I know there are limits to fortitude, to the ability
to endure pain. Especially when you think you
have no recourse to anyone; or you simply don’t
want to express your emotion. How do you emote (to calibrate
pain in the baldness of expression), as if its expression, itself,
would leave you inconvenienced and sanguinelessly frustrated!
And your pain is so myriad that you can’t even locate it;
That its sensation is so confounding that you cannot even
conjecture whether your own soul is crying through your body,
because it is constantly being demeaned by others! Or it is those
villainous `others’ who want to bring you down to your knees
by inflicting pain surrealistically, yet corporeally, on you!
I have learnt the tactility of invisible `others’ as much as I
know the towering presence of my own lack of visibility!
And then when you feel, helplessly and vulnerably, to scream: Enough is enough!
you turn around and see the long winding tortuous road you traveled, and
realise that your own resignation is crueler to you than your
pain; and you feel convinced there is no turning back, in fact!
You so awesomely, then, rewire yourself even subconsciously!
And all those loud-mouthed connivers think you should
obey, heed, listen; like advice is always forthcoming from
the wrong corners of the globe, like you don’t want to waste time with people
who are only selfishly self-seeking, who want to see the exhaustion in the effort
of your edifice of purpose, and want to flatten it out by making you
convulse in your grief; and imposingly believe your calling is only an exercise
in futility, that you have the only imposing option to SURRENDER!
I remember the time I unintentionally astral travelled to a sphere (or was I ferreted away?)
that was filled with a dour red or orange, the sky, the land, and I encountered
a white man with a large flowing blonde beard, who shouted in my ear,
like a gust that turned into a frenzy of crescendoed orchestra, the word:
Abdico! I wound up with angry angst as I flew back to my bedroom.
There are no takers for conviction, even among some dimensions, because
it upsets their applecart of convenience. You know I am not a malady in
my beliefs, they are more than just a remedy to me, they are an aspiration of resolution of truth and justice!
I swear! I did not ask for the white emblazoning light that suddenly appeared to me,
speaking to me, when I was a little boy, that told me my life would be very difficult. I didn’t seem to understand
the sadness and gravitas of it then! Later on in my life, I traveled to a stone temple
in the heart of a jungle, so antiquated that the roots of trees and their trunks were growing
through its walls, and I sank to its threadbare floor, and was greeted by a large snake
as it slithered toward me and sank its fangs into the top of my head; and I felt the
unction of liquid pouring into my brain! One day, I saw myself falling through an
elevator/ cubicle; down and down, I went to base, comprehending staccatoed environs, where
a large beautifully painted serpent snorted into my face! Was it Viracocha, albeit not feathered?!
Did I not know when the aliens of skull and bones visited me repeatedly and one day, even
treated me with sound therapy, wherefrom they were? The sound therapy was meant to
clear my body of toxins and heal my lungs, that I was burning through chain smoking.
I did not thank them then; in fact, feeling an animosity for them. I also remember the time
when, they felt I was defeating their purpose, they attempted to drag my soul out of my body
causing me unbearable pain; and I ended up commanding them to GET FUCKED!
In retrospect, I don’t think they were my enemies! I felt even worse indignity at those
very icy morguish pink/blue-faced men-like beings who visited me once, and offered me the Rosary, the crucifix and the Gospels;
and I promptly told them to shove that paraphernalia down their butts! I know I wasn’t
imagining when I saw those holograms of thin oval headed creatures with large deep
luminous eyes telling me of their grief at seeing this world so deviant, so misdirected, so far from the truth, even honesty, even veracity!
They even showed me an illusion of their spaceship docked in the Chilean Atacama Desert!
Would I unbelieve that I saw a handsome Winged Prince looking benevolently at me
one morning, as I stirred from sleep, to reassure me that all is never lost despite the humongous tribulation.
And a giant from the dimensions, one night, greeting me with a smile that said there is
pervading simplicity in every perplexity if one understands that the call of duty expects you to respond only to the moment, not to the entirety of it!
Or Baphomet standing behind me and clarifying that he was Secret Wisdom, but not Sophia, and he was also reviled like I was!
What about the time the Devil never left my bedroom for months on end, trying to
convey to me and convince me that he was not the bad one he was made out to be; that he also suffered
too much, and worse, was vilified too much! Did I comprehend that the bat out of hell
was not as bad as the fish of the deep sea; a heaven which does not possess God, but
claims to us that it owns God! And I treasure my collectived perspective in so many untold episodes of
experiences, of which, so many will go unrecounted with me to my grave! As much as the
recollections of the many past lives I’ve led! But should I ever die
of the extremes of nerve-wracking that I am subject to. I am proud to reckon this profound survival and this
profounder introspective comprehension of pain in all its complexity; with the understanding that the call
of duty may be briefly paused but never forsaken. There is no tolerance for the frivolity and
superficiality of all those misdirected souls who want to instill me with compromise that
there are many easy ways out, if I should only care to pick them out!
There is no intrinsic preference for such decadence and degeneration; no subjection to any insinuation; there is no impulse
for even presuming convenient subordination, which should only engender the despicable and implausible (to me) mortification of my soul.
There is no practicality to be begotten out of forgiveness of those that committed the most reprehensible crimes against me,
which is not in my view an exhibition of magnanimity; even if in all yours, it is my impudence. I prefer death to an untimely rigor mortis of my soul!
It is not a dysfunctional existence to imagine that everlasting silent patient satyagraha is
the mightiest weapon against the most omnipotent deceit and treachery that manifests the odds of my defeat!
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