the origina1 $60,000. (By the way, it is this interest which cheats all families out of nicer homes. It is not that they can't afford them; it is because the Banker's usury forces them to pay for 4 homes to get one!) Every new loan puts the same process in operation. Each borrower adds a small sum to the total money supply when he borrows, but the payments on the loan (because of interest) then deduct a much LARGER sum from the total money supply. There is therefore no way all debtors can pay off the money-lenders. As they pay the principal and interest, the money in circulation disappears. All they can do is struggle against each other, borrowing more and more from the money-lenders each generation. The money-lenders (Bankers), who produce nothing of value, slowly, then more rapidly, gain a death grip on the land, buildings, and present and future earnings of the whole working population. The borrowers have become the servants of the lenders!!!!!!! Small Loans Do the Same Thing: If you haven't quite grasped the impact of the above, let us consider a small auto loan for 3 years at 18% interest. Step 1: Citizen borrows $5,000 and pays it into circulation (it goes to the dealer, factory, miner, etc.) and signs a note agreeing to pay the Banker $6,500. Step 2: Citizen pays $180 per month of his earnings to the Banker. In 3 years he will take OUT of circulation $1,500 more than he put IN circulation. Every loan of Banker "created" money (credit) causes the same thing to happen. Since this has happened millions of times since 1913 (and continues today), you can see why America has gone from a prosperous, debt-free nation to a debt-ridden nation where practically every home, farm and business is paying usury-tribute to some Banker. The usury-tribute to the Bankers on personal, local, State and Federal debt totals more than the combined earnings of 25% of the working people. Soon it will be 50% and continue up. $$$$$$$$This is Why Bankers Prosper in Good Times or Bad$$$$$$$$$$$$$ In the millions of transactions made each year like those above, little actual currency changes hands, nor is it necessary that it do so. 95% of all "cash" transactions in the U.S. are by check, so the Banker is perfectly safe in "creating" that so-called "loan" by writing the check or deposit slip, not against actual money, but AGAINST YOUR PROMISE TO PAY IT BACK! The cost to him is paper, ink and a few dollars in salaries and office costs for each transaction. It is "check-kiting" on an enormous scale. The profits increase rapidly, year after year, as shown below. The Cost To You? Eventually, Everything! In 1910 the U.S. Federal debt was only $1 billion, or $12.40 per citizen. State and local debts were practically non-existent. By 1920, after only 6 years of Federal Reserve shenanigans, the Federal debt had jumped to $24 billion, or $228 per person. In 1960 the Federal debt reached $284 billion, or $1,575 per citizen and State and local debts were mushrooming. By 1981 the Federal debt passed $1 trillion and was growing exponentially as the Banker's tripled the interest rates. State and local debts are now MORE than the Federal, and with business and personal debts totalled over $6 trillion, 3 times the value of all land and buildings in America. lf we signed over to the money-lenders all of America we would still owe them 2 more Americas (plus their usury, of course!) However, they are too cunning to take title to everything. They will instead leave you with some "illusion of ownership" so you and your children will continue to work and pay the Bankers more of your earnings in ever-increasiag debts. The "establishment" has captured our people with their ungodly system of usury and debt as certainly as if they had marched in with a uniformed army. For The Gamblers: To grasp the truth that periodic withdrawal of money through interest payments will inexorably transfer all wealth in the nation to the receiver of interest, imagine yourself in a poker or dice game where everyone must buy the chips (the medium of exchange) from a "banker" who does not risk chips in the game, but watches the table and every hour reaches in and takes 10% to 15% of all the chips on the table. As the game goes on, the amount of chips in the possession of each player will go up and down with his "luck." However, the TOTAL number of chips available to play the game (carry on trade and business) will decrease rapidly. The game will get low on chips, and some will run out. If they want to continue to play, they must buy or borrow them from the "banker." The "banker" will sell (lend) them ONLY if the player signs a "mortgage" agreeing to give the "banker" some real property (car, hnme, farm, business, etc.) if he cannot make periodic payments to pay back all of the chips plus some EXTRA ones (interest). The payments must be made on time, whether he wins (makes a profit) or not. It is easy to see that no matter how skillfully they play, eventually the "banker" will end up with all of his original chips back, and except for the very best players, the rest, if they stay in long enough, will lose to the "banker" their homes, their farms, their businesses, perhaps even their cars, watches, rings, and the shirts off their backs! Our real-life situation is MUCH WORSE than any poker game. In a poker game none is forced to go into debt, and anyone can quit at any time and keep whatever he still has. But in real life, even if we borrow little ourselves from the Bankers, the local, State, and Federal governments borrow billions in our name, squander it, then confiscate our earnings from us and pay it back to the Bankers with interest. We are forced to play the game, and none can leave except by death. We pay as long as we live, and our children pay after we die. If we cannot pay, the same government sends the police to take our property and give it to the Bankers. The Bankers risk nothing in the game; they just collect their percentage and "win it all." In Las Vegas and at other gambling centers, all games are "rigged" to pay the owner a percentage, and they rake in millions. The Federal Reserve Bankers' "game" is also rigged, and it pays off in billions! In recent years Bankers added real "cards" to their game. "Credit" cards are promoted as a convenience and a great boon to trade. Actually, they are ingenious devices by which Bankers collect 2% to 5% of every retail sale from the seller and 18% interest from buyers. A real "stacked" deck! Yes, It's Political, Too!(SURPRISE!): Democrat, Republican, and Independent voters who have wondered why politicians always spend more tax money than they take in should now see the reason. When they begin to study our "debt-money" system, they soon realize that these politicians are not the agents of the people but are the agents of the Bankers, for whom they plan ways to place the people further in debt. It takes only a little imagination to see that if Congress had been "creating," and spending or issuing into circulation the necessary increase in the money supply, THERE WOULD BE NO NATIONAL DEBT, and the over $4 Trillion of other debts would be practically non-existent. Since there would be no ORIGINAL cost of money except printing, and no CONTINUING costs such as interest, Federal taxes would be almost nil. Money, once in circulation, would remain there and go on serving its purpose as a medium of exchange for generation after generation and century after century, just as coins do now, with NO payments to the Bankers whatever! $$$MOUNTING DEBTS & WAR$$$$$$$$$: But instead of peace and debt-free prosperity, we have ever-mounting debt and periodic wars. We as a people are now ruled by a system of Banker-owned Mammon that has usurped the mantle of government, disguised itself as our legitimate government, and set about to pauperize and control our people. It is now a centralized, all-powerful political apparatus whose main purposes are promoting war, spending the peoples' money, and propagandizing to perpetuate itself in power. Our two large political parties have become its servants. the various departments of government its spending agencies, and the Internal Revenue its collection agency. Unknown to the people, it operates in close cooperation with similar apparatuses in other nations, which are also disguised as "governments." Some, we are told, are friends. Some, we are told, are enemies. "Enemies" are built up through international manipulations and used to frighten the American people into going billions of dollars more into debt to the Bankers for "military preparedness," "foreign aid to stop communism," etc. Citizens, deliberately confused by brainwashing propaganda, watch helplessly while our politicians give our food, goods, and money to Banker-controlled alien governments under the guise of "better relations" and "easing tensions." Our Banker-controlled government takes our finest and bravest sons and sends them into foreign wars with obsolete equipment and inadequate training, where tens of thousands are murdered, and hundreds of thousands are crippled. Other thousands are morally corrupted, addicted to drugs, and infected with venereal and other diseases, which they bring back to the United States. When the "war" is over, we have gained nothing, but we are scores of billions of dollars more in debt to the Bankers, which was the reason for the "war" in the first place!

