A Dream, A Map

It was Freud, Jung’s mentor, who called dreams ‘The royal road to the unconscious.”

Jung himself believed that dreams were how we came to discover the unconscious myths guiding our lives.

I recently had such a dream, so clear, so well constructed, that it was a revelation.

Perhaps it came because, having quit Cannabis, my REM sleep is once again in its full depth. I do not know, but I am grateful. It was, perhaps, one of the more important dreams of my life.

I shall regale you with it now.

The dream began in a large hall (For dining), filled with people seated around a dozen or so round tables. I was a waiter (A job I did in my twenties).

I approached the first table and knew each person was going to tell me two things:

1. A song they wanted to hear, which I was to put on for them

and

2. A beverage of their choosing.

The first person told me his song and drink, and soon the others at the table did. I struggled to get the artist and song titles, and I hastily wrote the drink orders down.

I then told them I would be back shortly and walked across the hall to where the drinks and the music controls were.

As I made my way across the hall, people were looking at me the way hungry, impatient people look at their waiter. I assured the most direct and obvious glances that I would be there to take their order in the way waiters do:

I’ll be right with you.”

As I made it to the music controls, where I was to play the first patron’s song request, I realized I had only written down the artist. It was the Beatles or Pink Floyd. I then became acutely aware of the eyes on me, and one person yelled to me to, ‘Play something great!’

Optimistically, I choose a random Beatles or Pink Floyd song, to realize I had selected one with a long, intense, non-musical intro (Those who listen to Pink Floyd can imagine)…

Something like, this.

This created an awkward situation, but I had drink orders to fill so I went to the large plastic bucket filled with ice and pop. Unlike the song titles, which I had fumbled, I had the written the proper drink orders down. Only, to my chagrin, we did not have the drinks they wanted.

I knew I would have to do what every waiter and service provider loathes to do, which is to inform your patron that you do not have what they want. It was, imaginably, very stressful. And I had a whole room full of people waiting for me to take their order, to play their song.

To say I was overwhelmed would be understating it: I wanted to pull my hair out. Things were falling apart. The room was a mess of unfulfilled wants. And I was a failure.

Now, suddenly, I looked up and the tables were gone – except one.

The dream had split into a second half.

There was only one table in the room now.

I felt calm. And instead of walking over to them to take their drink orders, I approached the drink bucket and took inventory of what I had.

And being so close to my one table of calm patrons, I simply yelled out the available drinks. As in, “I’ve got Sprite, grape soda, Diet Coke.”

I did not bother asking them what song they wanted to hear.

And hearing my inventory, what was available, what was offered, they yelled back which they would like. And I simply reached into the ice-filled bucket and grabbed their selections, and then I gently lobbed each drink to its recipient in an underhanded toss, which was caught with ease.

And the dream ended. I awoke. With as clear a grasp on the two halves of the dream as I have just told you.

Only, what it all meant wasn’t immediately clear – but I knew there was significance in what I had dreamt. Something deep.

So I began to analyze the two halves, for I knew there was meaning in the contrast between the first half, where I was so overwhelmed, and the second half, where I was at ease, aware of my own cleverness even.

It wasn’t long, turning the two halves over in my mind, until it clicked.

The dream was a metaphor for my work – the only place in my life I find myself overwhelmed, overworked, and in deeper shit than I can handle.

But it was clear. There were two ways to go about it.

I could cater to the myriad wants of the masses, promising them whatever they wished.

Or I could offer them what I had, keeping it simple and easy.

It is the difference between being a programmer (miserable), and building products, selling value, which can be quite easy (Once you write the book or produce the value).

The first half of the dream represented the soon to be old-way of doing things, which has never served me, has only worn me thin.

The second half of the dream represented the way I ought to be doing things. The soon to be new way of running my life and my business.

“This is what I have”. I produce things of value that people desire. And I sell the value – not the desire.

It was a map. A solution to my deepest problems, laid out in metaphor so brilliant that no other form of self-instruction could be so eye opening, so revealing.

No-Nut Level: God Mode Activated

This has been a fruitful season of my life. Full of growth:

  • I’ve learned to be truly alone and emotionally independent.
  • I’ve overcome fear, worry, self-doubt
  • I’ve come to agree full-stop with John Mayer, that “Drinking is a fucking con.”
  • I’ve finally quit my on-again, off-again relationship with organic American Spirits (‘But they’re organic!’).
  • I’ve gone from an ounce of Cannabis a week to nada.

And now, I’m going one step further. No-nut level. 

In the mainstream, you may have heard of it as “no-fap” (‘Fap’ being the sound produced when a man masturbates, as in, ‘fap, fap, fap’).

But there are levels to it.

I’m playing on ‘hard mode’ or ‘monk mode’, meaning: no climax, no ejaculation….

I’m actually on ‘god mode’, meaning nofap + meditation + exercise.

Now, I’m not writing this to brag, or to tell the world about my most personal proclivities, but, rather, I’m writing this – I’m doing this – because I believe it is an impactful decision.

Chastity is nothing new. The tradition of living a chaste life goes back to the ancient mystics, philosophers, sages, and adepts (Ascended masters, monks, yogis..).

Let me firstly say here that I have no moral judgements toward sex, self-pleasure, porn, or even sex-work. I am as liberal as any writer or poet before me.

This is not about morality or purity; for, there are those who choose to participate in no-fap or abstinence for those reasons, but I am not one of them.

My reasons for this experiment have nothing to do with any sort of moral high-ground, which for me, does not exist. Sex among willing adult participants, and all forms of harmless self-pleasure, are, to me, inherently natural. I honor the animalistic. I love having a ‘dirty’ mind. I’m a very sexual being. And I’m in no way making any sort of lifelong vow – trust me, I have plenty of plans for the future of my sex life… Grand, noble, exciting….

But, for now, I find myself alone in the mountains.

As an older guy up here said to me not too long ago: “The mountains AREN’T a great place to be single, but they ARE a great place to be alone.”

