Their flamingos were not exactly the same thing as those of Earth. In fact, no one had actually seen these birds — which were said to be something like a living ring of colorful flames that flew through the sky on celestial errands. In essence, we might call them flying plasma-doughnuts. In precisely the same way that everyone was certain that the Great Flamingo Fishermen existed, they were certain that the flamingos existed.

The flaming aura of the birds was said to be proof of their divine origin, and those who caught, prepared, and consumed them not only became divine, but decreed the divinity of the world through their heroism. These men were the very reason of the existence of the world. The people revered them as gods. Vast offerings were made daily, children were dedicated to them and named in their honor. Wars were fought over slights directed at interpretations of the ancient traditions. There were churches as well; and the villages themselves were organized around concepts and practices that sprung directly from stories and documents of the Great Flamingo Fishermen.

The Great Flamingo Fishermen were the root metaphor of this culture. Their world was so thick with this strange idea that nary a book or thought existed which didn’t somehow connect to or reference the Fishermen.

On this world a special child was born. Like the others around him, he eventually came to believe in and revere the Fishermen. He was independent enough, however, to develop two significant problems. The first was that some of the things others thought or did in honor of the Fishermen seemed completely absurd. It was as if traditions which once held meaning had gone feral after millennia of referring to something which was, essentially, missing: the Fishermen themselves.  Which brought him to the more central problem: unlike other people, this young man was afire with the necessity of locating the Fishermen and seeing them with his own eyes.

It was said, of course, that if anyone ever did manage to locate the Great Flamingo Fishermen, the shocking awe of their holiness and power would unquestionably annihilate the witness. This served, in part, to explain why none had seen them. There were grave admonitions against seeking them in person, though it was encouraged to seek them in dreams, which many did. The resulting encounters were the warp and weave of many of their traditions, stories, and daily anecdote.

Around the time of the onset of manhood, our young adventurer left the village to wander the world in search of the Fishermen. A man on such an errand requires a cover story, and when questioned our protagonist would reply that he was searching out a great treasure which had long evaded recovery. This generated a bit of controversy, but, over time, he developed quick answers to calm the ready questions of those he met on his way.

He passed the years searching for clues to the whereabouts of village. Wandering far and wide, he had many opportunities to expand his skills and horizons during his quest. He learned to seek the company of the old, the outsiders, the wanderers — for with them he could more safely pursue the questions which burned within him. Occasionally, someone he encountered hinted that it was possible to locate the Fishermen, and on rare occasion offered some riddle or scrap of information. He carefully recorded each incident, and over time, piece by piece, the clues began to acquire a cohesive aspect.

There were scraps of rumors amongst the insane worthy of attention. Some said the Fishermen themselves were mad, that long association with divinity had warped their minds. Others said that they existed only in the past, or in some idealized place, like a superposition of their world. A sort of fisherman’s Asgard.

Finally, the road led to an eccentric woman who was known to inhabit an ancient grove of trees near the foot of a great mountain. She told the hero to desist, and warned him that the cost of his success would be too dear to sustain. Undaunted, he followed the clue that he finally won from her. The adventure that resulted is too long to tell here, but at last, high upon the mountain beneath which the woman had spoken her dire warnings, he came one afternoon upon a puzzling sight.

Around a giant pit sat 25 men. The pit was some 50 feet in diameter; an imperfect circle surrounded at regular intervals by men in the most astonishing garb. Over the finest cloth he had ever seen, they wore pieces of exotic armor of gold inlaid with images painted in precious stone; but this armor was clearly not designed for combat. It was the ceremonial finery accorded to their incredible dignity.

Our protagonist trembled as he summoned his courage and emerged from the woodland into open view. He paused at the periphery, kneeling in awe, and, shivering with urgency and anticipation, announced himself to the men. He gave his name, and told of his tireless quest. The fishermen seemed agitated and confused. The eldest of them, along with two others, approached him, and escorted him into their near presence at the edge of the pit.

The old one, venerably ancient and clearly their leader, spoke.

“How did you get across the gap between our worlds?” asked the elder. The young man declared what he understood to be the truth: that he had crossed a great river of fire in a vision, and he awakened from his vision in their world. They exchanged questions for a time. Finally the youth asked about their sacred work.

‘You are those who catch the flaming birds of heaven and consume them to give life to the world?’ The ancient one affirmed this. The youth was beside himself with awe. But he was also confused. ‘Why do you fish in a pit for what must surely lie above us in the sky?’ The old man looked deeply into the youth’s eyes and he spread his arms toward the pit as he explained: ‘This is the mouth of the world and it leads to the heart of the sky’. The youth was mesmerized by the obvious and ironic truth of the worlds of the elder. He had always wondered how their fishing lines could rise into heaven to catch the flaming birds.

The mind of the youth broiled with urgent questions. ‘How is it that your fishing lines are not burned up?’ The ancient smiled. ‘We prepare them in a sacred way. And the flames of heaven… are not those of our world…’ The mystery implied by the ancient’s final implication stunned the youth; but this was interrupted as a shout went up among the men on one side of the pit. They began calling out and dancing around one of the men whose long pole was deeply bent as he worked to raise something from deep within the pit. Finally, amid nearly deafening celebration, the fisherman raised his prize into view.

The youth was profoundly confused, but waited until things had quieted down somewhat. There was a complicated ceremony involving the old man and the catch. Finally, he had a chance to ask questions. ‘This thing you brought forth from the pit. What is it?’ The elder’s eyes sparkled wildly. ‘That is a flamingo.’ The youth’s confusion deepened. ‘The thing the man raised from the pit, that is one of the flaming birds of heaven?’ ‘Yes. It is. Tonight we shall consume it, and the worlds will be renewed, and our heroism sung far and wide.’

The youth cleared his throat and thought for a moment. Unfortunately, his forthrightness and the urgency of his emotions got the better of his capacity to clearly predict social outcomes. ‘With all due respect, I cannot but tell you that what I saw raised from the pit was not a bird at all. It was a collection of offal and slime — wretched and filthy, horrific to behold. It appeared to be wrapped around the partially decomposed corpse of some hapless animal that had died in it. Surely you do not mean that this is a flamingo — one of the flaming birds of heaven —’

The men stopped utterly in their discussions. All eyes were upon the ancient as he pondered the words of the youth. The men exchanged confused glances for a moment. They looked at the flamingo, at each other, at the elder. A murmur arose as understanding began to dawn silently upon the assembly. The ancient one himself was clearly astonished. But finally, a new agreement emerged, also in silence. With nothing more than a glance from the ancient, the youth was roughly seized and quickly bound. The men returned to their preparations and fishing while the ancient addressed the interloper.

In a low whisper, he spoke. ‘Long ago, our ancestors did catch the flaming birds of heaven, but there was a great cataclysm when our world was broken off from heaven. None can remember this and none are even aware of the story anymore.

Although you were insightful enough to see through what these men cannot, you are also stupid, and will die this day for your ignorance. The reason is simple: even if you are correct, you must see that no one can admit it. What would we become in our own eyes if we admitted what you have discovered? What would happen back in your world if this truth were known? All of history would be wrong. All the great stories would be revealed as lies. The toil and adoration of our ancestors would be shown to have been wasted on a fantasy that was, in fact, closer to its opposite than its ideal. Who do you suppose would allow such a revolutionary thought to come forth, to emerge into the world, to proceed? What would we become tomorrow if we allowed or embraced your revelation? Fishermen? We would not even be men. We would be… utterly and completely destroyed.’

‘I would speak,’ said the youth.

‘Your have said too much already.’ The ancient motioned. Two of the fishermen approached and packed something into the bound youth’s mouth. The ancient nodded, looked briefly into the defiant eyes of the young man, and gestured. The fishermen carried him to the edge of the pit and threw him in.

The other fishermen pretended not to notice. They had carefully forgotten everything about the events of the day. It was, indeed, as if nothing had happened at all. Except that, on the very same day, in a village near to the one where the murdered youth grew up, a girl was born.