Joyous Cosmology

J'DYSATTVA — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 18:38:48 GMT

by Alan W. Watts T0 BEGIN WITH, this world has a different kind of time. It is the time of biological rhythm, not of the clock and all that goes with the clock. There is no hurry. Our sense of time is notoriously subjective and thus dependent upon the quality of our attention, whether of interest or boredom, and upon the alignment of our behavior in terms of routines, goals, and deadlines. Here the present is self-sufficient, but it is not a static present. It is a dancing present—the unfolding of a pattern which has no specific destination in the future but is simply its own point. It leaves and arrives simultaneously, and the seed is as much the goal as the flower. There is therefore time to perceive every detail of the movement with infinitely greater richness of articulation. Normally we do not so much look at things as overlook them. The eye sees types and classes—flower, leaf, rock, bird, fire—mental pictures of things rather than things, rough outlines filled with flat color, always a little dusty and dim. But here the depth of light and structure in a bursting bud go on forever. There is time to see them, time for the whole intricacy of veins and capillaries to develop in consciousness, time to see down and down into the shape of greenness, which is not green at all, but a whole spectrum generalizing itself as green—purple, gold, the sunlit turquoise of the ocean, the intense luminescence of the emerald. I cannot decide where shape ends and color begins. The bud has opened and the fresh leaves fan out and curve back with a gesture which is unmistakably communicative but does not say anything except, "Thus!" And somehow that is quite satisfactory, even startlingly clear. The meaning is transparent in the same way that the color and the texture are transparent, with light which does not seem to fall upon surfaces from above but to be right inside the structure and color. Which is of course where it is, for light is an inseparable trinity of sun, object, and eye, and the chemistry of the leaf is its color, its light. But at the same time color and light are the gift of the eye to the leaf and the sun. Transparency is the property of the eyeball, projected outward as luminous space, interpreting quanta of energy in terms of the gelatinous fibers in the head. I begin to feel that the world is at once inside my head and outside it, and the two, inside and outside, begin to include or "cap" one another like an infinite series of concentric spheres. I am unusually aware that everything I am sensing is also my body—that light, color, shape, sound, and texture are terms and properties of the brain conferred upon the outside world. I am not looking at the world, not confronting it; I am knowing it by a continuous process of transforming it into myself, so that everything around me, the whole globe of space, no longer feels away from me but in the middle. This is at first confusing. I am not quite sure of the direction from which sounds come. The visual space seems to reverberate with them as if it were a drum. The surrounding hills rumble with the sound of a truck, and the rumble and the color-shape of the hills become one and the same gesture. I use that word deliberately and shall use it again. The hills are moving into their stillness. They mean something because they are being transformed into my brain, and my brain is an organ of meaning. The forests of redwood trees upon them look like green fire, and the copper gold of the sun-dried grass heaves immensely into the sky. Time is so slow as to be a kind of eternity, and the flavor of eternity transfers itself to the hills—burnished mountains which I seem to remember from an immeasurably distant past, at once so unfamiliar as to be exotic and yet as familiar as my own hand. Thus transformed into consciousness, into the electric, interior luminosity of the nerves, the world seems vaguely insubstantial—developed upon a color film, resounding upon the skin of a drum, pressing, not with weight, but with vibrations interpreted as weight. Solidity is a neurological invention, and, I wonder, can the nerves be solid to themselves? Where do we begin? Does the order of the brain create the order of the world, or the order of the world the brain? The two seem like egg and hen, or like back and front. The physical world is vibration, quanta, but vibrations of what? To the eye, form and color; to the ear, sound; to the nose, scent; to the fingers, touch. But these are all different languages for the same thing, different qualities of sensitivity, different dimensions of consciousness. The question, "Of what are they differing forms?" seems to have no meaning. What is light to the eye is sound to the ear. I have the image of the senses being terms, forms, or dimensions not of one thing common to all, but of each other, locked in a circle of mutuality. Closely examined, shape becomes color, which becomes vibration, which becomes sound, which becomes smell, which becomes taste, and then touch, and then again shape. (One can see, for example, that the shape of a leaf is its color. There is no outline around the leaf; the outline is the limit where one colored surface becomes another.) I see all these sensory dimensions as a round dance, gesticulations of one pattern being transformed into gesticulations of another. And these gesticulations are flowing through a space that has still other dimensions, which I want to describe as tones of emotional color, of light or sound being joyous or fearful, gold elated or lead depressed. These, too, form a circle of reciprocity, a round spectrum so polarized that we can only describe each in terms of the others. Sometimes the image of the physical world is not so much a dance of gestures as a woven texture. Light, sound, touch, taste, and smell become a continuous warp, with the feeling that the whole dimension of sensation is a single continuum or field. Crossing the warp is a woof representing the dimension of meaning—moral and aesthetic values, personal or individual uniqueness, logical significance, and expressive form—and the two dimensions interpenetrate so as to make distinguishable shapes seem like ripples in the water of sensation. The warp and the woof stream together, for the weaving is neither flat nor static but a many-directioned cross-flow of impulses filling the whole volume of space. I feel that the world is on something in somewhat the same way that a color photograph is on a film, underlying and connecting the patches of color, though the film here is a dense rain of energy. I see that what it is on is my brain—"that enchanted loom," as Sherrington called it. Brain and world, warp of sense and woof of meaning, seem to interpenetrate inseparably. They hold their boundaries or limits in common in such a way as to define one another and to be impossible without each other. I am listening to the music of an organ. As leaves seemed to gesture, the organ seems quite literally to speak. There is no use of the vox humana stop, but every sound seems to issue from a vast human throat, moist with saliva. As, with the base pedals, the player moves slowly down the scale, the sounds seem to blow forth in immense, gooey spludges. As I listen more carefully, the spludges acquire texture—expanding circles of vibration finely and evenly toothed like combs, no longer moist and liquidinous like the living throat, but mechanically discontinuous. The sound disintegrates into the innumerable individual drrrits of vibration. Listening on, the gaps close, or perhaps each individual drrrit becomes in its turn a spludge. The liquid and the hard, the continuous and the discontinuous, the gooey and the prickly, seem to be transformations of each other, or to be different levels of magnification upon the same thing. This theme recurs in a hundred different ways—the inseparable polarity of opposites, or the mutuality and reciprocity of all the possible contents of consciousness. It is easy to see theoretically that all perception is of contrasts—figure and ground, light and shadow, clear and vague, firm and weak. But normal attention seems to have difficulty in taking in both at once. Both sensuously and conceptually we seem to move serially from one to the other; we do not seem to be able to attend to the figure without relative unconsciousness of the ground. But in this new world the mutuality of things is quite clear at every level. The human face, for example, becomes clear in all its aspects—the total form together with each single hair and wrinkle. Faces become all ages at once, for characteristics that suggest age also suggest youth by implication; the bony structure suggesting the skull evokes instantly the newborn infant. The associative couplings of the brain seem to fire simultaneously instead of one at a time, projecting a view of life which may be terrifying in its ambiguity or joyous in its integrity. Decision can be completely paralyzed by the sudden realization that there is no way of having good without evil, or that it is impossible to act upon reliable authority without choosing, from your own inexperience, to do so. If sanity implies madness and faith doubt, am I basically a psychotic pretending to be sane, a blithering terrified idiot who manages, temporarily, to put on an act of being self-possessed? I begin to see my whole life as a masterpiece of duplicity—the confused, helpless, hungry, and hideously sensitive little embryo at the root of me having learned, step by step, to comply, placate, bully, wheedle, flatter, bluff, and cheat my way into being taken for a person of competence and reliability. For when it really comes down to it, what do any of us know? I am listening to a priest chanting the Mass and a choir of nuns responding. His mature, cultivated voice rings with the serene authority of the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church, of the Faith once and for all delivered to the saints, and the nuns respond, naively it seems, with childlike, utterly innocent devotion. But, listening again, I can hear the priest "putting on" his voice, hear the inflated, pompous balloon, the studiedly unctuous tones of a master deceptionist who has the poor little nuns, kneeling in their stalls, completely cowed. Listen deeper. The nuns are not cowed at all. They are playing possum. With just a little stiffening, the limp gesture of bowing turns into the gesture of the closing claw. With too few men to go around, the nuns know what is good for them: how to bend and survive. But this profoundly cynical view of things is only an intermediate stage. I begin to congratulate the priest on his gamesmanship, on the sheer courage of being able to put up such a performance of authority when he knows precisely nothing. Perhaps there is no other knowing than the mere competence of the act. If, at the heart of one's being, there is no real self to which one ought to be true, sincerity is simply nerve; it lies in the unabashed vigor of the pretense. But pretense is only pretense when it is assumed that the act is not true to the agent. Find the agent. In the priest's voice I hear down at the root the primordial howl of the beast in the jungle, but it has been inflected, complicated, refined, and textured with centuries of culture. Every new twist, every additional subtlety, was a fresh gambit in the game of making the original howl more effective. At first, crude and unconcealed, the cry for food or mate, or just noise for the fun of it, making the rocks echo. Then rhythm to enchant. then changes of tone to plead or threaten. Then words to specify the need, to promise and bargain. And then, much later, the gambits of indirection. The feminine stratagem of stooping to conquer, the claim to superior worth in renouncing the world for the spirit, the cunning of weakness proving stronger than the might of muscle—and the meek inheriting the earth. As I listen, then, I can hear in that one voice the simultaneous presence of all the levels of man's history, as of all the stages of life before man. Every step in the game becomes as clear as the rings in a severed tree. But this is an ascending hierarchy of maneuvers, of stratagems capping stratagems, all symbolized in the overlays of refinement beneath which the original howl is still sounding. Sometimes the howl shifts from the mating call of the adult animal to the helpless crying of the baby, and I feel all man's music—its pomp and circumstance, its gaiety, its awe, its confident solemnity—as just so much complication and concealment of baby wailing for mother. And as I