And I wholeheartedly agree. Frankly, I’m a non-binary liberal freak. I belong in SF or Oakland more than in this red-blooded Trump-loving county; I didn’t come here for the people. I came to live on the edge of the woods.

There’s a dirt-road behind my house. I write and work from home. I often have my groceries delivered. There are weeks I don’t really interact with a soul beyond visiting my 78 year-old neighbor, whose German Shepherd, ‘Einstein’, I often borrow for long walks among the pines.

I am living my Walden Pond life. This is the Chapter of The Forest. These are my years in the woods, as Joseph Campbell himself lived for five years alone, mentally nourished on nothing but books.

My focus is on writing my books, building my life, and producing the means to support the lifestyle I will live. And there is nothing more important than these missions, these tasks before me. My desires run deep. I hear them whisper their promises to me in the beat of my pulse.

Reflecting on my circumstances, it would seem as if I almost have no choice – but in the world of Tinder, there is always a choice. But as far as priorities go, it’s a good time to establish something:

I invested 10 years in relationships. And maybe it’s my own damn fault, for being full of faults, for the drunk nights, the terrible things I said – but I don’t even have a friend out of these relationships, save, perhaps, for Sarah – bless that noble witch and her golden heart. And maybe it’s just modern love. I’ll no doubt wrestle and reconcile these questions in my memoirs; I certainly hold no one responsible other than myself. I choose who I choose, and I was naive and put them on pedestals, and I devalued myself of my own accord. I thought my value would come from them. Let me tell you, such an approach is a fast-track to the depths of your own insecurities – you will fall on your face.

But the truth will set you free. And people are mirrors. They can only reflect back what is already there.

Also, I don’t think it will kill me to give dating, relationships, and sex a long, contemplative break. I’m sour on love besides. In short: appearances. Your stature in life will be viewed as tantamount to your character (Because people appraise themselves no less shallowly). People simply care more about stupid shit, appearances, and what those around them think, more than they can admit – even to themselves. We are, in the end, pack animals, nothing but a troupe of monkeys, willing to do almost anything for acceptance from our perceived in-groups, from ourselves. Call it survival. That’s what it is. If you don’t believe me, ask a bum how his love life is. We’re a long way from fairy tales. And the hero, the one who gets the girl, is never quite a loser.

My advice: pay more attention to what is between a person’s ears than what you think is in their heart. That matters to me more at this point than what’s between their legs. I am, of course, speaking to the few like myself, for whom love has been an eye opening game, yet remain the true romantics, but I digress…

Musings on love aside, I didn’t embark on this no-nut journey because I am sick of love, sex, or even the fantastic variety of VR porn now available, which turns even an iPhone screen into a POV window into a new world.

I’m doing this because I think there is something to it.

I am not one for god: I believe in the Will. That which affects this shared field of energy called reality.

And I know that drugs, addictions, anything that drains our dopamine, saps our Wills.

And the worst kind of addictions will break a person’s Will entirely.

But when we strengthen the Will, when we exercise self-discipline, we balance out our dopamine levels, and instead of blowing our wad, so to speak, we have motivation and discipline to do things. And that’s what this is about, I want more motivation and discipline to do the things I want to do.

I quit smoking weed cold-turkey and read four books in two days – in the same time I would have been baked AF before.

When you quit treating your mind like an amusement park, life gets better.

This is about self-mastery, release from suffering. Freedom from desire. And the empowerment of channeling my most raw, potent energy into my Will.

I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies, for the hardest victory is over self.” ― Aristotle

Now, what I loathe to get into is the science behind it – namely, because I am doing this on my own intuition, and, because that shit is boring.

But, to be lazy, here are a few images that tell part of the story:

If you’re personally interested in practicing some form of nofap or semen retention, I recommend you just go to youtube and educate yourself, and read through the comments for the anecdotal evidence. Because, truth is, there aren’t a ton of studies showing the benefits. As one commenter said, “Illuminati want to keep us down.”

If you will allow me to put on my tinfoil hat for a moment. Just imagine that the system wants wage slaves. So, they push alcohol, weed, porn, all these things that are going to reduce your personal power, your kundalini, the energy in your chakras. And these habits, this lifestyle of common mediocrity, is going to make you dependent upon the system.

The empire doesn’t want Jedis.

And, it’s lonely at the top because it’s a narrow road to get there. Few believe they even have the self-control. I personally just happen to know I have an indomitable Will. I can kind of do anything. And with the lifestyle changes I am making, their impact on my psyche, energy, and neurochemistry is going to show itself in my achievements, in my wellbeing. I already have a dope diet. I’m already lean. Now I’ll be lean and mean.

And there have been countless examples of men throughout history who have made the choice to play life on no-nut level.

Steve Jobs was said to practice semen retention, after he returned from India and had learned of tantric practices.

As one of his ex girlfriends explained:

“Our birth control method up to that point was Steve’s coitus interruptus, also called the pull-out method, which for him was about his conserving his energy for work,’ she wrote. He explained that he didn’t want to climax so he could build ‘power and wealth by conserving one’s vital energies.”

A long time ago, I first read a book called ‘Think and Grow Rich’. In it, there is a cryptic chapter entitled, ‘The Power of Sex Transmutation’. The author writes:

Sex desire is the most powerful of human desires. When driven by this desire, men develop keenness of imagination, courage, will-power, persistence, and creative ability unknown to them at other times. So strong and impelling is the desire for sexual contact that men freely run the risk of life and reputation to indulge it. When harnessed, and redirected along other lines, this motivating force maintains all of its attributes of keenness of imagination, courage, etc., which may be used as powerful creative forces in literature, art, or in any other profession or calling, including, of course, the accumulation of riches.

Point is, there have been many intelligent people who have believed in the power of conserving the vital life force. Two that come to mind are Nikkola Tesla and Michaelangelo. Also Plato. Heavyweights.