As she grew, it so happened she shared the wonder and urgency of the by now long-forgotten stranger’s secret quest. Finally, one day, she found her way to an old woman who lived in a grove at the base of a mountain. The woman warned her to desist, that the cost would be too great should she succeed at her desire, but the girl would not be moved. The woman advised her: ‘Do not approach them. If you should succeed, watch from a distance until you understand.’ The girl took heed of the woman’s warnings. The elderly woman provided the crucial clue, as she had done before.

Many adventures and visions later the girl found them. She watched until a catch was made, and the air filled with an awful stench. She was silent as she realized that they were not catching birds at all, and that what they were catching was horrific. She departed the scene and headed for her village, ruinously disillusioned, that night she dreamed of bathing in a light that spoke to her of a new world for her people and their children. She awoke passionately determined to see that her people would stop worshipping this. Perhaps later, they could go to the fishermen themselves, and help them to recover their own personhood and dignity. Perhaps, too, their sacred mission.

She arrived at her village and convened a council of elders who met in the Church. She was well-liked and selected the wisest and most trustworthy members of the community to attend. They were excited by her return and the urgency of her request.

She carefully explained her quest, and what she had, at great risk and cost to herself, discovered. As she did so, she noticed that one of the men went to the front and stood by the door. Others began to seem very concerned, as she expected. Finally, when she concluded her presentation, the people exchanged a few worried glances and some whispered conversation.

The long and short of it was this. They secretly killed the girl, and buried her behind the church, and nothing was ever said of it again.

And that day, another boy was born, in a nearby village. When, decades later, he found an old woman living in a grove at the base of a mountain, she did not attempt to dissuade him. ‘If you find them, keep your distance. If you learn their secret, you must be very careful what you do with it, or it will be your end.’ The young man listened carefully, wondering at the import of the old woman’s words. The old woman provided the secret clue.

When he found them, he watched from nearby. It took time to understand what was happening. He camped nearby, and observed them over and over again. Finally, he realized that if he approached them and told them what was happening, they would most likely kill him. What else could they do? After all, if they were merely fishing for offal, how would they understand themselves, the meaning of their lives — what would they do beyond the moment of revelation?

Then, he began to think even more deeply about the matter. He realized he could not return to his people with this news. They would face the same problem. How would they understand themselves if they realized that the great flamingo fishermen had not been catching and eating the flaming birds of heaven but the stinking wretchedness of the underworld? All of their precious stories, fables, paradigms of knowledge and the very structure of their culture would explode. They could neither allow it nor participate in such an atrocity. The man went to sleep. When he awoke the next morning, he knew what to do. He made preparations for travel, and returned to his village.

He did not gather elders. Instead, he had assembled a variety of toys, made out of wood. He went around the village and with the toys, he discovered which of the children were most capable of sudden insight. Six or seven of them came out into a field with him and they sat down in the tall grass, completely out of sight from the adults. He taught them a series of games that seemed innocuous superficially. Then he showed them that hidden inside the games were clues about the Flamingo Fishermen and what they were really up to. He explained very carefully that this was a secret that only children could understand, and that adults must never be allowed to discover it. The children understood.

He went from village to village in this way, sowing children with the understanding that the story of the Very Confused Flamingo Fishermen was a story about adult minds in general. The children understood. They patiently put up with all of the strange ceremonies involving the Flamingo Fishermen and did not tell the adults what they actually understood about the problem.

Over time, however, these children grew into adults. They remembered the strange man with his toys and his stories, and they raised their children with the subtle understanding that the strange traditions were soon to be transformed, even if, for now, they must be borne in quiet understanding. Some of their children became toyMakers, and storytellers.

Slowly, their world transformed.

Some generations and a few wars later came a day when a large group of young people found an old woman in a grove at the base of a mountain. She gave them the clue without hesitation and did not attempt to dissuade them from their purpose.

What she said, instead, was truly wise: “Be gentle with them. Their ways are from another time, and they do not understand their own ceremonies. They will need your help to find new ways to be Men. New ways to be great men. New ways to be the Heroes they have so long known themselves as.’

All of this the children understood with subtle clarity. When they found the great Flamingo Fishermen, and joyfully surrounded them, a strange an unexpected thing happened, which was this. As the fishermen left the pit, never to return, they saw, to their shock and delight, a flaming bird, flying down from heaven, leading them back toward their village, and into a future rich with the treasures of their birthrights, and impoverished of lies.

© D.D. organelle.org 2002

Well, the answer isn’t easy to understand, unless you’re not a human being. If you’re not a human being, the overwhelming answer is simply: no. We don’t want any of those since they cost our lives. Their costs are paid in our bodies, our health, our children, and even in space to be or grow into. So, if you’re not human, the answer is always no.

But suppose you’re human? There’s still a huge set of problems. Science and industry — medicine too — these ‘human cooperative knowledge generators’ really have no idea what the world is, or is about. In fact, it’s worse than that — they have ideas about what things and beings are and are for that are not survivable. What this means is not that they are dangerous, but that nothing on Earth can survive the outcomes of the actions instigated by these knowledge-authorities. These ways of knowing get instanced in human cultures, and the results are abstract entities comprised of individuals who have stipulated goals, many of which remain functionally covert, even to those carrying them out.

These people, these humans, are actually even more confused than science, industry, medicine, or just about anyone else. Frankly, they haven’t the slightest idea what’s going on, and most of them are living in what is, essentially, a giant, extremely well-funded hallucination of endless abundance, indulgence, comfort, entitlement, and outright lying. Yes, nearly all of us live this way, more so perhaps in the United States than in any other nation on Earth.

The reasons are complex, but essentially they have to do with being spoiled, and also being spoilers. We were spoiled by the profusion of resources we acquired, and we utterly spoiled not only those, but anything else we could either get to directly, or buy access to, and we did it to essentially fund two basic outcomes: atrocity, in terms of the open omnicidal destruction of living beings, and commerce, essentially a kind of murder where you hide the damage and sell the skeletons at the highest price, all the while pretending to be a hero. This is, essentially, what we’ve been about for quite some time, and when the clothes come off the monster, what’s left is really rather horrifying. It’s the basic notion of our ideas of progress. What it means, what it’s worth, what it’s supposed to cost, and what the outcome should look like.

Let me tell you this: if it looks anything like what’s under all that hype, it has nothing to do with progress, and everything to do with parasites.

See, it’s a pretty strange game to be human. And, in point of fact, being human is nothing like what science, religion, governments, corporations, or even rationality say about it. These ‘faux authorities’ are actually clueless in this regard. In order to understand what is wrong with themselves, they would actually have to actually become a person. Science cannot do that. Neither can religion, or the IRS, or even the US of A. No corporation can ever be a person, although they can assimilate or feed on them. And they do.

Once you become a person you can easily be co-opted by every sort of domineering mind and people-set. Just like any other organism or animal. It might seem strange, but people, who certainly are superficially human, are changed by their membership — putative or real — in groups. Groups reprogram people for their own ends, to a greater or lesser degree, but almost invariably in a number of ways that, once established, desire their own continuance, so to speak.

When a person becomes a member of some way of knowing or other, or some group or corporation, this really gets in the way of their humanity, because it utterly distorts the fundamental definitions by which we live and understand our waking lives. The single obvious focus is clear: it is the definition of progress, which is simultaneously presented as the reason for our unity and the reason for itself. In short, a circular, self-consuming lie. But a powerful one because it it forms the very purpose of our assembly as a group. This is our organizing principle. Such power is practically unquestionable, and it is extremely unhealthy, as nearly everyone knows, to engage in such questionings.

Agencies, administrations, organizations, ‘the’ church, Science, ‘The Doctors’ —  Experts and Judges, Juries and finally ‘the other’ — these are the source of the ominous ‘they’ that haunted us in childhood, and which we later joked about. But we should have stayed with the question, because the answers we settled on were not only wrong, they were deadly.

These are nonhuman organizations manned by humans who think that, just because they woke up human in the morning, they stay that way automatically no matter what sort of mischief or overt mayhem they engage in. Literally. Once ‘agented’ by the appropriate collective (and sometimes even before this), these people will do –anything- under the auspices of duty or profit (and this becomes exacerbated by group size, vitality, etc.) and largely without much concern for the ethical, human, or even planetary outcomes. None.