want to cry with pity, I know I am sorry for myself. I, as an adult, am also back there alone in the dark, just as the primordial howl is still present beneath the sublime modulations of the chant. You poor baby! And yet—you selfish little bastard! As I try to find the agent behind the act, the motivating force at the bottom of the whole thing, I seem to see only an endless ambivalence. Behind the mask of love I find my innate selfishness. What a predicament I am in if someone asks, "Do you really love me?" I can't say yes without saying no, for the only answer that will really satisfy is, "Yes, I love you so much I could eat you! My love for you is identical with my love for myself. I love you with the purest selfishness." No one wants to be loved out of a sense of duty. So I will be very frank. "Yes, I am pure, selfish desire and I love you because you make me feel wonderful—at any rate for the time being." But then I begin to wonder whether there isn't something a bit cunning in this frankness. It is big of me to be so sincere, to make a play for her by not pretending to be more than I am—unlike the other guys who say they love her for herself. I see that there is always something insincere about trying to be sincere, as if I were to say openly, "The statement that I am now making is a lie." There seems to be something phony about every attempt to define myself, to be totally honest. The trouble is that I can't see the back, much less the inside, of my head. I can't be honest because I don't fully know what I am. Consciousness peers out from a center which it cannot see—and that is the root of the matter. Life seems to resolve itself down to a tiny germ or nipple of sensitivity. I call it the Eenie-Weenie—a squiggling little nucleus that is trying to make love to itself and can never quite get there. The whole fabulous complexity of vegetable and animal life, as of human civilization, is just a colossal elaboration of the Eenie-Weenie trying to make the Eenie-Weenie. I am in love with myself, but cannot seek myself without hiding myself. As I pursue my own tail, it runs away from me. Does the amoeba split itself in two in an attempt to solve this problem? I try to go deeper, sinking thought and feeling down and down to their ultimate beginnings. What do I mean by loving myself? In what form do I know myself? Always, it seems, in the form of something other, something strange. The landscape I am watching is also a state of myself, of the neurons in my head. I feel the rock in my hand in terms of my own fingers. And nothing is stranger than my own body—the sensation of the pulse, the eye seen through a magnifying glass in the mirror, the shock of realizing that oneself is something in the external world. At root, there is simply no way of separating self from other, self-love from other-love. All knowledge of self is knowledge of other, and all knowledge of other knowledge of self. I begin to see that self and other, the familiar and the strange, the internal and the external, the predictable and the unpredictable imply each other. One is seek and the other is hide, and the more I become aware of their implying each other, the more I feel them to be one with each other. I become curiously affectionate and intimate with all that seemed alien. In the features of everything foreign, threatening, terrifying, incomprehensible, and remote I begin to recognize myself. Yet this is a "myself" which I seem to be remembering from long, long ago—not at all my empirical ego of yesterday, not my specious personality. The "myself" which I am beginning to recognize, which I had forgotten but actually know better than anything else, goes far back beyond my childhood, beyond the time when adults confused me and tried to tell me that I was someone else; when, because they were bigger and stronger, they could terrify me with their imaginary fears and bewilder and outface me in the complicated game that I had not yet learned. (The sadism of the teacher explaining the game and yet having to prove his superiority in it.) Long before all that, long before I was an embryo in my mother's womb, there looms the ever-so-familiar stranger, the everything not me, which I recognize, with a joy immeasurably more intense than a meeting of lovers separated by centuries, to be my original self. The good old sonofabitch who got me involved in this whole game. At the same time everyone and everything around me takes on the feeling of having been there always, and then forgotten, and then remembered again. We are sitting in a garden surrounded in every direction by uncultivated hills, a garden of fuchsias and hummingbirds in a valley that leads down to the westernmost ocean, and where the gulls take refuge in storms. At some time in the middle of the twentieth century, upon an afternoon in the summer, we are sitting around a table on the terrace, eating dark homemade bread and drinking white wine. And yet we seem to have been there forever, for the people with me are no longer the humdrum and harassed little personalities with names, addresses, and social security numbers, the specifically dated mortals we are all pretending to be. They appear rather as immortal archetypes of themselves without, however, losing their humanity. It is just that their differing characters seem, like the priest's voice, to contain all history; they are at once unique and eternal, men and women but also gods and goddesses. For now that we have time to look at each other we become timeless. The human form becomes immeasurably precious and, as if to symbolize this, the eyes become intelligent jewels, the hair spun gold, and the flesh translucent ivory. Between those who enter this world together there is also a love which is distinctly eucharistic, an acceptance of each other's natures from the heights to the depths. Ella, who planted the garden, is a beneficent Circe—sorceress, daughter of the moon, familiar of cats and snakes, herbalist and healer—with the youngest old face one has ever seen, exquisitely wrinkled, silver-black hair rippled like flames. Robert is a manifestation of Pan, but a Pan of bulls instead of the Pan of goats, with frizzled short hair tufted into blunt horns—a man all sweating muscle and body, incarnation of exuberant glee. Beryl, his wife, is a nymph who has stepped out of the forest, a mermaid of the land with swinging hair and a dancing body that seems to be naked even when clothed. It is her bread that we are eating, and it tastes like the Original Bread of which mother's own bread was a bungled imitation. And then there is Mary, beloved in the usual, dusty world, but in this world an embodiment of light and gold, daughter of the sun, with eyes formed from the evening sky—a creature of all ages, baby, moppet, maid, matron, crone, and corpse, evoking love of all ages. I try to find words that will suggest the numinous, mythological quality of these people. Yet at the same time they are as familiar as if I had known them for centuries, or rather, as if I were recognizing them again as lost friends whom I knew at the beginning of time, from a country begotten before all worlds. This is of course bound up with the recognition of my own most ancient identity, older by far than the blind squiggling of the Eenie-Weenie, as if the highest form that consciousness could take had somehow been present at the very beginning of things. All of us look at each other knowingly, for the feeling that we knew each other in that most distant past conceals something else—tacit, awesome, almost unmentionable—the realization that at the deep center of a time perpendicular to ordinary time we are, and always have been, one. We acknowledge the marvelously hidden plot, the master illusion, whereby we appear to be different. The shock of recognition. In the form of everything most other, alien, and remote—the ever-receding galaxies, the mystery of death, the terrors of disease and madness, the foreign-feeling, gooseflesh world of sea monsters and spiders, the queasy labyrinth of my own insides—in all these forms I have crept up on myself and yelled "Boo!" I scare myself out of my wits, and, while out of my wits, cannot remember just how it happened. Ordinarily I am lost in a maze. I don't know how I got here, for I have lost the thread and forgotten the intricately convoluted system of passages through which the game of hide-and-seek was pursued. (Was it the path I followed in growing the circuits of my brain?) But now the principle of the maze is clear. It is the device of something turning back upon itself so as to seem to be other, and the turns have been so many and so dizzyingly complex that I am quite bewildered. The principle is that all dualities and opposites are not disjoined but polar; they do not encounter and confront one another from afar; they exfoliate from a common center. Ordinary thinking conceals polarity and relativity because it employs terms, the terminals or ends, the poles, neglecting what lies between them. The difference of front and back, to be and not to be, hides their unity and mutuality. Now consciousness, sense perception, is always a sensation of contrasts. It is a specialization in differences, in noticing, and nothing is definable, classifiable, or noticeable except by contrast with something else. But man does not live by consciousness alone, for the linear, step-by-step, contrast-by-contrast procedure of attention is quite inadequate for organizing anything so complex as a living body. The body itself has an "omniscience" which is unconscious, or superconscious, just because it deals with relation instead of contrast, with harmonies rather than discords. It "thinks" or organizes as a plant grows, not as a botanist describes its growth. This is why Shiva has ten arms, for he represents the dance of life, the omnipotence of being able to do innumerably many things at once. In the type of experience I am describing, it seems that the superconscious method of thinking becomes conscious. We see the world as the whole body sees it, and for this very reason there is the greatest difficulty in attempting to translate this mode of vision into a form of language that is based on contrast and classification. To the extent, then, that man has become a being centered in consciousness, he has become centered in clash, conflict, and discord. He ignores, as beneath notice, the astounding perfection of his organism as a whole, and this is why, in most people, there is such a deplorable disparity between the intelligent and marvelous order of their bodies and the trivial preoccupations of their consciousness. But in this other world the situation is reversed. Ordinary people look like gods because the values of the organism are uppermost, and the concerns of consciousness fall back into the subordinate position which they should properly hold. Love, unity, harmony, and relationship therefore take precedence over war and division. For what consciousness overlooks is the fact that all boundaries and divisions are held in common by their opposite sides and areas, so that when a boundary changes its shape both sides move together. It is like the yang-yin symbol of the Chinese—the black and white fishes divided by an S-curve inscribed within a circle. The bulging head of one is the narrowing tail of the other. But how much more difficult it is to see that my skin and its movements belong both to me and to the external world, or that the spheres of influence of different human beings have common walls like so many rooms in a house, so that the movement of my wall is also the movement of yours. You can do what you like in your room just so long as I can do what I like in mine. But each man's room is himself in his fullest extension, so that my expansion is your contraction and vice versa. I am looking at what I would ordinarily call a confusion of bushes—a tangle of plants and weeds with branches and leaves going every which way. But now that the organizing, relational mind is uppermost I see that what is confusing is not the bushes but my clumsy method of thinking. Every twig is in its proper place, and the tangle has become an arabesque more delicately ordered than the fabulous doodles in the margins of Celtic manuscripts. In this same state of consciousness I have seen a woodland at fall, with the whole multitude of almost bare branches and twigs in silhouette against the sky, not as a confusion, but as the lacework or tracery of an enchanted jeweler. A rotten log bearing rows of fungus and patches of moss became as precious as any work of Cellini—an inwardly luminous construct of jet, amber, jade, and ivory, all the porous and spongy