We get one life. So often I feel like we cheat ourselves in search of temporary pleasures, and in doing so, we hobble our chances at greatness. We’re rewarding ourselves with bullshit, fake activities.

So, look, what is the harm in what I am doing? What is the harm in abstaining here? Obviously, I don’t think there is any. I think the benefits are clear, and potentially massive.

And, thankfully, I’m not letting some non-existent girlfriend of mine suffer, but even so, I could easily please a partner without breaking my own resolve here.

If you have a chance in life to master yourself, take it. It’s almost something that once achieved stays with you.

And I know I can’t just read books and write. I’m not a machine for a singular action. I have to keep augmenting my habits with other healthy activities. Walks, hikes, pushups, pullups, workouts, meditation, yoga, breath work, goal-setting, self-talk, mental rehearsal (envisioning), and on.

In the words of, ‘Mystic Mac’, Connor McGregor, I want to be a “freight-train”, ‘straight to the top’.

If this gives me an edge, which I have no doubt it is already doing, then I’m happy to give up something so insignificant in the big picture of things.

Not to say sex is insignificant, in-fact, I think it’s probably the temple doorway, so to speak, and the union of two souls is the promise of Eden, but I’ve got shit to do. And I’m not going to waste my chi, my lifeforce on fleeting thoughts (pun intended).

And, to close on a lighter note, here are some nofap memes:

And if you need some more motivation, check out reddit.com/nofap

“Self-control is the chief element in self-respect, and self-respect is the chief element in courage.” ― Thucydides

Godspeed my fellow fapstronauts.

Switching Psychedelics: From Cannabis to Reading

Terrence McKenna remarked that he once quit Cannabis and “..took up reading in the evenings.”

I am making this same switch, having realized that the worst effect of Cannabis – beyond its dampening of the dopamine receptors – is that I don’t read when I am high. Not that I haven’t enjoyed reading ‘Don Quixote‘ and many other books while stoned, but I don’t think Cannabis is in any way a performance enhancing drug for the consummate reader.

And, frankly, I’d rather be a bibliophile than a stoner, which isn’t to say being a stoner hasn’t been rewarding – Cannabis has certainly helped me blaze a trail to my inner-self, and it has most definitely served as both a medicine and a form of harm-reduction from other, more bullshit intoxicants (See: alcohol). But I would much rather read than get high.

As an experiment, I abstained from Cannabis yesterday, and, last night, instead of my usual Saturday every night Cannabis festival, I read two books. And the joy of laying on the couch, eating mandarin oranges, and getting lost in great fiction easily eclipsed any Cannabis high. After all, books are my original love – what saved me growing up. And I remembered the anecdote from Terrence McKenna, about how he quit Cannabis and the only thing he noticed was that he read more.

Now, I have been on the fence about my Cannabis use for some time, having come to be a heavy user (An ounce a week). And it is not that I don’t love Mary Jane. It’s been a life saver to me – a life giver, but there came to be a couple things that bothered me about my usage. The latest and last straw was this reading revelation.

But the other big wake up was reading some of the studies that have been done on heavy Cannabis usage in relation to dopamine (Google ‘Cannabis dopamine studies’ to read for yourself).

In one of the studies, researchers wanted to measure the dopamine responses of heavy Cannabis users against non-users. To measure this, they administered methylphenidate (Ritalin) to both groups. Now, typically, any type of amphetamine is going to send dopamine levels through the roof – only, for the heavy cannabis users, the researchers saw very little dopamine response. They were so surprised that they checked to make sure the Ritalin wasn’t expired. And it wasn’t – what was happening, was that the dopamine pathways in the heavy Cannabis user’s brains were simply deadened from their Cannabis usage (Cannabis acts directly on dopamine, this is what causes the “high”).

It reminds me of a friend of mine who once remarked to me that without weed, he couldn’t even enjoy food or sex. In essence, it had hijacked his brain’s reward system. But dopamine is bigger than reward – it’s also motivation (To get the reward). And when you have this very low level nirvana or samadhi happening every time you get high, well, that kind of becomes the focus in life. And eventually, your brain just wants that – and nothing else really matters. Trust me. I know.

And ironically, when I learned all of this about Cannabis and dopamine, I had planned to write some long post about how I was quitting Cannabis to regain the full function of my motivation and reward pathways – only, I liked smoking too much. So I kept on: knowing that I was blunting my brain’s natural wiring and killing my own pleasure and motivation. Hey, I could still write on it, and even program on it. It was only having made the connection with Cannabis cock-blocking my reading that I drew the line. Reading is simply too pleasurable, too fulfilling, too much of a part of me to do anything that hinders it.

Cannabis is a psychedelic. Now, psychedelics have been a cornerstone of my development (Namely Mescaline), and I have definitely used Cannabis in a psychedelic fashion – but I mostly just used it to maintain. Because when you smoke a quarter pound a month, you need to maintain. And I wish it were something I could just pick up on a blue moon and put down, as I do with the classic psychedelics (Mescaline, DMT, LSD, Psilocybin), but from my experience, it’s just too damn easy for me to smoke all day, every day. And it’s not like I sit here rubbing potato chip grease on my shirt, buried in filth – no, I can keep the house clean, get my work done, hike on it, do yoga on it – hell, Cannabis has been the muse for a lot of stuff I have written here.

But I have to read. So I’m not smoking any more. Further, I think I’ll probably see an increase in the output of my fiction (thank fuck!). Not to mention the recovery of my dopamine receptors and an increase in my quality of my REM sleep.

Look, I have a distillate vape very near to me I would love to hit right now. My sleep is fucked up (Thanks Mary Jane), but I can’t stand the idea of self-medicating so heavily, particularly at the cost of such a deep passion of mine (Reading). And, not only as an individual, but as a writer: I have to read. It’s a passion that’s part of my job, my existence.