Why? Because they have a stipulated goalset and the credentials (provided by themselves) empowering them to carry out their agendas, that’s why. That goalset essentially re-programs them to not be human. It usually includes things like ‘preserve these ideas and this group and these functions of it at all costs, and replicate it wherever possible’. Additionally ‘convert others to this position, or at the very least defend it in conversation as your own opinion’.

Now here’s where the rubber meets the road. These organizations have to survive, and the only way to do that is with us as their converts. They’re going to have their pound of flesh, one way or another — and eventually it’s going to come all the way down to who will pay and who will suffer the consequences — because that’s the way inhuman beings who go to sleep as a human and wake up as a human, but are doing something else during the daytime, work. This is how they –always- work, and moreso during a crisis. Just as the automotive giants and the banking industry have shown us, they will actually knowingly attempt to survive at the cost of the survival those they are purportedly serving. The whole fatuous scheme is such a reeking falsehood that it’s actually shocking –anyone- could swallow it. But it gets worse, still.

There’s nothing that would invigorate the sudden interest in the absolute and final desecration of every remaining organism on Earth more — nothing — than the sudden discovery or common availability of ‘free energy’. The combination of a source of free energy at this point in our cognitive devolution, and yes I mean devolution, with our current understandings of computers and manufacturing would guarantee the advent of 9 million kinds of threats we cannot in our wildest nightmares hope to possibly contend with intelligently.

What’s more, it just so happens that there are a variety of extremely cogent and real threats that we are utterly ignoring, and pretending will somehow go away soon — which are not only not slated to go away — they are coming directly and very rudely to a theater –right where we live- in extremely short order. While we are busy goofing off with daydreams of becoming technological super-somethings, our actual biocognitive foundations have been ripped to shreds and are still being actively done away with while we fawn over videos and photographs of animals.

It never occurred to us that our fascination with animals was our fascination with our own bodies, but that’s the case. Those ecosystems and forests that are getting burnt down to sell charcoal? Those are you. Your own body, your own mind. See, we’re not merely participants on Earth, any more than your own neurons are participants in you. What happens in your stomach or your lungs, also happens in your brain. It’s the same on Earth. What happens to the oceans, or the whales, happens to every creature at once. Because the oceans and the whales, and the bees, you name it — it’s all inside us. Not in a fairy-tale whimsical way — though that’s also true — no, in a cold, almost technological, factual way. We are –instances- of Earth, not inhabitants. It’s not hard to understand this (unless millions of broken authorities who have no idea what they are on about since they never actually went to look with anything even vaguely representative of an open mind are contradicting you). It is hard to say it clearly.

Earth is a superorganism. That means that her stories are –more emotional-, -more than human-, and –astonishingly larger than life- in a very real way, that becomes completely apparent to everyone at once under some circumstances.

Now, the arguments for free energy appear to make perfect sense, and, in fact, I spent a significant amount of my adult life not only in favor of this but in research. It was not until I discovered that the problem is not energy, but ideas and how they are formed and promulgated. There is no dearth of available energy here. What is lacking is this: survivable paradigms of identity. Until we establish those, ‘free energy’ would be a suicide pill for our species (for certain), and very probably for every evolutionarily conserved species of organism on Earth. It is, it turns out, a very simple matter to destroy a superorganism. So simple that I could accomplish it unaided. With free energy? Any competent 9-year old could manage it.

If you think we could not properly deal with the problems of the onset of industry, or nuclear power, or even corporate identity — what makes you think we would have even the slightest chance of surviving free energy? Within 6 months you’d be personally facing a cornucopia of threats of a kind you had never in your wildest nightmares imagined, and nearly none of them would be negotiable, at all.

What attacks your world, attacks you and everyone you love, and everything you love. And every single piece of technology does that, and in a lot more ways that we like to admit. So does every piece of media, including this one. Before we decide Free Energy is a good idea, or even a solution to anything, we had better find a way to repair human intelligence, because frankly, something went haywire a long time ago — and I think it’s our first priority to understand what that was, how it happened, and how to resolve it.

As it turns out, we’re going to need these answers immediately.

Not tomorrow.

Now.

It’s useful to see how much momentum is bound up in representations and their cultural transports. Think about that as a sum, and imagine it suddenly released in such a way as to become accessible. In its cached state it exists as potential, but it is trapped and frozen there, pretending to be a resource when it is, in reality, incurring profound and invisible upkeep costs. These become a siphon for many kinds of resources, not the least of which is human attention.

When we are released from the necessities of representation, or better yet, moved to the position above map users to, for example, map makers — we do not escape danger. But we can at last have a chance to see how profoundly our previous models were self-invested, and perhaps even have a glimpse at the quasi-intelligence(s) that comprise their sources and principles of organization.

A really good model leads one almost immediately beyond itself. Rather than asking that we adopt it and promulgate it, it actually defies our ‘collection’ urges by requiring we ‘expend it’, transforming it into fuel with which to reach for new terrain — where this process will be even more rapidly repeated.

Such an approach produces travel rather than tokens. Each re-entrance increases the momentum exponentially. There are no limits. We used a very similar process as infants to solve the many problems required by being able to use and reproduce language.

The phenomenon we are concerned with, the big questions regarding our sources, meaning, values, and existence share a variety of features. In attempting to understand them, we become vulnerable to anything or anyone who, for one reason or another, wants to sell us an explanation — including aspects of our own psyche.

The nature of modern human culture is to constantly vie for the position of popularity, yet when we participate as consumers in the majority of cases we are being consumed, and merely become the advocates of paradigms and authors. This is an entirely insufficient role. I suggest that our nature is insultingly miscast when rendered in the role of the consumer.

The phenomenon that arouse our curiosity are far more sophisticated and rich — and confusing — than any of the answers reveal. In fact, answers are not really what we want. I suspect our actual (formal) understandings remain so primitive that better ways of asking questions and far better questions would help us more, and render us somewhat resistant to the swarms of ideology-suppliers that hover like clouds around these topics.
The answers we are carrying as untapped potentials are a lot more interesting than the models we’re making. I think those answers are struggling to emerge and be noticed. But the cacophony of media, ‘experts’ and ideology that they must compete with is highly adapted for this competition, and actually silences the parts of us which are trying to be heard. Analogously, you can see the same forces at work in online discussions or communications activities of nearly any sort. Drugs wants to compete. Advertisers want in. Pornographers want a bigger pipe. Musicians are competing. Authors are competing. They are ceaselessly (through human proxies) attempting to derail the very foundations of our humanity and transform our conversations to ‘conversion routines’.

Over time, our souls are lulled to sleep by the ebb and flow of common culture, daily habit, the ‘realities’ we are exposed to and feel obliged to support . And our most profound capacities and opportunities are thus traded away for mere reflections of understanding, ability, and wonder. At this late stage of the process, neither human beings nor the living planet can afford the prices of our commercial cultures — what is being consumed is not merely goods, but worlds.

Yet it remains within our capacity to transform the basis of our habits of representational sentience in such a way as to not only resolve the majority of the historically intransigent perils of our cognitive heritage, and the results of such a transformation cannot be understood in ordinary language or terms. What is coming is a transformation so unimaginable that the wildest fictions would appear clumsy and impoverished. The universe is not only nothing like our models, it is vastly more than the sum of our fictions.

And you and I are, indeed, the living instances and agents of this grand fellowship of stars, eyes, minds… and light. We have within us the capacity to radically remake the human relationships with knowledge, language, and thought itself. I believe this is the single most important challenge facing our generation.

Born in the early 60’s, I was soon exposed to an epic struggle between two drag-racers: Don ‘The Snake’ Prudhomme (‘proud man’) and Tom ‘The Mongoose’ McEwen (‘son of youth, born of the yew tree, effectively ‘yew/you – th’). Don was nearly impossible to beat. Tom was one of the few who could manage it. Their battle became an Epic symbol of something far beyond mere racing: the struggle between the fast, hooded, blinding and poisonous power that proudly rules the Earth, and the youthful, humble, flexible power that is the champion of children, the favorite of mothers, and the rightful sovereign of the heavens.