disintegrations of the wood seeming to have been carved out with infinite patience and skill. I do not know whether this mode of vision organizes the world in the same way that it organizes the body, or whether it is just that the natural world is organized in that way. A journey into this new mode of consciousness gives one a marvelously enhanced appreciation of patterning in nature, a fascination deeper than ever with the structure of ferns, the formation of crystals, the markings upon sea shells, the incredible jewelry of such unicellular creatures of the ocean as the radiolaria, the fairy architecture of seeds and pods, the engineering of bones and skeletons, the aerodynamics of feathers, and the astonishing profusion of eye-forms upon the wings of butterflies and birds. All this involved delicacy of organization may, from one point of view, be strictly functional for the purposes of reproduction and survival. But when you come down to it, the survival of these creatures is the same as their very existence—and what is that for? More and more it seems that the ordering of nature is an art akin to music—fugues in shell and cartilage, counterpoint in fibers and capillaries, throbbing rhythm in waves of sound, light, and nerve. And oneself is connected with it quite inextricably—a node, a ganglion, an electronic interweaving of paths, circuits, and impulses that stretch and hum through the whole of time and space. The entire pattern swirls in its complexity like smoke in sunbeams or the rippling networks of sunlight in shallow water. Transforming itself endlessly into itself, the pattern alone remains. The crosspoints, nodes, nets, and curlicues vanish perpetually into each other. "The baseless fabric of this vision." It is its own base. When the ground dissolves beneath me I float. Closed-eye fantasies in this world seem sometimes to be revelations of the secret workings of the brain, of the associative and patterning processes, the ordering systems which carry out all our sensing and thinking. Unlike the one I have just described, they are for the most part ever more complex variations upon a theme—ferns sprouting ferns sprouting ferns in multidimensional spaces, vast kaleidoscopic domes of stained glass or mosaic, or patterns like the models of highly intricate molecules—systems of colored balls, each one of which turns out to be a multitude of smaller balls, forever and ever. Is this, perhaps, an inner view of the organizing process which, when the eyes are open, makes sense of the world even at points where it appears to be supremely messy? Later that same afternoon, Robert takes us over to his barn from which he has been cleaning out junk and piling it into a big and battered Buick convertible, with all the stuffing coming out of the upholstery. The sight of trash poses two of the great questions of human life, "Where are we going to put it?" and "Who's going to clean up?" From one point of view living creatures are simply tubes, putting things in at one end and pushing them out at the other—until the tube wears out. The problem is always where to put what is pushed out at the other end, especially when it begins to pile so high that the tubes are in danger of being crowded off the earth by their own refuse. And the questions have metaphysical overtones. "Where are we going to put it?" asks for the foundation upon which things ultimately rest—the First Cause, the Divine Ground, the bases of morality, the origin of action. "Who's going to clean up?" is asking where responsibility ultimately lies, or how to solve our ever-multiplying problems other than by passing the buck to the next generation. I contemplate the mystery of trash in its immediate manifestation: Robert's car piled high, with only the driver's seat left unoccupied by broken door-frames, rusty stoves, tangles of chicken-wire, squashed cans, insides of ancient harmoniums, nameless enormities of cracked plastic, headless dolls, bicycles without wheels, torn cushions vomiting kapok, non-returnable bottles, busted dressmakers' dummies, rhomboid picture-frames, shattered bird-cages, and inconceivable messes of string, electric wiring, orange peels, eggshells, potato skins, and light bulbs—all garnished with some ghastly-white chemical powder that we call "angel shit." Tomorrow we shall escort this in a joyous convoy to the local dump. And then what? Can any melting and burning imaginable get rid of these ever-rising mountains of ruin—especially when the things we make and build are beginning to look more and more like rubbish even before they are thrown away? The only answer seems to be that of the present group. The sight of Robert's car has everyone helpless with hysterics. The Divine Comedy. All things dissolve in laughter. And for Robert this huge heap of marvelously incongruous uselessness is a veritable creation, a masterpiece of nonsense. He slams it together and ropes it securely to the bulbous, low-slung wreck of the supposedly chic convertible, and then stands back to admire it as if it were a float for a carnival. Theme: the American way of life. But our laughter is without malice, for in this state of consciousness everything is the doing of gods. The culmination of civilization in monumental heaps of junk is seen, not as thoughtless ugliness, but as self-caricature—as the creation of phenomenally absurd collages and abstract sculptures in deliberate but kindly mockery of our own pretensions. For in this world nothing is wrong, nothing is even stupid. The sense of wrong is simply failure to see where something fits into a pattern, to be confused as to the hierarchical level upon which an event belongs—a play which seems quite improper at level 28 may be exactly right at level 96. I am speaking of levels or stages in the labyrinth of twists and turns, gambits and counter-gambits, in which life is involving and evolving itself —the cosmological one-upmanship which the yang and the yin, the light and the dark principles, are forever playing, the game which at some early level in its development seems to be the serious battle between good and evil. If the square may be defined as one who takes the game seriously, one must admire him for the very depth of his involvement, for the courage to be so far-out that he doesn't know where he started. The more prosaic, the more dreadfully ordinary anyone or anything seems to be, the more I am moved to marvel at the ingenuity with which divinity hides in order to seek itself, at the lengths to which this cosmic joie de vivre will go in elaborating its dance. I think of a corner gas station on a hot afternoon. Dust and exhaust fumes, the regular Standard guy all baseball and sports cars, the billboards halfheartedly gaudy, the flatness so reassuring—nothing around here but just us folks! I can see people just pretending not to see that they are avatars of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, that the cells of their bodies aren't millions of gods, that the dust isn't a haze of jewels. How solemnly they would go through the act of not understanding me if I were to step up and say, "Well, who do you think you're kidding? Come off it, Shiva, you old rascal! It's a great act, but it doesn't fool me." But the conscious ego doesn't know that it is something which that divine organ, the body, is only pretending to be.* When people go to a guru, a master of wisdom, seeking a way out of darkness, all he really does is to humor them in their pretense until they are outfaced into dropping it. He tells nothing, but the twinkle in his eye speaks to the unconscious—"You know....You know!" In the contrast world of ordinary consciousness man feels himself, as will, to be something in nature but not of it. He likes it or dislikes it. He accepts it or resists it. He moves it or it moves him. But in the basic superconsciousness of the whole organism this division does not exist. The organism and its surrounding world are a single, integrated pattern of action in which there is neither subject nor object, doer nor done to. At this level there is not one thing called pain and another thing called myself, which dislikes pain. Pain and the "response" to pain are the same thing. When this becomes conscious it feels as if everything that happens is my own will. But this is a preliminary and clumsy way of feeling that what happens outside the body is one process with what happens inside it. This is that "original identity" which ordinary language and our conventional definitions of man so completely conceal. The active and the passive are two phases of the same act. A seed, floating in its white sunburst of down, drifts across the sky, sighing with the sound of a jet plane invisible above. I catch it by one hair between thumb and index finger, and am astonished to watch this little creature actually wiggling and pulling as if it were struggling to get away. Common sense tells me that this tugging is the action of the wind, not of the thistledown. But then I recognize that it is the "intelligence" of the seed to have just such delicate antennae of silk that, in an environment of wind, it can move. Having such extensions, it moves itself with the wind. When it comes to it, is there any basic difference between putting up a sail and pulling an oar? If anything, the former is a more intelligent use of effort than the latter. True, the seed does not intend to move itself with the wind, but neither did I intend to have arms and legs. It is this vivid realization of the reciprocity of will and world, active and passive, inside and outside, self and not-self, which evokes the aspect of these experiences that is most puzzling from the standpoint of ordinary consciousness: the strange and seemingly unholy conviction that "I" am God. In Western culture this sensation is seen as the very signature of insanity But in India it is simply a matter of course that the deepest center of man, atman, is the deepest center of the universe, Brahman. Why not? Surely a continuous view of the world is more whole, more holy, more healthy, than one in which there is a yawning emptiness between the Cause and its effects. Obviously, the "I" which is God is not the ego, the consciousness of self which is simultaneously an unconsciousness of the fact that its outer limits are held in common with the inner limits of the rest of the world. But in this wider, less ignore-ant consciousness I am forced to see that everything I claim to will and intend has a common boundary with all I pretend to disown. The limits of what I will, the form and shape of all those actions which I claim as mine, are identical and coterminous with the limits of all those events which I have been taught to define as alien and external. The feeling of self is no longer confined to the inside of the skin. Instead, my individual being seems to grow out from the rest of the universe like a hair from a head or a limb from a body, so that my center is also the center of the whole. I find that in ordinary consciousness I am habitually trying to ring myself off from this totality, that I am perpetually on the defensive. But what am I trying to protect? Only very occasionally are my defensive attitudes directly concerned with warding off physical damage or deprivation. For the most part I am defending my defenses: rings around rings around rings around nothing. Guards inside a fortress inside entrenchments inside a radar curtain. The military war is the outward parody of the war of ego versus world: only the guards are safe. In the next war only the air force will outlive the women and children. I trace myself back through the labyrinth of my brain, through the innumerable turns by which I have ringed myself off and, by perpetual circling, obliterated the original trail whereby I entered this forest. Back through the tunnels—through the devious status-and-survival strategy of adult life, through the interminable passages which we remember in dreams—all the streets we have ever traveled, the corridors of schools, the winding pathways between the legs of tables and chairs where one crawled as a child, the tight and bloody exit from the womb, the fountainous surge through the channel of the penis, the timeless wanderings through ducts and spongy caverns. Down and back through ever-narrowing tubes to the point where the passage itself is the traveler—a thin string of molecules going through the trial and error of getting itself into the right order to be a unit of organic life. Relentlessly back and back through endless and whirling dances in the astronomically proportioned spaces which surround the original nuclei of the world, the centers of centers, as remotely