And I have been really passionate about Cannabis, but there are seasons in life for things. I also know that should I really need the medicine that Cannabis provides, it will be there for me. Trust me, when I’m dying, I’m going to be smoking .5g dabs of rosin. You bet your motherfuckin’ ass. But Cannabis as a lifestyle isn’t serving my passions (Reading, and I suspect writing).

One other thing that comes to mind is a clip I watched where Elon Musk talked about working 100 hour weeks. Now, I don’t want to burn out (Been there, got burned out, ate a cocktail of shitty head shop pseudo-psychedelics, lost my shit and smashed my laptop). No, I don’t want to overwork – I will not – but I also want to accomplish things. I’m not only a writer, I’m a tech entrepreneur. And, ya know, having been unsuccessful, I can’t help but think that has negatively impacted my relationships. I don’t want to project too much here, but anyone who has ever been left by a partner when they are down and out, so to speak, knows what I am talking about.

I want to build the foundation where my material failures don’t doom my relationships (Biting my tongue on other opinions here). But habits are the foundation for any success in life. Not that you can’t be a stoner and be great at anything, and even successful at it, but the rules of life are different for everyone. We have to stay in our lane in life.

Success and health really come down to the ability to adapt, grow, and learn. And what I suspect is going to happen in the coming days and weeks, is that I’m going to discover a lot more endurance and productivity for the things I need want to do. So, where I once burned out, I think I’ll find more gas in the tank (Dopamine in the brain).

And I’m so glad I discovered this. Because one thing I know is that you have to replace bad habits with good habits. This is why this is so monumental for me.

I haven’t even considered the money I will save, but suffice to say, it will be a nice chunk of change every month. The first thing I am going to do, is buy Volume II of ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’, of which I just finished the first volume of (PF Collier, 1910).

All in all, I am relieved. To have found the proper thing (books) to fill the void in me. How beautiful. To trade my adult addiction (canna) for my childhood addiction (reading). What a total fucking upgraaade.

And on a personal note, I gotta say: when people discount you and basically write you off, and you are on your own, in what could be perceived by them as a low point for you, it REALLY F’N motivates you to upgrade yourself in ways that are going to radically transform YOUR life – for you. There is a reason success is the best revenge. And it’s not because people believe in you. It’s because they don’t. I’m like Connor McGregor, in that doubt – and particularly the kind I’m talking about – is a great motivator for me. It’s not enough on its own to move me, but it’s certainly icing on the cake for the results to come. As it should be. My reality is mine; I’ve always believed in myself, even despite my brooding and John Adams-esque bouts of insecurity (Oh where is my Abagail, my Portia Adams). This is just the next logical step, and I’m cheering for myself every goddamn minute.

On a final note, the word ‘psychedelic’ means mind-manifesting. By this etymological definition, I think books are absolutely psychedelic, and probably one of the best. So, I’m only trading one psychedelic for another – one that I believe is far more potent.

Courting Your Fate

I have to write a bit; this is where I program myself, where I reflect back what I am.

And I’m moving into the life I believe I deserve.

I recently took a quantum leap and faced my deepest fears. Up and to dying. And that was the one I accepted. And it made all the difference.

No more fear, no more stress.

A song I have liked, by FC Kahuna, came on tonight – it is a song I used to enjoy listening to during a long, comforting bath.

But as I listened to the lyrics tonight, I was no longer soothed by the song:

“Don’t think about everything you fear,
Just be glad to be here.”

And tonight, I thought, well, there’s nothing I fear any longer – and were there, I would want to face it: immediately. See through whatever it was in my mind. And overcome it, knowing I am strong enough – for whatever.

Stress and fear are the same.

They are simply beliefs that we don’t possess the requisite inner resources to handle an outer situation. And that becomes an inner situation. Stress and fear are terrible masters.

And both can be faced with the same omnipotent inner courage: knowing.

And if you believe you can handle it, you can. Simple as that.

You need no complex truths. Just self-knowledge of inner strength, worth, and abundant inner resources. You are enough.

And if you can gain this oneupmanship over your mind, you’re free. Trust me. I am liberated.

And if you’re reading this, you’re probably close to liberation too. Consciousness is a breath we all draw. And I am the first to be mentally and emotionally free in generations. Evolution. We are all part of a personal, social, familial pattern called culture. And if a writer in your generation, me, is free – in light of the wild matrix that is the collective – well, chances are you can, will be free to.

It’s a choice we have.

To spend our lives in fear and stress, or to know we will die – so much so that there is nothing to fear.

Shakespeare wrote about it:

“Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.”

– Shakespeare, Julius Cesar

(Act II, Scene II, Line 32)

My friends. Fear not. This is all temporary. One long movie, with a beginning, middle, and end.

Reading all this. Knowing this. You’ll overcome the fear and the stress. The truth always sets us free.

And when you are free from fear, you are no longer controllable. Not by the past, not by the future, not by the present, not by self-esteem, not by who you worship, or who you have worshipped, or who has hurt you, or how you have hurt yourself. You’re free.

Then you’re left with the next important choice:

What do I want to do while I Am here?

And once you decide what you truly want – at your deepest and most authentic level – once you start writing the movie of your life, designing your experience, consciously choosing your path, deciding your reality, then you have to believe in it.

Another leap of faith. But it’s the same as getting over fear. It’s simply knowing that you are capable. And beyond that, knowing you are worthy of the feelings, of the things you desire.

Own it. Whatever it is you want in your life, own it. Don’t just pass the time. Don’t just survive. Don’t just accept what is. Admit to yourself exactly what you want. And know, you’ll never give up on it. And don’t let go of that vision. Sharpen it. Focus it. Keep it in the front of your mind. See it before your eyes.

Because that is the key. Knowing you have it. Everyone will tell you this. You have to visualize it. You have to see it. And most importantly, you have to feel it.

No doubts. Utter confidence. The feelings that give you the courage to jump in.

You have to have the nerve. And you have to know it is always yours. You are what you seek: what you seek seeks you.