The Cobra and the Mongoose – James Ibusuki

It is interesting to note that many male youths in certain places in the world undergo a peculiar ‘rite of passage’ which also serves as a celebration of maturation. During this usually public event  the aspirant to manhood (interesting pun there in English) must survive a wrestling match with a cobra — and this involves dancing in an unpredictable way in order to confuse the snake and evade its striking capacities. The goal is to grab the snake without being bitten, and to hold it powerless through artful understanding of its powers and weaknesses. In our own way, we each undergo this same challenge, but in the invisible dimension of language and knowledge. Did the snake master you there? Did you prevail? Perhaps you were not even aware of the Cobra’s presence — after all, the hood can be very deceptive… and its venom is, indeed, blinding.

For me, as a child, Don’s dragster was a big part of my introduction to the world of reptiles, a world at least as fascinating as that of vehicles. But particularly, he represented to me the Cobra, one of the most ancient and deadliest of the world’s snakes — a symbol of mystery, mysticism, power, and death. I remember a dream where a statue of a Cobra I had seen in a variety shop earlier that day came to life, and it was very vivid — something more than an ordinary dream. The Cobra represented the epitome of cool. After all, it is -cold-blooded-, no? Does it get any cooler? It also represents the color blue, and the past. It’s shape is done changing, and has become an epitome of itself.

Similarly, Tom’s dragster became the symbol of the power of honesty, truth, and the goodness in the world — in short, youth. The mongoose became the symbol of power over snakes. A very important symbol indeed. But not quite as charismatic as the Cobra. The mongoose represented the power of liquid ‘warmth’. The mongoose is brown or reddish, and represents the future. It may have a static shape, but it learns, and shifts, and flows like water…

In a magazine, I found sew-on patches that represented each of the racers and their cars, with images of the Cobra and the Mongoose above the flame-spitting dragsters. I got some help from my mom and ordered them. I had the Cobra sewn on the right shoulder of my jacket, and the mongoose on my left. I was so excited to bear those symbols, even though it would be 40 years or more until I would really begin to understand this ancient rivalry, and the inner meanings of this metaphor.

:::

What is this bizarre ritual we call drag-racing all about? Now that I have passed the strange barrier that raises itself between us and the symbols and language we are immersed in, I see a very different universe. And in that universe, nearly everything humans do — recalls events they have forgotten, or utterly mismodeled to themselves.

In this case, drag-racing is not only no exception, but proves a perfect example of the rule. However, it can be dangerous to elucidate these matters, for to some degree they confirm gender roles that we have been trained to consider both antiquated and malformed. Nonetheless, what is actually confirmed is quite beautiful, and, armed with the proper perspective I believe it will be shown that not only is the silent ‘female’ presence powerful, it is, in fact, the entire reason for the whole ball game, so to speak. The roaring, testosterone and adrenaline-driven ritual of machines in epic conflict is not only an homage to and a celebration of the Feminine — but a fervent petition for favor addressed directly to the entire line of ancestral mothers.

That said, it is unfortunate that the representations of these co m petitions have become so toxic, ugly, and overblown that nearly any reasonable mother (or child) would be offended ‘from the get go’. Perhaps in understanding what lies beneath the loud, shiny, seductive exterior, we may find our way back to contests that actually celebrate life by nourishing and protecting it, rather than by threatening and destroying it.

::::

As to ‘drag-racing’ I here speak primarily about the top-fuel, elongated dragsters with the massive rear tires and spoked front wheels (which are, in many cases, almost an afterthought). All other similar races are included, but this form is, for me, the truest expression of the overblown reproductive dance that ensues.

The pilot sits atop a clutch and flywheel strained to their mechanical limits, and the engine is so huge that in many cases the driver cannot see past it at all. Afterburners and other technologies are applied to further amplify the already absurd show of force and power. These road-rockets generate G-forces in excess of those involved in the spacecraft launches. In some cases, brakes are insufficient to slow these monsters — parachutes are required — thus, at the end of the race, they ‘pop the chute’.

Canonically, or perhaps ideally — races are set off by a buxom female weaving a flag — but as this is both distracting and dangerous, she was replaced with the familiar 7-stage ‘Christmas tree’ or, simply ‘The Tree’. In informal races, the old tradition commonly holds sway. And I do mean sway.

A two-lane blacktop is the basis and the ground of the conflict. Whoever shall traverse its length most quickly and most truly (in accordance with the rules) — shall emerge as victorious — indeed, ‘the chosen one’. Although in modern times we intellectually accord this honor to the most skillful and most technologically endowed — throughout most of human history it was known that contests were, in fact, a stage upon which divine desires were played out, however mundane the scale or form might appear. Thus ‘the winner’ was usually the one chosen by the forces in conflict to better represent the more righteous or empowered lineage.

An avatar.

:::

It is wonderful that Heaven and Nature express each potential with ever-broadening diversity. Every possible mix of gender, gender preference, gender identity, and the capacities of each gender are inexhaustible — just as we should hope! Indeed, we do not possess gender so much as express it. In many cases, it seems to me that the most hardened man is extremely feminine within, and the most feminine women, extremely masculine in their hidden core. But these are mere icons. In human beings the diversity of our experiences and expressions of gender go beyond categories and measurements. It is sad our cultures are so opposed to this, and that the grounds for this opposition are so — baldly ridiculous.

In any case, what I speak of here are broad sketches of substrates (not rules or laws) within which gender may acquire meanings and associations beyond those we normally ascribe, yet also somehow in concert with our ‘traditional’ models of gender (the quiet gatherer/the boisterous hunter).

These models are only limiting if we frame and relate with them in limiting ways. Men set off drag races, and indeed, many love to ‘dress in drag’. Women pilot high-fuel dragsters, and often win against similarly or more sufficiently endowed men.

The goal is not the frozen prison of gender roles defined, but instead the opposite: a broader understanding of the bases and circumstances from which our traditional gender roles arise. It is only with such an understanding that we are empowered to see what is broken about our cultural interpretations, and amend it. Without understanding, we simply throw the traditions away — and what happens in this case is almost invariably as catastrophic as the draconian interpretations we were initially reacting to.

:::

It is no accident that balls and rods comprise the core of nearly every technology we have developed. Keys and locks, axles and wheels, gears and hubs. To steer your car, you hold a wheel, and if you’ve got some guts, you change speed templates with a stick. If not, you let a machine ‘handle’ the job. To write we used tubes, and black liquid flowed forth from them. Some of us still do this occasionally, in remembrance of simpler times. Paper was the context upon which this gesture emerged as meaningful, or even provocative.

Now, the context is more like light — and may even be invisible, mere numbers dancing in memory refreshed with current at hyperbolic rates. The slow, flowing penetrations of the pen or pencil have been replaced with the hyperactive tapping penetrations of the fingertips. But make no mistake, the same game is afoot. That keyboard is receptive. It’s inviting your penetrations. It’s certainly no woman, and lacks every organismal grace — but the representation is clear and real. Think I’m joking? Take a look at the symbols above the numbers. If you’re rational, you think those are accidental. If you’re slightly irrational, you’ll think someone planned it this way. If you’re closer to the mark, meaning, if you’re not in sin (literally: to miss the mark), you’ll understand that it was neither accidental, nor was it engineered — it’s more than both, and the meaning of that more won’t fit into words or tokens. If you’re boring you’ll excuse it some other way, probably by claiming that I have a good imagination or something on that order.

But when you get your grasp around the actual way that the universe relates to itself — God or no God — you’re going to find that Science was nearly always brashly ignorant in the face of its own seemingly necessary denials, and Religion was too often foolishly slavish to the forms instead of the nature of the content.

The long and short of it is this: if you’re in the universe, you’re an instance of it. Everything you experience, sense, feel and do — and all the ways you do these things — are that very universe itself, doing it. This gets a bit treacherous as regards free will, but there’s an angel — I mean… well, there’s an angle of approach that keeps the game mysterious and real. Makes the fact that, for example, your heart trembles with joy when you see helplessness met with adoration — it gives that fact real purchase upon both Heaven and Earth. And that, dear drivers, makes the race worth running.