distant on the inside as the nebulae beyond our galaxy on the outside. Down and at last out—out of the cosmic maze to recognize in and as myself, the bewildered traveler, the forgotten yet familiar sensation of the original impulse of all things, supreme identity, inmost light, ultimate center, self more me than myself. Standing in the midst of Ella's garden I feel, with a peace so deep that it sings to be shared with all the world, that at last I belong, that I have returned to the home behind home, that I have come into the inheritance unknowingly bequeathed from all my ancestors since the beginning. Plucked like the strings of a harp, the warp and woof of the world reverberate with memories of triumphant hymns. The sure foundation upon which I had sought to stand has turned out to be the center from which I seek. The elusive substance beneath all the forms of the universe is discovered as the immediate gesture of my hand. But how did I ever get lost? And why have I traveled so far through these intertwined tunnels that I seem to be the quaking vortex of defended defensiveness which is my conventional self? Going indoors I find that all the household furniture is alive. Everything gestures. Tables are tabling, pots are potting, walls are walling, fixtures are fixturing—a world of events instead of things. Robert turns on the phonograph, without telling me what is being played. Looking intently at the pictures picturing, I only gradually become conscious of the music, and at first cannot decide whether I am hearing an instrument or a human voice simply falling. A single stream of sound, curving, rippling, and jiggling with a soft snarl that at last reveals it to be a reed instrument—some sort of oboe. Later, human voices join it. But they are not singing words, nothing but a kind of "buoh—buah—bueeh" which seems to be exploring all the liquidinous inflections of which the voice is capable. What has Robert got here? I imagine it must be some of his far-out friends in a great session of nonsense-chanting. The singing intensifies into the most refined, exuberant, and delightful warbling, burbling. honking. hooting. and howling—which quite obviously means nothing whatsoever. and is being done out of pure glee. There is a pause. A voice says. "Dit!" Another seems to reply, "Da!" Then, "Dit-da! Di-dittty-da!" And getting gradually faster. "Da-di-ditty-di-ditty-da! Di-da-di-ditty-ditty-da-di-da-di-ditty-da-da!" And so on, until the players are quite out of their minds. The record cover which Robert now shows me, says "Classical Music of India," and informs me that this is a series edited by Alain Danielou, who happens to be the most serious, esoteric, and learned scholar of Hindu music, and an exponent. in the line of Rene Guenon and Ananda Coomaraswamy, of the most formal, traditional, and difficult interpretation of Yoga and Vedanta. Somehow I cannot quite reconcile Danielou, the pandit of pandits, with this delirious outpouring of human bird-song. I feel my leg is being pulled. Or perhaps Danielou's leg. But then, maybe not. Oh, indeed not ! For quite suddenly I feel my understanding dawning into a colossal clarity, as if everything were opening up down to the roots of my being and of time and space themselves. The sense of the world becomes totally obvious. I am struck with amazement that I or anyone could have thought life a problem or being a mystery. I call to everyone to gather round. "Listen, there's something I must tell. I've never, never seen it so clearly. But it doesn't matter a bit if you don't understand, because each one of you is quite perfect as you are, even if you don't know it. Life is basically a gesture, but no one, no thing, is making it. There is no necessity for it to happen, and none for it to go on happening. For it isn't being driven by anything; it just happens freely of itself. It's a gesture of motion, of sound, of color, and just as no one is making it, it isn't happening to anyone. There is simply no problem of life; it is completely purposeless play—exuberance which is its own end. Basically there is the gesture. Time, space, and multiplicity are complications of it. There is no reason whatever to explain it, for explanations are just another form of complexity, a new manifestation of life on top of life, of gestures gesturing. Pain and suffering are simply extreme forms of play, and there isn't anything in the whole universe to be afraid of because it doesn't happen to anyone! There isn't any substantial ego at all. The ego is a kind of flip, a knowing of knowing, a fearing of fearing. It's a curlicue, an extra jazz to experience, a sort of double-take or reverberation, a dithering of consciousness which is the same as anxiety." Of course, to say that life is just a gesture, an action without agent, recipient, or purpose, sounds much more empty and futile than joyous. But to me it seems that an ego, a substantial entity to which experience happens, is more of a minus than a plus. It is an estrangement from experience, a lack of participation. And in this moment I feel absolutely with the world, free of that chronic resistance to experience which blocks the free flowing of life and makes us move like muscle-bound dancers. But I don't have to overcome resistance. I see that resistance, ego, is just an extra vortex in the stream--part of it—and that in fact there is no actual resistance at all. There is no point from which to confront life, or stand against it. I go into the garden again. The hummingbirds are soaring up and falling in their mating dance, as if there were someone behind the bushes playing ball with them. Fruit and more wine have been put out on the table. Oranges—transformations of the sun into its own image, as if the tree were acknowledging gratitude for warmth. Leaves, green with the pale, yellow-fresh green that I remember from the springtimes of my childhood in Kentish spinneys, where breaking buds were spotted all over the hazel branches in a floating mist. Within them, trunks, boughs, and twigs moist black behind the sunlit green. Fuchsia bushes, tangled traceries of stalks, intermingled with thousands of magenta ballerinas with purple petticoats. And, behind all, towering into the near-twilight sky, the grove of giant eucalyptus trees with their waving clusters of distinctly individual, bamboo-like leaves. Everything here is the visual form of the lilting nonsense and abandoned vocal dexterity of those Hindu musicians. I recall the words of an ancient Tantric scripture: "As waves come with water and flames with fire, so the universal waves with us." Gestures of the gesture, waves of the wave—leaves flowing into caterpillars, grass into cows, milk into babies, bodies into worms, earth into flowers, seeds into birds, quanta of energy into the iridescent or reverberating labyrinths of the brain. Within and swept up into this endless, exulting, cosmological dance are the base and grinding undertones of the pain which transformation involves: chewed nerve endings, sudden electric-striking snakes in the meadow grass, swoop of the lazily circling hawks, sore muscles piling logs, sleepless nights trying to keep track of the unrelenting bookkeeping which civilized survival demands. How unfamiliarly natural it is to see pain as no longer a problem. For problematic pain arises with the tendency of self-consciousness to short-circuit the brain and fill its passages with dithering echoes—revulsions to revulsions, fears of fear, cringing from cringing, guilt about guilt—twisting thought to trap itself in endless oscillations. In his ordinary consciousness man lives like someone trying to speak in an excessively sensitive echo-chamber; he can proceed only by doggedly ignoring the interminably gibbering reflections of his voice. For in the brain there are echoes and reflected images in every dimension of sense, thought, and feeling, chattering on and on in the tunnels of memory. The difficulty is that we confuse this storing of information with an intelligent commentary on what we are doing at the moment, mistaking for intelligence the raw materials of the data with which it works. Like too much alcohol, self-consciousness makes us see ourselves double, and we mistake the double image for two selves—mental and material, controlling and controlled, reflective and spontaneous. Thus instead of suffering we suffer about suffering, and suffer about suffering about suffering. As has always been said, clarity comes with the giving up of self. But what this means is that we cease to attribute selfhood to these echoes and mirror images. Otherwise we stand in a hall of mirrors, dancing hesitantly and irresolutely because we are making the images take the lead. We move in circles because we are following what we have already done. We have lost touch with our original identity, which is not the system of images but the great self-moving gesture of this as yet unremembered moment. The gift of remembering and binding time creates the illusion that the past stands to the present as agent to act, mover to moved. Living thus from the past, with echoes taking the lead, we are not truly here, and are always a little late for the feast. Yet could anything be more obvious than that the past follows from the present like the wake of a ship, and that if we are to be alive at all, here is the place to be? Evening at last closes a day that seemed to have been going on since the world began. At the high end of the garden, above a clearing, there stands against the mountain wall a semicircle of trees, immensely tall and dense with foliage, suggesting the entrance grove to some ancient temple. It is from here that the deep blue-green transparency of twilight comes down, silencing the birds and hushing our own conversation. We have been watching the sunset, sitting in a row upon the ridgepole of the great barn whose roof of redwood tiles, warped and cracked, sweeps clear to the ground. Below, to the west, lies an open sward where two white goats are munching the grass, and beyond this is Robert's house where lights in the kitchen show that Beryl is preparing dinner. Time to go in, and leave the garden to the awakening stars. Again music—harpsichords and a string orchestra, and Bach in his most exultant mood. I lie down to listen, and close my eyes. All day, in wave after wave and from all directions of the mind's compass, there has repeatedly come upon me the sense of my original identity as one with the very fountain of the universe. I have seen, too, that the fountain is its own source and motive, and that its spirit is an unbounded playfulness which is the many-dimensioned dance of life. There is no problem left, but who will believe it? Will I believe it myself when I return to normal consciousness? Yet I can see at the moment that this does not matter. The play is hide-and-seek or lost-and-found, and it is all part of the play that one can get very lost indeed. How far, then, can one go in getting found? As if in answer to my question there appears before my closed eyes a vision in symbolic form of what Eliot has called "the still point of the turning world." I find myself looking down at the floor of a vast courtyard, as if from a window high upon the wall, and the floor and the walls are entirely surfaced with ceramic tiles displaying densely involved arabesques in gold, purple, and blue. The scene might be the inner court of some Persian palace, were it not of such immense proportions and its colors of such preternatural transparency. In the center of the floor there is a great sunken arena, shaped like a combination of star and rose, and bordered with a strip of tiles that suggest the finest inlay work in vermilion, gold, and obsidian. Within this arena some kind of ritual is being performed in time with the music. At first its mood is stately and royal, as if there were officers and courtiers in rich armor and many-colored cloaks dancing before their king. As I watch, the mood changes. The courtiers become angels with wings of golden fire, and in the center of the arena there appears a pool of dazzling flame. Looking into the pool I see, just for a moment, a face which reminds me of the Christos Pantocrator of Byzantine mosaics, and I feel that the angels are drawing back with wings over their faces in a motion of reverent dread. But the face dissolves. The pool of flame grows brighter and brighter, and I notice that the winged beings are drawing back with a gesture, not of dread, but of tenderness—for the flame knows no anger. Its warmth and radiance—"tongues of flame infolded"—are an efflorescence of love so endearing that I feel I have seen the heart of all hearts.