This is the law of vibration. Believe in it or not – but it is the choice of believing in your mind or not. Your mind creates your reality. Trust me, happy people think good thoughts. People full of love are loving. Warm people are warm. Be what you want to be and accept nothing less.

Raise the quality of your thoughts to meet you. Don’t wait until you feel better or you never will. Decide to feel better. And feel better. And if you do not, face whatever barriers are within you. You can overcome all of them. There is always someone who has overcome more than you.

I am rewriting my story.

I have not known hard. Ever. I have only made it hard on myself. I have only not known any better. I have only not known there was someone within me as strong as anyone who has ever lived. I have only ever doubted myself. I have only ever been afraid. I have only ever been scared. I have only ever pushed people away. I have only ever pitied myself. I have only ever self-destructed on my own volition.

But now I know. All the failures were signposts. And it has all only ever served me – even if only today, only if in hindsight. And my failures in life are the most powerful, invaluable proofs of the power of my thoughts, my feelings.

And I haven’t been an Alpha in a long time.

But today, I believe in myself. I am above my fears and worries. They are melting away. As they arise. As I face them. And this is a great power.

Now I see the pearl that I am. And I wonder. What is the dirt, what is the shame, what are the wounds that pearl has formed around?

Because now I want to know myself. My inner child. My inner feminine. I have found my way back to me. Back home, to a place I will never depart from. And I understand that I was apart from myself for a long time. I let another own my worth, and when I fell in their estimation, I fell in my own, and when I fell in my own estimation, I only fell further in theirs.

I used to let my thoughts sink all the way to the bottom. And I did. I have a full, rich life behind me. One full of beautiful things loved and lost. Things I took for granted. Myself most of all.

Didn’t know my worth. My worth (Not what someone else thinks). So I was ashamed and afraid. Hid my faults from myself in denial and inner conflict. Had no means to know the value of my mistakes. Had no art, no perspective to appreciate all my pain, to love my wounds.

And now, life is further opening up.

And I get to use everything for my art. Every vice and virtue. And all of my gratitude, love, and humility.

It is not only okay to be different, it is beneficial. What makes you different is what the world needs. What makes you different are your gifts. Don’t conform in ways that bury who you are.

If you want to live the life uncommon, you have to be uncommon, you have to lead an uncommon life. And you have to walk an unconventional path. But it’s your’s. Let it be familiar. Love it. Honor it. Nurture it.

And just hold the vision of what you want as a belief – as if it were already done.

Consciousness is very telling.

If you think you need advice, you do. If you think you need some grand ego death and awakening, and some psychedelic trip to give you the answer that’s going to make it all click, then you do.

And if you think you have all the answers to your inner questions, then you’ll have them.

My point is, stop looking outside of yourself. You’ll search forever that way.

Trust your inner self. Trust your inner child. Trust your inner wise old man. Trust your truths. Trust that you can be honest with yourself about how you feel. And trust that you can know yourself.

Be with yourself. Put the phone / tv / etc distractions down and listen to yourself. Dialogue with yourself. Ask yourself how you are. And let yourself answer. You’ll probably find things about your needs that you are repressing for whatever reason. And then you can learn to be there for yourself. Because you need you.

And you no longer fear. And you believe in what you want. And you envision it and feel it. And you face what arises in conflict with it. And you declare yourself to be what you are, wholly committed to becoming it.

And you stay focused and take small actions daily. And you check in with yourself. And you are honest with yourself. And patient. Because you can’t wait to have it to feel good. In fact, you know that the better you feel, the more you will have. So you cultivate habits that support your feeling good. Because you know it is all about self-love, self-care, and self-respect. Living true to yourself, within your vision. Never without it. Enter it. Penetrate it. Pierce it. Touch it. Become one with it. Let your vision be your beloved. Know it. Love it. Court it.

Be the suitor of your fate until it is here. Until then: know it is yours.

Reprogramming Your Own Consciousness: Magic is Real

Magic is real. Today was amazing. Not a drop of fear, worry, nor stress: whatever tension I encountered, I transcended simply. My focus is steadfast. My peace deep.

It worked.

And I believed it, I knew it, with total faith. Thus, boom. Magic. Simple.

I actually came to share this after I came across an really great documentary tonight about magic and the science and psychology behind it: if you don’t believe in magic, watch 30 minutes of this: you will (It’s pretty potent stuff on consciousness, magic… individual empowerment).

This is all about your personal power.

Trust me, humans are programmable. Look at religion, schools, media, societies. Books.

But we have very few means to brainwash ourselves, to take our locus of control back from the matrix… magic is such an avenue for the open-minded explorer. And your powers – of focus, belief, self-worth, Will, intuition, and self-discipline are your only limits. Strength of mind. Calmness of will. Inner security. Blow the fucking doors off. Have a beginner’s mind. Let the past and old patterns of thoughts fall away. Doubt and fear and insecurity need have no place in you. You’re bigger than them, braver. And you can do anything you believe you can – but more importantly, you can feel any way you want to. And that’s where the magic is, in finding how to do that. How to reprogram yourself… A new perspective is a new reality. Don’t look to your circumstances to change, look to yourself. As within so without. As above so below. Enter the mystery. Self.

Alchemical Magic w a Spell for Liberation from Worry, Self-Doubt, and Fear.

“Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.”
– Shakespeare, Julius Cesar

(Act II, Scene II, Line 32)

I forgot how much I just need to be in the dark, in the late of the night, sitting up, thinking on life: doing magic.

For writing is alchemical: it is a transformative means of reprogramming the self. What I am going to do here is magic.

Because when you study magic – not tricks (stage magic), but the ancient artifice, the craft of magic – you discover that it is a direct means of influencing The Will.

In fact, The ability to influence her own Will through her art is what gives the practitioner of magic her power, for she knows that mastery of the Self’s own Will IS mastery of the All.