And yes, all of these topics have direct purchase on Drag Racing, and if you don’t believe me simply examine the slang that goes with the race and its features and you will immediately see — that what it’s all about is a bit more surprising than nookie. There are supernal forces at play, even though the stage appears mundane. Just as it has always been.

But neither Science nor Religion is going to allow us to make the move of discovering these things, because it would utterly overturn them both. Some wacky magicians and sorcerers would also like us to think they’ve got the matter ‘all sewn up’. I daresay they will have their surprises, however — just as we all shall. After all, Hubris and Humility are very different matters, so to speak. In any case, all of this is highly secret stuff, so if we’re going to play with it at all, we have to do it like kids in a clubhouse: in a secret way that won’t scare ourselves silly or have the adults losing their already paranoid marbles.

Oh, yeah. Back to that thing about your keyboard and the ‘accidental’ relationship of the numbers to the symbols on them. Think about these numbers as though they were steps in a process, starting from nothing, and proceeding into being — and elaborations of being — like, you know, an evol-you-tionary process. Get me?

The Key-Board: (kudos to M.K.C.D, thinker from the Underworld)

1 = ! : Yes! How did we get to ‘1’ from everything? The answer is an exclamation! WOW! We DID IT! We got from everything-at-once to ONE!

2 = @ : ‘Where it’s at, baby!’ This is a little fish in the belly of a mother fish! Jonah, straight up. This is the @ in our internet addresses, and a WHOLE lot more! It’s a Whale of a tail, two!

[Mess with the bull? You get the horns. Mess with a whale? You get the -tail- (bounce!)]

# = 3: The three (a tree) that is one (is won) but it’s made of FOUR! Yep, a new mother’s baby enters (the) radius. A nu m b e r. The capacity to identify things beyond the self/mother unity that forms the first basis.

Need I go on? The next one is abundance, value, the capacity to derive meaning. After that? We get the ability to estimate things, and compare them. Percentages. I don’t expect you to buy my story here, but have a close look at it yourself. Something’s very fishy with those associations, and it’s neither accidental nor designed.

What could –that- possibly mean???

:::

Balls and wheels are feminine. G-force? Gravity — that’s feminine. Inertia, weight that cannot be dislodged, is also feminine. Inward momentum. S(he) attracts suitors. [By the way, If she’s a planet, and is invited to attract suitors, this can have grave consequences for her existing children]. Foundations (of matter). Her defenses are primarily reflective. She’ll bounce you, seriously — you won’t even know what hit you.

All of this is too obvious to announce, but there it is.

Rods, spokes, electricity, fire, speed, force, forward momentum — these are masculine.

Life is balanced between a star and a black hole. The star makes light and life. The black hole eats it. Even cells are like this, and if the star of the cell is lost, the hole turns the cell cancerous — a sort of terrible gravity that devours every possible resource to sustain itself at all costs. Atoms, cells, and molecules all partake of such elemental polarities, even magnets and electricity obey it.

To be whole, we need both. The masculine/projective and the feminine/receptive. The star’s masculinity is based in a feminine core. The black hole’s femininity is based on a masculine core. You might think the star is good, more important, better. But you can no more live in an explosion than you can in an ongoing evacuation. There are all different kinds of mixtures of masculine and feminine qualities in objects, planets, stars, galaxies, beings, numbers — you name it!

But only between the two overwhelming powers can life exist. And more: the powers must agree, as regards boundaries and balances! Anywhere they cannot agree, Life cannot survive the outcome. At least, not in the traditional sense of the term ‘survive’.

We must have birth and death, waking and sleeping, inhaling and exhaling. It’s perfectly natural, nothing is being lost, and in fact there’s really no way to fail to be showered in absolute abundance — except through thinking.

To live at all you have to have both, and thus, both are actually terrifically exciting!

(But it’s even better when they –get together-!)

:::

Now, there’s a problem we need to get out of the way immediately, which is that Emptiness has a bad rap down here on Earth in the representational phases. We think it means nothing. Boy, is that a mistake. I mean, the whole game starts in a womb and ends in a tomb and these are no accident — both precede emergence into an entirely new universe of … ways of making universes!

What we call emptiness is something like singing, shocking, iridescent fertility — pure undifferentiated potential — basically, the greatest unstuff there is. Anything differentiated is not as interesting as the pure stuff. It’s like the difference between the direct experience of value or meaning itself, and money (the representation of value).

The racetrack is black. It has to be empty. Not empty? No race.

I was once told a joke by an Angel. Went like this:

“Have you got any Idea why God is invisible?”

I pondered for a moment, before answering in the negative.

”Because… if (s)He wasn’t?

(The Angel paused for effect)

…the Universe of timeSpace would be a single solid.”

[I suddenly saw the whole universe as a solid and how extremely ridiculous that would be]. I have a strange sense of humor. I found this completely hilarious.

Sometimes a jest can reveal what studious inquiry would avoid, and the Angel’s jest emphasizes that what is missing is vastly more important than what is present, in fact, without that missingness nothing could be present at all.

Having a pet in Heaven — while it might not seem as amazing as having our pet with us on Earth — can actually turn out to be astonishingly, unexpectedly wonderful.

What’s missing can be more present than when it’s being represented in matter.

Look into this matter carefully. See if you can verify it for yourself. The result is really worth the candle.

:::

Twins and Trines are uniquely relevant to human sexuality. Two ovaries, two testicles. One womb, One Penis. “Protrusion Seeks Attractive Cavity”. The feminine gesture calls to the male. The male gesture approaches the female. We can model this in many ways, and show how Quads and Quints are involved as well. But for my purposes, we’ll keep it simple for the moment.

We have a triune nature. This can be demonstrated in endless wonderful ways and analogies, but within a living context, two forces vie for supremacy: the supernal, and the physical or mundane. Their contest forms an aspect of the context in which life exists and pro\./re\./cedes. The three together: (super)context, the supernal, and the mundane form a trine that is a unity. This is no great mystery. Many trines are One. Not the least of which amongst these are our generative organs and their advertising media (hips, breasts, chests, behinds).

Here, in our bodies and also in our ‘inventions’ the trinity is physically re-presented or represented. One of the ovaries can be said to represent the spiritual aspect, the other the physical, and so too with the testicles, one of which is ‘the living remembrance of the spiritual mothers’, the other of which is the living remembrance of the physical mothers. DNA is the serpent, shared by Man and Woman, who connect their lineages to engender a child.

A man with ‘no balls’ is said to be a coward, but indeed, he is a man who ‘has forgotten his mothers’ and thus has lost a crucial impetus to pull him toward wise or heroic behavior, and no reason to exhibit all of the rather penetratingly charismatic features we associate with masculinity.

The force that drives his heroic competitions has been degraded, or destroyed. We say, indeed, he has ‘no guts’. Similarly, a ‘bastard’ is one who has forgotten the lineage of Fathers — and so has no reason to act with honor, or goodness. These matters may seem mere superstition in our modern times, but if you could speak to an animal, or a tree — or any living thing that doesn’t use language as we do, you would immediately discover that it is we who are confused, and that our forgettings are not the mark of progress, but of blindness imposed by long travail.

:::

The egg has a spiritual aspect, and a physical aspect. Both represent lineages completely — the spiritual lineage of all mothers throughout space and time, and the physical lineage of all organismal mothers — all the way back to the first one.

So too with the sperm. So too, with the mother and the father, the agents or living avatars of these lineages. It is not merely a spiritual union which occurs during sex, nor is it merely a physical one — it is both, at once, and in synchrony. This is, in part, what produces the overpowering feelings of ecstasy we experience during these events — the unificaton, within the living context, of the material and the divine. When the father is invited and received, this is a double invitation, and a double reception. When the mother is manipulated and penetrated, she is doubly penetrated.

The right and the left matter in these games, though saying more than this is at once too tempting and too dangerous.