BLOG DUB

J'DYSATTVA — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 16:24:02 GMT

(..no words..just smile and bob your head...)

THEE GREY BOOK

J'DYSATTVA — Thu, 28 Dec 2006 21:42:17 GMT

THOSE WHO DO NOT REMEMBER THEE PAST ARE CONDEMNED TO REPEAT IT An Introduction to thee Temple ov Psychick Youth. Thee Temple strives to end personal laziness and engender discipline. To focus thee Will on one's true desires, in thee belief, gathered from experience that this maximizes and makes happen all those things that one wants in every area ov life. Explore daily your deepest desires, fantasies and motives, gradually focussing on what you would like to happen in a perfect world, a perfect situation, taking away all restrictions and practical considerations, what you'd REALLY want. Then decide to try and DO it. Thee mere visualization ov that true goal begins thee process that makes it happen. Clean out thee trappings and debris ov compromise, ov what you've been told is REASONABLE for a person in your circumstances. Be clear in admitting your real desires. Discard all irrelevancies. Ask yourself who you want as friends, if you need or want to work, what you want to eat. Check and re-check everything deeper and deeper, more and more precisely to get closer and ultimately integrate with your REAL Self. Once you are focussed on your self internally, thee external aspects ov your life will fall into place. They have to. Sceptics will say they simply don't believe this Psychick process works, but it does. It is thee Key to thee Temple. INTRODUCTION We attempt to commune with spirits, to be friends with thee Human Spirit. We care for thee infinite significance ov thee individual spirit and personal moral responsibility and its development through experience. We believe in thee total significance ov thee individual discovered though familiarity with thee deepest instincts and explorations ov destiny outside thee traps ov time. We intend to engender moral freedom, spiritual freedom, sexual freedom, and personal independence, to insist upon personal choose in all things. We accept responsibility. Gladly and with excitement and deliberate ignorance ov thee outcoum. We revel in mystery and surprise. We bury our selves in challenge and dreams. We embrace all possibilities and impossibilities with joy and excitement. We accept thee true nature ov life, thee way thee world is. Flexible and shifting, in flux every moment, shaped by parallel levels that accept contradiction and inconsistency as inviolate qualities that generate mystery and mastery. We direct ourselves wherever we chose to go with joy and abandon. A New Era ov thee Magickal interpretation ov thee World and existing in it is couming. An interpretation in terms ov Will and Imagination fueled by contact with intuition and instinct. RESPONSIBILITY Do you want to be part ov a world ov sleeping people? Do you want to imbibe thee drug ov thee commonplace? Will you be forever addicted to self-restriction? Established orthodoxies and dogmas, conditioned interpretations ov living, regard thee material world as reality whilst pretending to deal with thee spirit or existence. They conceive and propagate evolution and thinking as purely physical, their control ov our lives and visions as sacrosanct. Religion has privately altered to work from a position that accept itself as totally discredited by science. All establishment modes ov control and affiliation, both religious and political, rely upon and revolve around unquestioning faith and dogma, unquestioning acceptance ov their inalienable right to assume professional responsibility for our actions upon their shoulders. We are told we are weak, incapable ov grasping scale, afraid ov ourselves and desperate to push responsibility for all events in our lifes onto them. We are insistency trained to accept our corporeal existence as hopeless in itself, to becoum subservient to thee greater good. We are perpetually conditioned, encouraged, and blackmailed into self-restriction into narrower and narrower perceptions ov ourselves, our own importance, our own potential and our own experience. We are trained to ignore thee evidence ov our senses and experience and to feel guilt when we glimpse sense derived visions ov ourselves as free spirits. Thee voluntary relinquishing ov responsibility for our lives and actions is one ov thee greatest enemies ov our time. Our enemies are flat. Our enemies are three-dimensional. Our enemies are continuity and coherence. Our enemies are restriction and confinement. Our enemies are guilt and fear. Our enemies are material. Our enemies are direction and fact. Our enemies are Because. We are not seeking followers, we are seeking collaborators, Individuals for a visionary Psychick alliance. Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth 23 June 82 Era Maximus 003Adeptus FOCUSING THEE WILL What we suggest next is NOT instruction. It is method. A method which can be used by anyone, alone or with friends, regardless ov any material or social circumstances. A method to be used by thee individual to break through to their deeper consciousness, where fantasies ambitions and real wishes reside, thee place where all dreams meet. People can most readily identify and relate to dreams that are sexual, and that is thee primary reason for our choice ov sex as a vehicle for this method to begin with. Our interest is therefore PRACTICAL. In our experience, although they might deny it, most people never ask themselves what they really want, or simply say they don't know. But it is only once a person has learned to identify their true desires in an imaginary perfect world, where guilt and retribution are suspended, that they can hope to reach them. SEX - ov all thee things that people do, at home and in private, usually with close friends, sex alone is subject to extraordinary interference and control from outside forces. This is no accident. They recognize its power. Even if only for a few moments, Individuals can release a power and energy from within that renders any system ov society, or regime, meaningless. It is a liberator. Even an individual in solitary confinement can indulge in it and in their fantasies travel into any situation and possibility unfettered, and, at thee moment o orgasm itself, be both blissfully vulnerable and undeniably free, elsewhere, filled with energy. Accordingly from thee moment ov birth pressure is exerted upon everyone to limit their release and enjoyment ov this power. To limit and restrict thee immense potential all ov us were born with, into narrow and non-threatening forms ov behavior, sexual and otherwise. Ov course thee nature ov this pressure varies by place and era. When specific laws becoum unenforceable for a time, more subtle methods are used; social attitudes, anxiety, guilt, fear ov ridicule and failure are all exploited, and diseases that attack only those who indulge in specific sexual activities are introduced. Most give in to this pressure in one way or another, permanently crippling their individual growth. We believe that it is essential, if we are to survive and progress, that we first recognize, accept and ultimately reach our true sexual desires. This not only satisfies thee body and consolidates thee spirit but acts as an example for all our goals in every area ov life, and attacks at thee root ov control. Control begins with sexuality, so it seems crucial to begin at this universally applicable point and develop our awareness from there. In our culture people have internalized alienating stereotypes which dictate their sexual and social interactions. This makes men agreeable to orders ov authority figures and keeps women in line with accepted notions ov propriety and authority and binds up their sexual desire so that they will accept a generally subordinate role to men. Thee latter is propagated by those who are empowered by thee patriarchal lineage which has been handed down thru thee ages, whose fear ov thee unknown, - in this case women and feminine characteristics, has been countered by a bulwark ov dogma which aims at controlling and/or degrading all those forces which they see as a threat to their reign. By studying thee oppression ov women through thee ages we can see in a nutshell thee nature, methods and manifestations ov oppressions it is used in any society in any age against those who are pro-life and expanding. But on a broad scale encompassing both sexes thee repression ov sexual instincts functions to make people submissive and inclined to irrational behavior and thus paralyzes their rebellious potential. On a deeply personal level where we enter thee domain ov such energies which might be called 'magickal', thee effect ov such conditioning is no less significant. Psychic energy and sexual energy are different names for thee same force: by ridding ourselves ov restrictions and thee forms ov control which have been imposed on us we can coum into our own on more planes than one. Most initiates ov thee Temple believe there is a power and effect released by an orgasm, focussed through Will, that enhances not only thee chances ov Self-fulfillment and contentment but also thee achievement ov creative goals: that thee strength ov this process forces thee hand ov chance and brings closer thee object ov your desire. RITUAL - Throughout history man has used ritual to achieve spiritual results from simple physical actions. Recently its use has been limited to established religious dogmas, and since many if not all ov these have fallen into disrepute or have coum to be seen as irrelevant, so too has thee use ov ritual, but its use is far older and far more universal than any organized church. Any ritual is a way on concentrating and focussing those taking part on a particular aim or idea. It is essential only that thee techniques employed have meaning and vitality for thee participants. Seen without this belief, as many recorded rituals ov thee past are now, thee process can seem simply ridiculous, and thee mechanical repetition ov them certainly would be. Initiates ov thee Temple ov Psychick Youth have developed personal methods or rituals, not only to strengthen and refine their inner objectives, both sexual and practical, but also to provide a fertile basis for those objectives to grow and becoum real. Although we have no vested interest in others following this example, or contacting thee Temple, it is possible that some people may wish to do so. Below are instructions on how to do this. Many people feel unwilling or unable to put our suggestions into practice, due to thee effectiveness ov social conditioning. Thee Temple will only draw initiates from those who can demonstrate in thee manner indicated their resistance to this conditioning, and their commitment to thee ideas ov thee Temple. THEE SIGIL OV 3 LIQUIDS This ritual should be performed alone, on thee 23rd ov thee month, beginning at 23.00 hours, in a place where you will have no interruptions or distractions. Within thee limits ov what is practical, you should arrange thee environment and atmosphere to be as conducive as possible to thee execution ov this Sigil for yourself. If at all possible a candle(s) should be thee only source ov light. This Sigil must be performed naked. One ov thee aims ov thee ritual is to concentrate your attention and energy on your most intense sexual fantasy. To do this you must first decide what it is and write it down on a piece ov paper. It should be what you think would generate in you thee maximum possible excitement, pleasure and fulfillment, regardless ov thee identity, sex or age ov those who take part with you, alive and guiltless. It is essential to be completely honest with yourself, and not write something because you think it might satisfy other people - remember thee purpose ov thee Sigil is to really make these things happen. Once you have written thee fantasy on thee piece ov paper, you have to make thee paper special. To do this it must be touched by thee three liquids ov thee body. That is, spit, blood, and OV, which is thee Temple name for thee fluids obtained by masturbation - semen from thee male and lubrication from thee female. For example, first let a few drops ov spit fall onto thee page, next a few drops ov blood. You must use some kind ov sharp and clean instrument to do this. Remember only a small quantity is required and you should use your common sense in terms ov thee method employed and ov hygiene both before and afterwards. Lastly, and in any way that is most pleasurable to you, bring yourself to orgasm and allow thee OV to touch thee paper. While you are doing this concentrate not only on thee inscribed fantasy, but also on thee idea ov thee Temple and that fact that doing this sigil is inevitably bringing you closer to what you really want. You must then attach a lock ov hair from your head and also some ov your pubic hair to thee paper. Remember these 2 hair types and 3 liquids may be incorporated on thee Sigil Paper in any manner that feels appropriate to thee thoughts thereon described. Thee basic actions outlined above should not be seen as a limitation. Leave thee Sigil Paper overnight to dry in a safe place. On thee next day send it to thee Temple. You do not have to attach your name to thee Sigil Paper if you don't want to. All submission to thee Temple will remain at all times absolutely confidential, and will be stored in a locked vault. All applicants who complete this satisfactorily will receive personal encouragement, suggestions and direction for thee subsequent months ritual. Completion ov 23 such monthly rituals qualifies one as a full initiate ov thee Temple. NOTE - if you decide to do this Sigil, thee responsibility rests entirely with you. You will gain from it, not thee Temple. Thee Temple can not accept any claims against it, arising from thee consequences ov thee Sigil or any related matters. Thee Sigil can only be recommended to those who have reached thee legal age ov consent in thee country in which they live. TELEVISION In modern society most people are not able to tolerate concentrated religious thought. This is hardly surprising. Most religious and political groups ov thee last two centuries have stressed, among other things, thee superiority ov their leaders and thee inferiority ov thee individual. By now thee absurdity ov this thinking has becoum apparent to most people, and a general resistance to any form ov religious dogma has developed. There are a number ov groups and cult religions who are repeating thee old formulas ov adoration ov their leaders and thee relinquishing ov thee cult's followers ov any responsibility for their own lives, but these are in thee minority. By and large people have lost faith in any spiritual teaching whatsoever, and have nothing with which to replace it. If we are to be able to suggest even guidelines in this area, it most be done without dogma and in ways that people will understand. Pleasure has becoum something which people do not seek after themselves, but have presented to them in simulated forms through diverse mediae, thus building up a frustrating and paradoxical situation where an inherently active form ov expression has becoum a passive pastime and thee results: expression becoums depression. People are constantly being titillated through advertisements and other forms ov propaganda by a subtle use ov subliminal seduction and because ov thee one-sided nature ov thee affair thee out coum is inevitably frustration. When pleasures course is inhibited it has thee characteristic ov turning into unpleasure. When in spite ov continual high excitation a person is not able to experience final gratification a fear eventually develops, not only ov thee final gratification but also ov thee excitation which precedes it. This will effectively divorce thee individual from his or her true feelings and instincts. A long exposure to Televisualized Realty will have thee effect ov underlining peoples notions about their own inadequacy and on an unconscious level they will have to deal with second-hand traumas and complexes, a task made all thee more difficult for thee fact that although thee pseudo-experiences achieve their relevance by being linked up with thee individuals own experiences, that link is mostly superficial and difficult to trace. Television has not yet been recognized as man's latest sensory apparatus. Thee manipulation and thee use made ov thee Sexual Instinct through visual media, such as Television and films has turned a large portion ov people into unknowing fetishists: they are investing sexual energy in images and objects without knowing it and are thus unable to reclaim and make