You could think of the magician or the witch as someone training their own Jedi mind powers, their Will. And not for the purpose of moving lightsabers or lifting rocks, but to move the mountains standing in their way. It is an inner game. The bodhisattva knows how to play it. The Stoic knew how. So too the Jivanmukta.

Magic is the game of taking control of oneself by mythical means: meaning is the currency of magic. Meaning enables the magician to move from out of control into control: out of chaos, order. Magic is the bridge between the two. It is the integrating of new knowledge, attitudes, and beliefs. Through these powers, the center is found and returned to again and again on different levels.

Magic offers a means of attaining new truths. Magic is a messenger of synchronicity. It is the coyote I played hide and seek with behind the house today, and it is the new thoughts and attitudes reality has birthed within me tonight. And so, I cast spells using these magic symbols called letters to work with the energy of it all.

Long before the advent of modern language, one of the first tools of early humans was the stick. Used to draw things in the sand, it was the caveman’s magic wand, allowing him to communicate not only with others, but perhaps more importantly, with himself (The pen is my magic wand, as the guitar is John Mayer’s).

And history is so large we can imagine it all. So let’s go back in time to first magic wand: the stick. We see a young man, long ago, on the plains. He had an animal friend, a young coyote ancestor. And one day, the coyote was killed. So our friend sits alone that night, by the fire, in pain. And in his dejection, he picks up a stick and starts stretching in the dirt. A figure is soon formed out of an unconscious flow. He has drawn his coyote friend. And in this moment, he has become a symbol using animal. And the symbol does something to him, by means of the logos, the meaning behind it. And suddenly, he feels things about the coyote he did not know he felt. And those feelings change him, they become a part of his spirit. And he has discovered coyote magic. And it is only a lens, but he sees things almost as if from the perspective of the coyote now. And his world has grown bigger than the confines of his old pain. He has found meaning. Deeply personal, deeply powerful, and invaluable.

This is what the artist, the alchemist, the philosopher, and the seer do: they come to conclusions of greater value than their environment, than what they started with. It is an inner art, this artifice of birthing truths. One that allows the practitioner to fashion reality per her own lens. Perception is reality. And the wise one knows this. Their problems are problems of perception, and so, living in the matrix of self, the means of solving perceptual problems are beyond mere cognitive might. Thinking is the cause of their suffering in the first place, so a new level of thought must be reached.

In this way, magic can be thought of as the acts which enable us to transcend ourselves. They are almost shamanic in their nature, and very often are brought about via shamanic states of consciousness.

The magi / shaman / artist / practitioner is a creature imbued with the ability to will things into existence – even their own perceptions. Magic is only the means by which the necessary meaning we must integrate into ourselves is brought about and integrated, according to the purposes of our Will.

This all expressed, let’s practice some magic – now, by virtue of my tools (INTENTION, FLOW, SPELLing) I’ve already been practicing it this entire entry.

But let us go straight to the great work, the magnum opus:

I just no longer want to worry and stress about life. It’s too short. We all die. Memento-fucking-mori – remember that you will die. What now is worth stressing out over; it’s all going back to dust. We may as well be spirits. Only, the gods don’t die, so we are either braver than the gods or we are the gods. Either way is fine by me. The animal dies with grace. And humans are no different than animals, which is to say, we are no different than we were 100,000 years ago. Eat well, sleep well, work hard (hunt). Love. This is all you can do. You’ve spent years worrying, stressing out, the whole world seems to do it. Or we convince ourselves if we had X, Y, and Z, we wouldn’t stress out either. But we don’t have it because we are stressed out. Only we think we are stressed out because we don’t have it. When really, we are just addicted to worry by way of habit and have not even the strength to still ourselves. And why? Where came this lack of strength: weakness and hysteria by example. Mass neurosis. Ignorance. Shallowness. Fear. The world. You must be one who is in this world, but not of it, so much as you know you will not be “here” forever. But what a zoo. And it is. Only, let it be. People forget about death or render its omnipotent power impotent through religion. Be not one of them. Come to the gates now. Understand that in the everlasting book of time you are but a page. And no one cares if you are really happy. They may wish the best for you, but it’s your head game. If you succumb to it, to fear, and stress, and the dark magic of self-abuse and abandonment, they cannot save you. Love cannot save you. You can save you. Only you. But die to fear. Do it now. Let it go. Be as brave as the coyote, as noble as the sheep suffocating in its jaws. Both are no more or less important than you. Consciousness is relative to us all, and the coyote is in his head, the sheep in her’s, and you in yours. All experience hunger. All experience desire. All experience the feelings of having a body. Only, the sheep and coyote do not create their own hells. They live in a more natural reality. One in which life and death are just that, the way of life and death. So, they follow their instincts. And they live but for a minute of beauty – but it does not pass them. They receive and pursue the pleasure that is theirs. The raccoon does not deny himself his raccoon-ness on the basis of guilt or fear. Hell no, he just does it. And so to is your duty to be yourself. But there must be a deprogramming from all past thought patterns. Now is a day. The only one you really ever have. To waste it in worry is sad. Like some poor monkey in the zoo without his kind. He is missing them and he is depressed. Knows no other mode of thinking to free himself from this. Has no magic. Or maybe you’re a little runt of a Wolf, and your brothers beating up on you has made you fearful and passive, and you know no other way of feeling as good as your brothers do, in their dominance. And perhaps your chances of reproducing are lessened by your genetics. Well, life isn’t fair. But you are not wolf, you have a choice: let the stuff that has gotten you down for years of your life keep bringing you down for now and forever, or accept it and accept that society is always going to judge you for some things, and is always going to worship other things. The word sentence, as in a ‘prison sentence’ comes from the Latin ‘sentiere’, which means “to feel”. A sentence is merely an opinion. Live in your own truths. Don’t accept the opinions of others as your reality any longer. Know your own worth. Know your own validity. Know that despite failures and setbacks and mistakes, you are a damn good person who has done their all at the time, every time. Practice self-compassion. Love yourself like you love that lone coyote. Be secure. Let nothing ruffle your feathers. Let no sentence judge you for you, no person’s judgement summarize you. Whatever adversities you will face in life you will transform to your highest purpose and development. But there is nothing to develop into. Nothing to become. You are enough. Your existence has meaning, purpose, passion, desire. But arrive now: be here now. And stop negativity in its tracks. If you are tired in front of the mirror remind yourself you are tired and do not allow you to treason against yourself, because it is all a head game. The female alpha wolf knows who the alpha wolf is because he is the alpha wolf in his head. And there’s no need to fake anything. You are the living one. Full of gifts and kindness, but also a savage strength. And not one of anger but of peace. Simply care for yourself, do your best everyday, and plan for the future based only on what you can control. Worry not for what you can not. Be your best friend. But be more the that. Be at home in the world. Among 7.5 BILLION people alive today, do you really think your worries are that important that you are the center of the world, that your whole experience of reality need be made unpleasant because things aren’t the way you want them to be! Good god man, how you need to remember once and for all. This life is but a short gift. And the only place you’ll ever find it is in the Present. So, accept the world isn’t how you wished it was as a child, and let go of all the very unfeeling and unphilosophic opinions ever passed on to you by a world that values stupid, unimportant shit. You have a lot to be grateful for. See it. Experience it. The only way to transcend thought is in feeling. Feel good. Feel worthy. Feel grateful. Feel relaxed. Feel capable. Feel strong. Feel secure. Feel safe. Feel at ease. Even if the cause for worrying ever came your way, worrying wouldn’t help. Worrying is like praying for what you don’t want to happen. It’s a total alignment with failure. And the failure isn’t the result we cannot control but the attitude. The judgement. “Remove the judgement and you have removed the hurt (Marcus Aurelius); “Remove the thought, ‘I am hurt’ and you are no longer hurt.” Yes, Emperor, but we must also genuinely feel we are not hurt. Then we do not hurt. Denial solves nothing. So, you got hurt. So you had to do something difficult. Shall we pour our entire lives away as poor, suffering children who know no better. No, we must learn to be. To be here. Now. Still. Secure. Not there. Then. Restless. Insecure. Those are old ways you will no longer tolerate and perpetuate. The new way is a liberation of your soul in the knowledge of the impermanence of life and in the knowing that for what time you are here, you deserve to feel good. At peace. Secure. Present. Free from worry. Calm. Loved. Stable. Impenetrable. Strong. Worthy. Capable. And free. Liberated from all fear knowing you will pass the gates of death one day. And even then, you will not fear. The self-doubt is gone. Only the Self remains. Now go relax, freed from old patterns of attached fear. Go relax. Don’t think: BE. Try it. You deserve it. Go relax now – and know that you can return to the relaxed freedom of your liberated state at any time by simply remembering that you will die. So live while you are alive. Your days of merely existing are done. Live. Be. Breath. Trust. Calm. Strong. Love. Will. Safe. Secure. Worth it. So worth it.