Since any ‘mother’ (or female) is really two mothers: a physical and a supernal, we may understand that every race is actually a co-mother-petition — or, a petition to all mothers, physical and spiritual. The petition is to decide between contestants, and thus empower, the better to prevail As for these con\./test(icle)\./ants who engage each other on the behalf of these petitions, one is supernal, the other mortal. Which is which shall be revealed by the presiding powers.

Each of them uses something akin to a ‘hot rod’ to accomplish their co-m-petition. Sound familiar? In fact, the stunning similarity of the classical ‘dragster’ and the male generative organ is no accident: the word engine is a supernal gloss on en-gyne (literally to be propelled by the memory of our supernal and physical (line of) mothers). It’s a big secret on Earth that a man’s balls, and a woman’s ovaries are the physical representation of the lineage of mothers, supernal and spiritual. One for each. It might even turn out that the side matters…

In this seemingly absurd (but profoundly applicable) model, the womb is the male aspect of the mother, the soft, watery ‘evacuation’ which is the superposition comprising the unityBeing. Being an evacuation, it never speaks or is spoken of. It is sacred silence. Somewhat similarly, the long tube within the male member is the female aspect of the father. Quite vociferous. Rigid, even. And very hot. The engine is going to spin those balls, in a serious way, that will result in fire, smoke, roaring, and — speed. In the end, only one shall prevail — and either or both may be utterly destroyed in the ensuing struggle.

At its base? Two balls. One for the supernal mother, one for the physical mother. And believe me, girls, when that rod gets rigid at your pleasure, those balls begin to spin. And what we get, essentially, is a drag race. And this race comprises a ‘celestial ball’, and ‘a ball game’. And all of these, my dears, are played for your pleasure and to earn your blessing. No matter the gender of the driver or the engineer… or even the holder of the flag that sets it off.

The track, black, linear, stretching off into the horizon, is the representation of the desert-mother, (space, the living waters, is the ‘black mother’ whose roads are endless and whose virginity cannot be compromised). Of course, it’s happening on the surface of a sphere, which is herself a mother, and it’s happening within her children, who are, themselves, instances of the mother/father/child trine. The whole game is so recursive that a cartoon of some sort would be necessary to reveal its depth. And of course, as every sperm knows: Only ONE of the TWO tracks…leads to the ultimate reward for co m petition: an Egg. The other? That leads to death.

The ‘balls’ or, in the case of the dragster ‘wheels’ are the physical representations of those two lines: the physical maternal line, and the supernal maternal line. These ‘spin true’ only if the suitor has pleased them both — and the co m(other) petition (a plea for her blessing) is truly a spiritual one, though none alive on Earth understand these matters.

Whether we imagine the buxom pin-up girl provocatively causing the curves to jiggle as she drops the flag, or the modern 7-stage ‘Christmas Tree’ descending in order from yellows to green (with a red beyond, for error). The explosion of fuel, the burning rubber, the cheering crowd — and the families at home, each with their chosen champion. Those furious engines spouting poisonous exhaust as the metal chariots careen into deadly danger at the whim of their drivers, we should now be able to see that the entire play is at once sexual, in honor of the feminine, driven by the feminine, and happening ON the feminine. I am sure it doesn’t look like this to nearly anyone else — and I don’t expect them to adopt my perspectives. But just look carefully at the overt correspondences, and I think you’ll see that indeed, it is a co – petitioning of mothers.

Drag racing is a competition in which vehicles compete to be the first to cross a set finish line, usually from a standing start, and in a straight line.

The burnout represents a flourish, in which all parties are made witness to the ‘thunder and squelch’ of the contenders, and each can, to some degree, guage the other’s character and power as implied by their displays.

Staging represents the power of estimation taken to an impossible degree. This is essentially ‘gunslinging’, — the slightest error or oversight can easily decide the match here. So too the slightest lag.

The tree is a test of both obedience to and complete mastery of the relationship with extrinsic authority, as expressed in light signals.

The race is a test of skill, determination and intuition.

Although a wheelie appears to be a flourish suggesting power, (or even ‘a hard on’) it had better be a significant suggestion, because the momentum lost in raising the front end would in most cases be better applied to moving the vehicle. Yet, in some cases, a wanton display of power such as this may have a demoralizing or confusing effect on one’s opponent.

:::

For all the shock and awe our mechanical representations may create, and all the excitement they may elicit, I think we can all agree that something tragic is happening here. The celebration and expenditures are not supporting the mothers or the children, but instead, lifeless reflections made madly mechanical.

Something truly amazing and valuable has — in being transformed to a representation which is for sale to the highest bidders — been dishonored, and even insulted.

Perhaps rather than serving such monumental representations, we could lead lives that that fulfill the most fervent hopes and impossible dreams of the many Fathers and Mothers who preceded us and raised us, investing us not only with their DNA and lifeblood, but with their souls, and with a responsibility to and for each other, the environments within and around us, and our world. It’s a sacred responsibility, a humble one. It disappears instantly in the roar of an engine or a crowd of spectators. But it is a worthy responsibility, and a necessary one.

I feel that one day soon, we shall trade all the representations away for something far more amazing, true, and worthy of the joy of both branches of our many ancestors: each other, and our living world.

I believe we will trade the applause of the crowd, and the role of spectators for the wonder and happiness of our own friends, beloved families, and our progenitors, heavenly and terrestrial.

We will trade the draw of the racetrack or football field — for the urgent and worthy living truths of our personal and collective destiny — something no representation will ever replace.

But until these things come to pass, or until we are bold enough to insist upon them, we can start by understanding the nature of our representations, and the crucial interplay of the supernal and material realities that motivate and shape our games.

For in the final lap, what becomes clear is this: the real object of co m petition is the (potential) Fathers’ petition to please and celebrate the mothers, without whom, indeed, there would be no games, no competitors, and no authors at all.

Postscript:

It’s strange how far I’ve come. In being unable to move about at all, I have come to understand the source of movement. In experiencing the vehicle who all machines are not even worthy to be called shadows of, I am no longer fooled into believing they are good. In seeing the prices paid to create, maintain, and operate them — I have seen an unconscionable horror that must be amended.

Yet I have been thoroughly and forcefully scripted to adore technology — and I still have a hard time ignoring the way those machines fit together so tightly. The shining, spinning reflections of her — excuse me — their wheels. The way the Chassie.… oh, sorry —  I got a little Carrie’d away there.

Once upon a time, a great king lost his first beloved wife, by whom he had a daughter. He was inconsolable about this loss, but, eventually he was seduced into taking a new wife, named Venus. Venus had two haughty and beautiful daughters: Jupiter, and Saturn. And she dominated her husband to such a degree that although he adored the daughter of his first wife, jealous Venus would not allow their relationship to continue, and kept them apart constantly.

But the daughter from his first wife was indeed a princess, though her outward appearance was deceptive. She was a dirty mess, covered in ashes. In fact, she was so dirty that her name was Earth — essentially ‘dirt’. She was covered in lava and ashes all the time, and rarely had any fun, because her wicked stepsisters were busy insuring that no one ever noticed her. Besides, who wants to play with a girl who’s such a mess?

One day word came that a great and noble prince was coming to visit, and that a huge celebration would be held. Although Cinderella hoped to attend, her sisters mocked her. What dress could compare to Jupiter’s? What rings to those of Saturn? All Cinderella had was a bunch of magma and ashes. Who would want to dance with her?

The night of the ball, Cinderella was in despair. She had never wanted anything, and was so good-natured it never occurred to her that anything might ever be granted to her, but something in her knew that this was an important occasion. This was the moment her fairy godmother had been waiting for. Primed to take advantage of Cinderella’s desire and despair, she appeared before her as her savior, with a squash, a bucket of water, a rat, and two very strange lizards. Does that sound like a savior to you?

She told Cinderella she would help her, but there would be a price, the nature of which would be announced only after the ball. Cinderella trusted this strange interloper, and agreed to the price. After all, since Cinderella believed she had nothing whatsoever, what possible price could she pay?