use ov it, - as thee magickal use ov a fetish dictates. An essentially magickal act has becoum vampiritic and one-sided. This process breeds a host ov 'Scopophiliacs', people who obtain simulated sexual gratification through thee process ov watching, where thee illusion ov active doing is obtained by turning an other person into an object which is subjected to a controlling gaze. Scopophilia is by definition one ov thee component instincts ov sexuality which exists as drives independently ov thee erotogenic zones. Indulging in scopophiliac activity, and people nowadays hardly seem to have any other choice, can in thee long run result in an unconscious acceptance ov thee separation between mind and body, sexuality being denied its natural course and thee fragmented world view which keeps people from drawing thee right conclusions and seeking active release from their circumstances is reinforced. Over thee last thirty years TV has been thee greatest single factor in thee control ov thee attitudes ov thee people. Even if it was unintentional, which seems unlikely, thee prevailing view ov thee world as seen by thee writers, producers and controllers ov TV companies has becoum thee accepted 'norm', to which thee viewer inevitably compares himself. Ov course thee world presented on TV bears little or no resemblance to reality, and as a consequence thee viewer is left, not only with a feeling ov failure, but also ov boredom with this 'perfect' world on thee screen. Even in thee area ov news and documentary those interests which shape and control TV everywhere assume that 'the public' cannot cope with thee whole truth. It is our intention to revers this trend. We have no desire to ape or emulate thee slick perfection and sterile technical quality ov traditional professional television, perfect focus is not perfect content. We deal in implications, exactness ov flow and image from a subliminal psychick point ov view. It is only by doing this that one can hope to show life as it really is. All media systems devised by man enshrine his own limitations ov development and fulfillment, his inner conflicts, his private fears ov mortality, yet all media, including TV are nothing but thee decisions ov men. Psychick TV will be activist, a positive statement ov faith in thee capacity ov man. To cause things hidden in thee dark to appear and to take thee dark away from them. Psychick TV is not intended to be a replacement for conventional programming, but rather thee first step towards a de-programming, without regard for thee preoccupations ov commercial TV, redundant assumptions about entertainment and value. At Psychic TV we accept and exploit thee way TV is used by our generation, as raw material to be used and manipulated by thee viewer. Dense enough to be interesting over and over yet without punchlines or obvious focal points to becoum familiar and bored with. Thee Transmissions we are now producing are intended to be viewed at night, between thee hours ov midnight and six am. We will not be giving any advance indication ov thee specific content ov thee Transmissions - rarely are people aware in advance ov any momentous occurrence in their lives - but everything in thee recordings will reflect thee way thee world really is. If they seem to be emphasizing those aspects ov life normally suppressed or censored as subversive, contentious, disturbing or too sexual, it is because that suppression is a deliberate attempt to limit thee knowledge ov thee individual. It is our belief that truth and information about anything and everything must be made available in every way possible, if human history is to survive, progress or have any meaning whatsoever. TEXTS I & II I To say in day-to-day life that something is 'obvious' means, more often than not, that one concedes a note ov truth in exchange for a tolerance ov thee usual hypocrisy and conditioning. You can, for example, make your opposite ADMIT as being obvious that there is no such thing as a theory that is absolutely true; that will not stop them in any way from continuing to brandish their 'Truths' as before. Their momentary concession passes by a sordid business in which they buy their future peace ov mind. A life without questions. Hence, there is no higher aim than thee OBVIOUS. It is to approach thee closest to a Truth which we know to be inaccessible but whose gleam we can see. Thee Obvious is a protection. Not only does it make people run away, but it also deceives by its rapid commonness, and by thee fact that in Flat people's minds, whatever is simple cannot be serious. II It would be an illusion to think that thee Individual can hide all thee clues to his Oneness. His task is therefore to see to it that all thee clues are wrongly interpreted. Thus it is that they may SEEM to indicate a lack ov individuality and create a feeling ov disappointment rather than curiosity. This tactic gives us space and protection in thee traps ov time. An Individual has many personalities or characters at thee same time or alternately. (Recent cognitive brain theory supports this.) most people little by little eliminate thee personalities considered to be dangerous by their peer group or societal unit and finally keep only one: thee social personality... one dimensional 'FLAT' people. But other people, called paradoxically 'Individuals', are always trying to develop all their personalities, even if there is an internal conflict between them. So we can clearly see that thee Individualist person logically must use 'WE' to name himself, whilst thee person who belongs to thee masses must use thee 'I'. Thee first is multi-dimensional, thee second is uni-dimensional. One ov thee Temple functions is to encourage and support thee development ov multi-dimensional individuals. Hence our use ov 'WE' in our texts. Our enemies are Flat. III Our stress on SELF discipline is important, it links thee internal methods ov ritual to our approval and suggestion ov other forms ov physical discipline to compliment thee mental/sexual ones. Hence you will often find that Initiates ov thee Temple will be engaged in such outside activities as Marksmanship, Martial Arts, Swimming and so on as an extension ov thee theory ov maintaining and improving ones Focus and abilities. Thee point is not thee skill in itself, though we appreciate thee practical nature, in a society such as ours, ov an ability to defend oneself and be fit, but thee APPLICATION, thee discipline itself. So one may be poor in terms ov results, but excellent in terms ov your genuine application to a skill that requires thought, co-ordination and a degree ov dedication. A synthesis ov physical action, thought, reflex and an analysis ov both yourself and a target (real and metaphorical). FAITH IS FEAR Thee first lesson from which all other grow is thee simplest. We are mortal. We all die. This is not a morbid wallowing in hopelessness. It is thee ability to genuinely coum to terms with our physical transience that liberates us all. Many visionary philosophical systems include 'The Small Death' in their ideas under one name or another. We all die. This realization truly assimilated can be turned to positive use, in that it spurs one into action aware at all time is limited and no life span is certain. Every second counts and must count. This realization can also be used unproductively, crippling an individual man or woman's search for fulfillment ov all their needs and preventing for all their life a complete integration ov every aspect ov their character and thoughts. Thee inevitability ov death can be used by outside forces as a weapon to create fear. Religions use this weapon more blatantly than any other suppressive social regulation systems. They use fear ov death to justify Faith. NOTE: Those who escape thee traps ov Religion through a first stage cynical knowledge ov thee hypocrisy ov modern society and thee emasculation ov their individual power to change anything often seek oblivion from this knowledge, and so they use various drugs (tobacco, alcohol, tranquilizers and opiates like heroin) as a substitute for Faith. They want to kill time. Religion wants to side-step time. Both are actions based on Fear. Mankind spends a constant amount ov energy in self-preservation. Thee very phrase 'self-preservation' implies a threat ov annihilation and is triggered by fear ov death. So in a very real sense fear ov death is present behind all normal functioning, it resides permanently in thee subconscious, moulding our image ov ourselves in relation to an inevitable, inexorable crisis ov death. But fear ov death could not be constantly present in our day to day conscious mental functioning, this would be an intolerable burden, as things are, but to behave 'normally' thee biological organism, thee animal man represses its knowledge ov death to acquire comfort. As things are, so must they change. So we are all socially and biologically conditioned to put away our fear ov death yet in a real paradox we becoum too efficiently oblivious to this fear in our conscious life. Thee Temple tries to reconcile all our consciousnesses. To do this embraces thee knowledge ov our own inevitable death with courage and uses it to justify action and thee proper use ov time. In actual fact, none ov us know how much time we have, when we do die it ought to be with Zero Regret. Zero regret is thee magickal state ov inner balance and calm acceptance ov thee mortality ov individuals and thee use ov Zero Regret to channel all future action. Thee prefect state is to be sure that no time is wasted, no energy repressed and no fear hidden. In old language, we must experience thee small death ov literally facing ourselves and thee reality ov a temporary metabolism, a limit on time. Time can be a tool, a liberator, or an oppressor. When we claim time back for ourselves we are at last learning to be free and effective. Control needs time like a junkie needs junk. To escape control we must re-embrace our given time. Initially thee human being has no apparent alternative but to succumb to a negative appreciation ov death. To feel fear. Thee brain is genetically programmed to survival and will not allow itself to believe that it shall cease to exist. Thus, as we have already seen, thee subconscious mind will seduce thee intellect into ignoring logic and fact, a condition bordering upon hopelessness. It will ignore thee lessons ov experience and observation in favour ov an inherited image ov existence and thee affect ov fear will be repressed. He will immediately becoum vulnerable to a desire for Hope that bypasses confronting his subconscious knowledge. religion thrives upon this. It requires only an act ov blind faith in exchange for guaranteed Hope and salvation. It denies death and avoids thee facts. In short, Religion turns away from thee truth, thee Temple turns towards it. If you face yourself, you face death and in this way only can you re-integrate your entire character and all ov its levels ov consciousness and perception. This cannot be stressed too much or too often. So in Religions all practical thought must be swept aside in a flood ov faith. Answers becoum word, and facts becoum sins. This thing Faith is thee foundation ov all Religious thought. So powerful, yet fragile that Faith must be protected. Protected from doubt, protected from questions, it is seen as a constant that will not even tolerate thought. It causes, its real essence, death, are so entrenched in everyone's mind that it has becoum thee basis ov every society, and so every society has developed a system to protect it. Dogma. Thee equation, simplified, goes something like this: Dogma negates thought. Thought is thee enemy ov Faith (therefor thee enemy ov Society). Individual thought patterns are discouraged in order to preserve Faith inviolate, to thus preserve Society, to preserve thee status quo and thee vested interests ov thee keepers ov Faith and Dogma. It is in this web that Religion meets Politics and they reinforce each other in a web ov deceit. Those in Power have a personal interest in channeling individual thought down safe unthreatening avenues geared to thee production ov materials and services that are to thee 'benefit' ov society, ov thee 'Greater Good'. In other words you sacrifice your time and your time is your most precious commodity. When you take yourself back it becoums priceless. People are deflected from thee theft ov their Time and trained to produce and consume instead ov how to be engaged in their habitat and ideas. Politics organizes, Religion directs. From a child ov five to an adult is a short step. From a new-born baby to a child ov five is an appalling distance (Tolstoy). Religion invades thee child's world. A child without guilt is thus given guilt. A child without fear is thus given fear. Thee only salvation offered is through Faith. Faith, it is suggested, ends death. Thee price ov cheating death through Faith is, ov course, submission. People who are not satisfied with this situation, people who want proofs, who wish to develop a system without guilt and fear that absorbs and uses death as a positive and liberating knowledge are discouraged, ridiculed, treated with suspicion and often deliberately misrepresented in thee media. They are after all, a threat to Society to some degree, they strike at thee core ov thee trick that controls us and so in a real sense they are dangerous. Thee Temple Ov Psychick Youth is dedicated to thee reacquisition by individuals ov their allotted time. It encourages, it does not discourage, it stands as an example ov what is possible. To be involved is to becoum very special. With thee passage ov history, Society's control over Individuals is so subtle it becoums imperceptible, perhaps even genetically inherited. Its very power lies in thee face that even its figureheads and leaders do not realize its processes. Control is invisible. Time is invisible. Control is so able to shroud an individual's perception ov reality in trivia as to becoum a uniform reality in itself. A reality that cannot ask itself questions. That cannot even formulate a language capable ov setting questions that might reveal thee truth. In an age ov collapse and transition we must find a language. A way out ov thee corner donated to us by history. Thee human brain must develop, becoum thee next step in evolution. It is simply; develop our latent neurological power or truly die as a race. It is a war for survival. Through experiment, through exploration ov these latent powers, by visionary use ov science and technology, and by thee integration ov experience, observation and expression we must revere ourselves. A reality that cannot face itself becoums an illusion. Cannot be real. We must reject totally thee concept and use ov Faith, that sham. We must emasculate Religion. Thee 'Universe ov Magick' is within thee mind ov mankind, thee setting is but an illusion even to thee thinker. Thee Temple is commited to building a modern network where people are given back pride in themselves, where destruction becoums a laughable absurdity to a brain aware ov its infinite and immeasurable potential. thee Temple is commited to triggering thee next evolutionary cycle in order to save this flawed but loveable animal man. Thee Temple is commited to developing a modern functional and inspiring magickal structure. In engendering at long last thee completely integrated and effective individual. And this network ov individuals is in turn inevitably faced with a task ov action to communicate survival and social evolution to others. We are thee first truly non-aligned and non-mystical philosophy. Fear breeds Faith. Faith uses Fear. reject Faith, reject Fear, reject Religions and reject Dogma. Learn to cherish yourself, appreciate intuition and instinct, Learn to love your questions. Value your Time. Use mortality to motivate action and a caring, compassionate and concentrated life. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Involvement in Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth requires an active individual, dedicated towards thee establishment ov a functional system ov magick and a modern pagan philosophy without recourse to mystification, gods or demons; but recognizing thee implicit powers ov thee human brain (neuromancy) linked with guiltless sexuality focussed through Will Structure (Sigils). Magick empowers thee individual to embrace and realize their dreams and maximize their natural potential. It is for those with thee courage to touch themselves. It integrates all levels ov thought in thee first steps towards final negation ov control and fear. OUR AIM IS WAKEFULNESS - OUR ENEMY IS DREAMLESS SLEEP.