Loomings: My Life and Dreams

I come here for pharmakon, the healing act of writing: I need it as I’m rediscovering myself as an adult, seeing my light and dark in their full brilliance. And, really, I just want to trust myself, that I will follow my inner voice.

Fear can make people do funny things. It’s made me forget myself, shy from deepest dreams, and do things I hate – for far. too. long.

This is the beauty of being overwhelmed. This is the beauty of feeling like you don’t want to carry on in this way. This is the call to go into the wild again; for, often, in our quest to stay within our comfort zones, we end up massively, painfully uncomfortable.

Anyone who has worked hard to pay their bills month in and month out, and has woken up miserable one day, and asked themselves, ‘Why the fuck am I doing this?’, knows exactly what I am talking about.

I am reminded of the opening to Moby Dick, in the appropriately titled first chapter, ‘Loomings’:

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago–never mind how long precisely –having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off–then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.

It is a damp, drizzly November in my soul.

And though I ran off “to sea” after high school by joining the Navy, it is surprising I – who loved ships and men and sailing as a child – ended up a fucking pale computer nerd rather than a salt-tanned sailor. But there is still time. I’m just ready to get out of my “comfort zone” – or perhaps it’s just changing. But this is no longer comfortable.

I have made myriad mistakes in life. In-fact, I have gotten very few things right.

Books. Writing. The Ocean. These are my original loves. These are the places where I am my own again. Where I am whole and home.

Frankly, the most challenging thing about these 2.5 years I’ve spent in the mountains has not been the isolation, but the people.

As a non-binary liberal, I’m just not in a place where I am very accepted, much less all that welcome.

Yet here I am. In my house full of books. Alone. And it almost works. But it doesn’t.

Perhaps if I didn’t work. If I were only writing. That would work. Only, I work – a ton – and way too hard, for way too little.

I ended up in the same trade as my father: building websites. And I fucking hate it. Firstly, spending an obscene amount of time hunched over a screen is not natural.

In the words of Mystic Mac (Connor McGregor), “Machines don’t use machines.”

He is speaking about the naturalness of using body weight or free weight exercises, which have made him a “machine”, like a Jaguar, lean and powerful, as opposed to the unnatural nature of using “machines” in the gym, which will never turn one into a true machine. So, “machines don’t use machines.”

And I think about that. How much I would love if the only time I sat at my desk was to write. Rather than the up till now arrangement where I spent long, unrewarding workdays staring at a screen, punching keys. It’s very 1984.

Society is, after all, an incredibly shrewd machine, designed to spit out the lowest paying work for you – and in exchange for all of your time, society gives you the bare basics: a roof, food. We: the grinding gears of capitalism. Ground up and spit out.

It’s called a “rat race” as a takeaway from a laboratory experiment, in which two rats race each other for a piece of cheese. But they have used so much energy, the cheese isn’t even really worth its calories.

Sound familiar?