The fairy godmother tossed the items into the air and sang, swirling a strange stick about them as they fell. The water became a gorgeous sparkling gown, with crystalline slippers — two in fact, and a sparkling tiara fit for a princess! The squash became a speedy chariot drawn by a Stallion and a Mare (the lizards!). The rat became a handsome driver, armed, and capable of protecting her. Her Fairy-Godmother warned her sternly to return before ‘midnight’ when the ‘enchantment’ would wear off. Of course, there was no enchantment. The only thing that would change at midnight was the nature of the mind that informed Cinderella whilst she was awake — midnight marks ‘the changing of the guard’ and the night-mind of Cinderella could not be enchanted!

But the fairy-godmother knew many other secrets as well! You see, she was already dead, and thus existed outside of time and space. The first was that the prince was blind, even though he could travel anywhere and hit any target with an arrow, and do anything a sighted prince could do. None knew this. The second was that Cinderella’s great internal beauty was so profound, that if she could but forget all she had been told, it would shine forth so gloriously that everyone around her would be dazzled by it, and would suddenly see what was inside her, instead of what was on the surface. The third was that Cinderella already had an invisible protector so noble, silent and powerful, that none could harm her without her own agreement (and this was why the Fairy-Godmother required her agreement to the price). The fourth involved the lizards, and was a great and terrible secret from Cinderella’s future. The fifth was that Cinderlla, unbeknownst to her, was already en-route to the ball, and was the only sister of the three who could possibly arrive on time. The sixth was that she had no choice but to leave at midnight — it was the fact of the parabola of her natural travel.

And so, what the fairy godmother did was this: she brought simulacra of each of Cinderella’s already existing powers and friends and when she tossed them into the air, she hypnotized Cinderella, and her alone, into seeing the chariot, the horses, the gown, the slippers, and the Protector. None of them were ever present at all. Her swirling gesture was the induction, and what landed on the floor was exactly what she brought: some water, a squash, a rat, and two bluebelly lizards.

But through the induction, Cinderella lost her inhibitions, and was able to ‘see’ her own inner self, which was so radiant and beautiful, and without guile that she finally felt free of all her shame, guilt, and the oppressions of those who had always hated her.

Thus Cinderella attended the ‘Ball’ and her inner radiance –became her outer garment-, for it was no longer blocked by her own estimations of her unworthiness, nor the myriad imprecations she had suffered at the hands of the sisters. She and Prince danced throughout the night, and indeed, no other could even approach them. The prince, seeing only with the eyes of his heart, saw precisely what everyone else saw with their eyes: the single most beautiful girl at the celebration.

When it was time, their paths diverged, but not before one of her slippers was lost.

Both were madly in love.

The prince searched everywhere for his princess, but her sense of her dress had been a vision –from her future- and at midnight this vision disappeared! Alas, now she was simply the dirty sister again. And one of her actual shoes had gone missing — the only pair she had!

Time passed, and the Prince and Cinderella returned to their common orbits, never forgetting that fateful moment. Upon his next return, he sought everywhere, tracing her footsteps through the hall where the celebration took place. Finally, he passed near a servant girl, and, noticing that only one of her crystal slippers was intact, he realized immediately who it was, and this time, after they danced, they joined together forever, and the love of their union overpowered every shadow in the kingdom, freeing the king from the machinations of his jealous wife, and even freeing her from her evil ways (for a time).

But now the fairy godmother returned, and demanded the price Cinderella had agreed to: ‘I will take the souls of your departed children for a time upon their death, the children of this marriage, which I arranged, for I am barren, and have no children, and, when I can hold them no longer, only then shall I release them to their ancestral gathering place.’ Cinderella had agreed, but the prince was strong and said “1/10th the time allotted you shall have, and 1/10th of the souls of our children only. And you shall pay a price for your deception, when my Father returns — he shall take from you what you have unrighteously required for a task which was itself a ruse, and more — he shall see to it that you steal no more.”

The Fairy Godmother was terrified, but could not speak. She departed, and remains to this day a hungry orbital of Cinderella, disappearing into her own shadow once each month.

The players:

The King: The Sun.

The Queen: Venus

The Prince: A visiting NEO of special significance — probably an object filled with water, and organisms with a variety of anciently evolved capacities who could symbiotically invade terrestrial organisms or proto-organisms and further endow them.

Perhaps some portion of the Prince ‘himself’ was made of ice, and when they mated, her ‘other slipper’ returned. He surely carried unique assets that would bond with those nascent on the young world called Earth.

One imagines something like the Superman story as the perfect and relatively realistic compliment. The approaching prince is ‘the little prince’ — a tiny ‘ship’ carrying Kal-El’s children, perhaps they are asleep — and in ‘the great dreaming’.

The blind (but noble and miraculous) prince sent by his distant father, in either a tiny ship or many, who falls in love with the local ‘farmgirl’, and gives birth to myriads of creatures who are all half supernatural, half material, and together a third thing altogether… little messiahs, every one of them. All part prince, part princess, part (something more than both). In the rays of the Sun, this prince acquires unbelievable powers; and has a strange weakness to a rock from the shattered homeworld that hovers nearby… kryptonite…

Cinderella: Earth. The Crystal Slippers were Earth’s Poles, that which she stands upon. One had melted during the prince’s departure The other remained intact. Only one of the worlds in the correct orbital range had a ‘single slipper’

The Stepsisters: Jupiter, Saturn

The Fairy Godmother: The Moon — a dead planet. In some versions, the FG is actually Cinderella’s departed mother, and exacts no price for her interventions.

— Effects of gut microbiota on the brain: implications for psychiatry, Karen-Anne Neufeld, BSc; Jane A. Foster, PhD

I believe the final sentence in the above excerpt demands special attention as it relates to communications amongst the members of the biospheric cogniscia

“Nowhere in the study of human biology are basic concepts changing more rapidly than with respect to the human microbiota. Microorganisms were first shown to cause disease in humans in the 1800s, and after this finding, the popular and scientific views of the microbial world became dominated by the quest to understand, prevent and cure microbial disease. This led to millions of lives being saved through improved hygiene, vaccinations and antibiotics. However, most interactions between humans and microorganisms do not result in disease. Beneficial host–microbe interactions have been studied for more than a century, but it was not until the advent of molecular biology that the pathogen-dominated view of human-associated microorganisms began to change. Gene-sequence-based approaches have recently allowed complex microbial communities to be characterized more comprehensively and have removed the constraint of being able to identify only microorganisms that can be cultured, greatly increasing knowledge about commensal microorganisms and mutualistic microorganisms of humans (that is, organisms in a relationship in which one partner benefits and the other is unharmed, and organisms in a relation- ship in which both partners benefit, respectively), as well as human pathogens. Researchers are now finding that host–microbe interactions are essential to many aspects of normal ‘mammalian’ physiology, ranging from metabolic activity to immune homeostasis. With the availability of new tools to investigate complex microbial communities and the expanded appreciation for the importance of the human indigenous microbiota, this is an opportune time to apply ecological and evolutionary principles to improve the current understanding of both health and disease.”

An ecological and evolutionary perspective
on human–microbe mutualism and disease

Just as the diversity of commensal microbiota and other conditions of intra-cellular, organ and metabolic health dramatically affect both our mental function and our immune system, our planet has similar features and capacities which until very recently depended upon extant biodiversity for their robust protective, relational, nutritive and prophylactic activity.

The shocking and incredibly sudden damage we have inflicted upon biospheric diversity (primarily at the scale of animals and ecosystems) has severely impacted planetary health and healing, creating in effect a exploding crisis in which protections which have long been active have suddenly and egregiously disappeared. The biodiversity we’ve erased previously acted as shock-absorbers, communications and intelligence assets, and an immunity system.

We should pause to note that Earth’s experience of time differs dramatically from our own, and to her only some few heartbeats have passed, while for us it has been 500 years. Effectively, she is in shock, and her temperature will fluctuate wildly, her inner clock has gone haywire, and she shall certainly shiver, shake and bleed. Her heartbeat, metabolic status and ‘blood pressure’ are also fluctuating wildly.

The results of these events are feeding back into every species on the planet —  since we are not ‘part’ of Earth, but instead living instances of Earth;. This then feeds back into the planet, and the resultant reflexive cycle creates a recursively expanding nightmare with terrifying consequences including but not limited to ‘auto-immune’ disorder on a planetary scale. This means simply ‘the elements of her body will attack each other, failing to recognize itself as self’ —just as we have done to the other species of the world.