Amidst

J'DYSATTVA — Thu, 21 Sep 2006 05:55:51 GMT

Amidst the Flowers a Jug of Wine Amidst the flowers a jug of wine, I pour alone lacking companionship. So raising the cup I invite the Moon, Then turn to my shadow which makes three of us. Because the Moon does not know how to drink, My shadow merely follows the movement of my body. The moon has brought the shadow to keep me company a while, The practice of mirth should keep pace with spring. I start a song and the moon begins to reel, I rise and dance and the shadow moves grotesquely. While I'm still conscious let's rejoice with one another, After I'm drunk let each one go his way. Let us bind ourselves for ever for passionless journeyings. Let us swear to meet again far in the Milky Way. Li Po

HOT~RIGHT ON!!!

J'DYSATTVA — Sat, 05 Aug 2006 23:54:25 GMT

An Incomplete Manifesto for Growth Written in 1998, the Incomplete Manifesto is an articulation of statements that exemplify Bruce Mau's beliefs, motivations and strategies. 1. Allow events to change you. You have to be willing to grow. Growth is different from something that happens to you. You produce it. You live it. The prerequisites for growth: the openness to experience events and the willingness to be changed by them. 2. Forget about good. Good is a known quantity. Good is what we all agree on. Growth is not necessarily good. Growth is an exploration of unlit recesses that may or may not yield to our research. As long as you stick to good you'll never have real growth. 3. Process is more important than outcome. When the outcome drives the process we will only ever go to where we've already been. If process drives outcome we may not know where we’re going, but we will know we want to be there. 4. Love your experiments (as you would an ugly child). Joy is the engine of growth. Exploit the liberty in casting your work as beautiful experiments, iterations, attempts, trials, and errors. Take the long view and allow yourself the fun of failure every day. 5. Go deep. The deeper you go the more likely you will discover something of value. 6. Capture accidents. The wrong answer is the right answer in search of a different question. Collect wrong answers as part of the process. Ask different questions. 7. Study. A studio is a place of study. Use the necessity of production as an excuse to study. Everyone will benefit. 8. Drift. Allow yourself to wander aimlessly. Explore adjacencies. Lack judgment. Postpone criticism. 9. Begin anywhere. John Cage tells us that not knowing where to begin is a common form of paralysis. His advice: begin anywhere. 10. Everyone is a leader. Growth happens. Whenever it does, allow it to emerge. Learn to follow when it makes sense. Let anyone lead. 11. Harvest ideas. Edit applications. Ideas need a dynamic, fluid, generous environment to sustain life. Applications, on the other hand, benefit from critical rigor. Produce a high ratio of ideas to applications. 12. Keep moving. The market and its operations have a tendency to reinforce success. Resist it. Allow failure and migration to be part of your practice. 13. Slow down. Desynchronize from standard time frames and surprising opportunities may present themselves. 14. Don’t be cool. Cool is conservative fear dressed in black. Free yourself from limits of this sort. 15. Ask stupid questions. Growth is fueled by desire and innocence. Assess the answer, not the question. Imagine learning throughout your life at the rate of an infant. 16. Collaborate. The space between people working together is filled with conflict, friction, strife, exhilaration, delight, and vast creative potential. 17. ____________________. Intentionally left blank. Allow space for the ideas you haven’t had yet, and for the ideas of others. 18. Stay up late. Strange things happen when you’ve gone too far, been up too long, worked too hard, and you're separated from the rest of the world. 19. Work the metaphor. Every object has the capacity to stand for something other than what is apparent. Work on what it stands for. 20. Be careful to take risks. Time is genetic. Today is the child of yesterday and the parent of tomorrow. The work you produce today will create your future. 21. Repeat yourself. If you like it, do it again. If you don’t like it, do it again. 22. Make your own tools. Hybridize your tools in order to build unique things. Even simple tools that are your own can yield entirely new avenues of exploration. Remember, tools amplify our capacities, so even a small tool can make a big difference. 23. Stand on someone’s shoulders. You can travel farther carried on the accomplishments of those who came before you. And the view is so much better. 24. Avoid software. The problem with software is that everyone has it. 25. Don’t clean your desk. You might find something in the morning that you can’t see tonight. 26. Don’t enter awards competitions. Just don’t. It’s not good for you. 27. Read only left-hand pages. Marshall McLuhan did this. By decreasing the amount of information, we leave room for what he called our "noodle." 28. Make new words. Expand the lexicon. The new conditions demand a new way of thinking. The thinking demands new forms of expression. The expression generates new conditions. 29. Think with your mind. Forget technology. Creativity is not device-dependent. 30. Organization = Liberty. Real innovation in design, or any other field, happens in context. That context is usually some form of cooperatively managed enterprise. Frank Gehry, for instance, is only able to realize Bilbao because his studio can deliver it on budget. The myth of a split between "creatives" and "suits" is what Leonard Cohen calls a 'charming artifact of the past.' 31. Don’t borrow money. Once again, Frank Gehry’s advice. By maintaining financial control, we maintain creative control. It’s not exactly rocket science, but it’s surprising how hard it is to maintain this discipline, and how many have failed. 32. Listen carefully. Every collaborator who enters our orbit brings with him or her a world more strange and complex than any we could ever hope to imagine. By listening to the details and the subtlety of their needs, desires, or ambitions, we fold their world onto our own. Neither party will ever be the same. 33. Take field trips. The bandwidth of the world is greater than that of your TV set, or the Internet, or even a totally immersive, interactive, dynamically rendered, object-oriented, real-time, computer graphic–simulated environment. 34. Make mistakes faster. This isn’t my idea -- I borrowed it. I think it belongs to Andy Grove. 35. Imitate. Don’t be shy about it. Try to get as close as you can. You'll never get all the way, and the separation might be truly remarkable. We have only to look to Richard Hamilton and his version of Marcel Duchamp’s large glass to see how rich, discredited, and underused imitation is as a technique. 36. Scat. When you forget the words, do what Ella did: make up something else ... but not words. 37. Break it, stretch it, bend it, crush it, crack it, fold it. 38. Explore the other edge. Great liberty exists when we avoid trying to run with the technological pack. We can’t find the leading edge because it’s trampled underfoot. Try using old-tech equipment made obsolete by an economic cycle but still rich with potential. 39. Coffee breaks, cab rides, green rooms. Real growth often happens outside of where we intend it to, in the interstitial spaces -- what Dr. Seuss calls "the waiting place." Hans Ulrich Obrist once organized a science and art conference with all of the infrastructure of a conference -- the parties, chats, lunches, airport arrivals — but with no actual conference. Apparently it was hugely successful and spawned many ongoing collaborations. 40. Avoid fields. Jump fences. Disciplinary boundaries and regulatory regimes are attempts to control the wilding of creative life. They are often understandable efforts to order what are manifold, complex, evolutionary processes. Our job is to jump the fences and cross the fields. 41. Laugh. People visiting the studio often comment on how much we laugh. Since I've become aware of this, I use it as a barometer of how comfortably we are expressing ourselves. 42. Remember. Growth is only possible as a product of history. Without memory, innovation is merely novelty. History gives growth a direction. But a memory is never perfect. Every memory is a degraded or composite image of a previous moment or event. That’s what makes us aware of its quality as a past and not a present. It means that every memory is new, a partial construct different from its source, and, as such, a potential for growth itself. 43. Power to the people. Play can only happen when people feel they have control over their lives. We can't be free agents if we’re not free. The Incomplete Manifesto

MY SUMMER LOOK

J'DYSATTVA — Wed, 14 Jun 2006 18:54:34 GMT

After weeks & weeks of shopping around and being completely insulted by this season's offerings, countless hours in the tanning booth, & having a knock down drag out hissy fit with my hairdresser over how long my bangs should be, ive finally completed my summer look. Even though i didnt find the gloves i wanted, i thought the dazzling shoulder strap made up for it, and my wrestling shoes with the rubber laces are timeless. Some bitch at the grocery store asked me if i was Barbarella, right there in the produce section!!! I said, "listen, you hag, at least i dont look like Barbara Bush!" Ill be so glad to get out of this one horse town!

667

J'DYSATTVA — Wed, 07 Jun 2006 19:32:30 GMT

i ran into the Antichrist today, told me to tell you hi..he seemed a little dissheveled..distant...like he had just done something he shouldnt. I mentioned the thing about 666 and all..."Ohh..THaat..." his eyes lit up..."comPLETEly slipped my mind...everyone else around here seems to be doing a FABulous job fucking things up themselves, now for centuries...why should i BOTHer?" Awfully glib for the antichrist, i thought..flashing him my smirky smile..."same shAit different antichrist?, eh?" "Broken fakkin' record!" he exclaimed...."gotta light?"...i didnt..We walked a few blocks to my favorite dive...i could smell it from outside...sweat laden vinyl booths, stale beer, ashtrays and hot dogs..guhh. I waited......resisted, but headed in. Front door standing open, air conditioning on stun...by the time i found a stool the Anitchrist had vanished, maybe into the bathroom..probably just wondered into the kitchen, helping himself,,making a mess. Hes the type to light a cigarette off the stove, anyway, i imagined, regardless of mounds of matches on all the tables. The bartender handed me a beer...didnt take his eyes off the t.v. Some drivvel about steroid use, some college sports stats, and a car commercial....by that time i had finished the beer, hit the can, and was tempted by the swinging door to the kitchen myself..i went in. Nobody was there. I walked around the hand sink and into some dry storage..it smelled like pork rinds & bug spray. Grabbing a small bag of chips, a couple of warm Dos EquisXX, and reading the bulletin board above the time clock, I heard someone raise their voice at the bar..some laughing, and decided to cruise...turning the corner, i walked toward the front door, spirits in tow..damn, if warm beer isnt good sometimes. The cold air and smoke seemed to escort me past the lengthy mirrors and hunched over zombies...someone was starting to make a bet, his girlfriend tugged at her tiny dress, took a drag off her cigarette. When i passed she stared me down,running her finger through her boyfriends beltloop. I noticed the jukebox was "out of service, sorry"...the light emenating from the front door was blinding...almost from some alien abduction, or out of body stories...i saw nothing but a glaring rectangular portal, an escape from this convoluted detour. A heat blast rose up from the pavement as i dove into a symphony of car horns and afternoon exchanges echoing through the canyons of buildings, each mirroring another into infintite ping pong. Every car an ember, smoldering charcoal lined the streets...meters empty. Where now? i asked myself...the Antichrist vanished, my orientation in tow...the beer in my back pocket making me feel more tipsy with every step. Feeling mildly horny, energetic..i couldnt remember where i locked my bike up, but wasnt concerned, i had found a lush patch of dancing green turf to take my weight under a stand of ancient trees...as i popped each peanut into my mouth i wondered how many staggering hippies these trees have seen..how many fights, wanderers, passersby...sparkling toddlers running after the squirrels....dogs shitting everywhere...lovers stopping in the moonlight for a hot,sloppy kiss...devoted ball players...adamant protesters...sweaty bikers...suicidal office workers.., people stopping to tie their shoe..arguements, lightstorms, and homeless gems......all under this harboring network of branches. My bike is here..standing against the pole like someone asking it for a dance...sparsely lit by the canopy that acted like a disco ball in a roller rink. My ride towards home led to an idea about a song, and reconciled my indifference with self destruction.

>>>>>~~~RaNdOM MaTtErS~~~<<<<