The biodiversity which required millenia to establish cannot be ‘healed’ — it is gone; and there is no ‘pill’ or ‘therapy’ that can replace it. In fact, if history is any measure, what will happen once the various nations realize what they are up against is the wholesale erasure of the remaining resources in the hope of stockpiling survival assets for specific groups of people and nations. A part of this activity is sure to include another infamous facet of human capacity: the wartime ‘denial of assets to the enemy’ move which stipulates that assets one cannot acquire for themselves or allies be destroyed or poisoned so that others cannot use them against you. This is not the future I am speaking of, but the present. Of course, given ample time (millenia) these features of the biosphere will be reestablished, in a new network based upon current needs and the histories and functions of the devastated precursors.

Could it be that as we annihilated the anciently conserved commensal bacterial symbionts in our own guts with antibiotics and other toxins, we set ourselves up to become omnicidal maniacs who could no longer recognize ourselves in the eyes and bodies of the creatures and ecosystems that comprise our most ancient and treasured symbionts?

Unfortunately, we shall now we shall see firsthand what ‘multiple sudden opportunistic infections’ look like at the scale of a world, rather than that of a person, or a people.

[[+- .~O~. :”{/

Now here’s the encouraging part of this story: each of you contains a massive powerhouse of nonhuman intelligence which is not only older than humanity, but probably older than the solar system. This isn’t in conflict with your religions or your lack of them, it’s involved in both. Within your stomach and your intestines, in your mouth — in your whole digestive tract — you contain a living library older that the Sun and Earth. This library has seen many worlds, and has been directly involved in solving every possible problem that has ever arisen for any organism or group of them. It is a biocognitive hypersystem comprised of: you guessed it, commensal microbiota.

Everything you have been taught has convinced you that only humans are intelligent and that our intelligence is a possession. Well, that’s half correct: we’re possessed by a form of intelligence which mimics brilliance but actually ••sucks, violently••. That’s the representational intelligence that we believe to be located in our brains. Of course, without guts we do not have brains, so I think we’ve been deceived (this is like the opposite of being received and welcomed). For thousands of years, women, children and men have become sages and heroes by accomplishing a single, rather simple but unexpectedly powerful task: they have re-activated the intelligence in their gut.

The most amazing thing about this is that two or three people who accomplished this •and were able to overcome the initial threats• and unify their inner intelligence would become something so amazing that no story could hope to contain it. This is what the myth of the Jedi is actually about, it’s a coded prophecy about the return of the power to activate the gut intelligence on a broad scale. Many throughout history have accomplished it without any idea what it was they were accomplishing. Hypatia of Alexandria, Joan of Arc, Socrates, and Leonardo Da Vinci comprise familiar examples. Remember that desert prophet who spoke of being ‘born again’? I suggest he was at least in part talking about re-experiencing the entire history of the uptake of the gut microbiota as an adult, and this being returned to exactly the state described — to die and be born again, while still in the same body you currently inhabit.

That’s the first part of the encouragement (en C our Age Ment).

The second part is this: Earth is an anciently evolved biocognitive hypersystem capable at her scale of accomplishing many things we cannot hope to imagine or even craft language about. But a few of them can be at least vaguely framed.

For the past 50 years, she has been awakening new powers in her children, and particularly her human children. Many of them were confused, because their cultures not only held no guidance related to these matters, but often openly attacked anyone in whom they were present, branding them ‘insane’ or otherwise undesirable, and literally torturing them. Nonetheless, the children who are not largely destroyed outright by these attacks have been and continue to be born with the power to withstand these withering circumstances, and more, given the opportunity they will unify in her behalf — and the results will be staggering.

Gralien Report on Children Who Hear Voices

Reuters Report Invovled

The second encouragement is that Earth is well-adored in the celestial neighborhood and abroad (no pun intended), and when she awoke to the fact that some 60-80% of her biocognitive diversity disappeared ‘overnight’ she set up an alarm call that has been heard for light-years around. This alerted a variety of anciently evolved and profoundly endowed protectors (unfortunately it also alerted a variety of predators as well) and many of these (both of them) are either local and at work, or en-route.

There are again, kinds and forms of participants which our wildest imaginings would be strained to the breaking-point by the reality of, however, two are well-known locally and are unfortunately present in physical form, and reversed order, a situation I (now) find confusing and troubling (see update below). Our scientists called them NEO objects, however, our scientists haven’t the slightest hope of understanding any of this. They named them as follows: 2010 AL30 and 2010 AG30 —two objects which pass the orbits of Mars, Earth, and Venus in their cycle and have an orbital period so close to exactly one Earth year as to be uncanny.

These were known to indigenous peoples around the world throughout human history and their arrival is always recognized as a time of great possibility and great danger. It’s not humorous that the scientists almost got their names correct, because there’s a transcendental being with direct purchase upon language and naming that causes this to happen regardless of the human intentions involved.

A = First and Template for all future instances. L = Light/Fire AL is also a suffix meaning ‘of God’. Light illumines and penetrates. Fire consumes monsters.

A = First and Template for all future instances, G = Gravity/Magnetism. AG equates roughly to ‘First Magnet/Gravity, but is also a prefix meaning approximately ‘of matter/mother’ – and ‘feeding you’.

Fire penetrates, Gravity draws forth from the penetration that which is poisonous. But fire also has many uses related to power, and gravity draws draws food to our world in more ways than one.

For a brief time, I was excited about this reunion, but this quickly transformed into fear and concern when I realized that this visit had very different purposes. I soon became aware that something was wrong: I sensed that it was not correct for me to continue the relationship we had previously had, and I had to actually enter a kind of strife or contest with them instead. Unbeknownst to me, at the time, this was a necessary part of my own maturation process. I am still somewhat confused about this entire matter.

Crucial update: Only today (02.01.10) have I realized something shocking, and part of it was helped by research into the Navajo Blessingway Chant. The first time they came to me, I met their -spirits-, which (seem) true and holy. Their order was wR, then tM. The next time they came — I met their -bodies- which (seem, by comparison) dangerous and unpredictable, and may be the cause extreme distress amongst the children of Earth. Their order of approach was tM, then wR! But the inversion was more than their order! Perhaps it was difference between the truth of their source, and the material manifestation (or reflection, as in polarity) of that truth (always a more conflicted and unpredictable manifestation — and sometimes simply malevolent). The Navajo were aware of this very deeply, but this secret was so sacred they either could not or would not disclose it to others. The hint that ‘there were masqueradings’ of ‘following pairs’ (a mysterious and sacred concept in the chant) was the crucial element that unlocked this for me.

The third is this: when Earth is in trouble, she is like a profoundly endowed royal personage, and she immediately ‘opens the storerooms of wonders’ to any who will take up her cause, and the causes of her children. Those who make this choice in the core of their hearts will be received, not deceived, and they will be endowed with abilities and understandings so far beyond anything available to their representationally-mastered cultures and relations as to appear to be of another species entirely. And they will become precisely that, for the time of the representational dominance again draws to a close, and the children of the little mists are rising now, together, to usher in a dawn so miraculous that it will transform not only the present, but the entirety of human history.

How do you transform human history? Easy. You do something so beautiful that it transforms the millennia of confusion, omnicide, sacrifice and rape that had until that time largely been its outcomes. That’s the task before us in our generation. It won’t be accomplished in the ways we are familiar with, but with an entirely new sort of liquid fellowship — a fellowship with no formal name, or goals, an invisible sister/brotherhood which assembles, acts, and disappears before it can be praised or noticed. Something that flows and accepts no token of identity or label, but is so powerful that no force can stand against it. Indeed, it is authorized by the very source of all forces, and thus requires no authority or name of its own.

Names and labels, formal groups and rules are vaguely useful under certain conditions. Most of the time, however, they are far too costly, require too much energy to defend, and slow you down significantly. During times of crisis or high novelty, these become deadly anchors and must be converted instead into liquid momentum.