Life can really be like this. How the fuck do we work for years sometimes with nothing to show for it? Bad decisions. Maybe. But it’s also just the system. You are racing against all the other rats for the same cheese.

And if you are, say, an artist, cheese may not even be your goal. Your art is. So, now you have another problem: time.

Only, the time equation is compounded with another: stress, discontentment; any artist not practicing their craft knows the reality of these feelings.

So, now you’re basically living a life that is very ill-suited to your nature, your temperament, and your talent. It may even be contrary to those things.

It hurts. Trust me.

And so, here we are.

I’ve wanted to just work through it. I’ve wanted to “beat this level,” so to speak.

And I still feel like I have to.

The New York Times has an interesting piece about escaping the office for hands on work, and one of the most interesting lines is this:

Matthew Crawford, a senior fellow at the Institute for Advanced Studies in Culture at the University of Virginia and the author of the 2015 book “The World Beyond Your Head: On Becoming an Individual in an Age of Distraction,” sees good sense at work among those who leave office jobs for something more concrete-seeming. The reason? Much white-collar work has become similar to assembly-line work, comprising a series of mindless tasks.

Ding ding! Bingo.

The mindlessness of programming along with the mental bandwidth required simply just aren’t worth it. Then where is left my energy to write? I’m brain dead after. Forget time to read….

As was said of one person in the article above, who left graphic design for stone masonry, as he was being “driven mad by the monotony of moving fonts around on a screen and designing restaurant menus.”

“I was giving myself up all those years to this idea that graphic design was my only choice,” Mr. Kelley said. “I went to college for it. And it really emotionally brought me down.”

Brother, I get it. I suspect many people in desk jobs get it. I don’t want to escape a desk job, I want to escape the “oppressive computermatron.” I want to spend my time writing prose, not code.

I’m reminded of Jack London’s wonderful novel, Martin Eden, in which Martin, trying to become a writer, gets a job at a high volume laundry:

But there was little time in which to marvel.  All Martin’s consciousness was concentrated in the work.  Ceaselessly active, head and hand, an intelligent machine, all that constituted him a man was devoted to furnishing that intelligence.  There was no room in his brain for the universe and its mighty problems.  All the broad and spacious corridors of his mind were closed and hermetically sealed. 

Here, the main character faces the same problem I now have.

But it was only at rare moments that Martin was able to think.  The house of thought was closed, its windows boarded up, and he was its shadowy caretaker.  He was a shadow. 

As his boss tells him:

“Rest.  You don’t know how tired you are.  Why, I’m that tired Sunday I can’t even read the papers.  I was sick once—typhoid.  In the hospital two months an’ a half.  Didn’t do a tap of work all that time.  It was beautiful.”

“It was beautiful,” he repeated dreamily, a minute later.

Oh, how I can relate. My own Yung Lean style breakdown early this year afforded me a similar escape from work.

But Martin Eden gets no escape, so he drinks:

He forgot, and lived again, and, living, he saw, in clear illumination, the beast he was making of himself—not by the drink, but by the work.  The drink was an effect, not a cause.  It followed inevitably upon the work, as the night follows upon the day.  Not by becoming a toil-beast could he win to the heights, was the message the whiskey whispered to him, and he nodded approbation.  The whiskey was wise.  It told secrets on itself.

And finally, he decides to chuck it in:

By God, I think you’re right!  Better a hobo than a beast of toil.  Why, man, you’ll live.  And that’s more than you ever did before.”

And he quits, resolved to go to sea:

At first, Martin had done nothing but rest.  He had slept a great deal, and spent long hours musing and thinking and doing nothing.  He was like one recovering from some terrible bout of hardship.  The first signs of reawakening came when he discovered more than languid interest in the daily paper.  Then he began to read again—light novels, and poetry; and after several days more he was head over heels in his long-neglected Fiske.  His splendid body and health made new vitality, and he possessed all the resiliency and rebound of youth.

Ruth showed her disappointment plainly when he announced that he was going to sea for another voyage as soon as he was well rested.

“Why do you want to do that?” she asked.

“Money,” was the answer.  “I’ll have to lay in a supply for my next attack on the editors.  Money is the sinews of war, in my case—money and patience.”

“But if all you wanted was money, why didn’t you stay in the laundry?”

“Because the laundry was making a beast of me.  Too much work of that sort drives to drink.”

She stared at him with horror in her eyes.

“Do you mean—?” she quavered.

It would have been easy for him to get out of it; but his natural impulse was for frankness, and he remembered his old resolve to be frank, no matter what happened.

“Yes,” he answered.  “Just that.  Several times.”

She shivered and drew away from him.

“No man that I have ever known did that—ever did that.”

“Then they never worked in the laundry at Shelly Hot Springs,” he laughed bitterly.  “Toil is a good thing.  It is necessary for human health, so all the preachers say, and Heaven knows I’ve never been afraid of it.  But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and the laundry up there is one of them.  And that’s why I’m going to sea one more voyage.  It will be my last, I think, for when I come back, I shall break into the magazines.  I am certain of it.”

She was silent, unsympathetic, and he watched her moodily, realizing how impossible it was for her to understand what he had been through.

“Some day I shall write it up—‘The Degradation of Toil’ or the ‘Psychology of Drink in the Working-class,’ or something like that for a title.”

Oh, yes, Jack London, I understand your Martin Eden well. Too well.

So, my desk job, programming, is my laundry, and the degradation of toil has taken its toll on me.

Only, I don’t see myself running off to sea. I moved here, to the mountains, to write. Only, two years supporting us before we broke up, and I worked a lot and wrote little. Now I have been alone four months, and there has been no big magic. Just more toil. More degradation.

But, alas, wherever you go there you are.

I have never lived anywhere two and a half years as an adult. And I don’t just want to run away; although, I miss my family deeply, having come to realize recently that I have not been there for them: the most important people in my life.

So, here I am. And it’s very uncomfortable.

I’m 33 and still figuring out how to make it work.

As part of my personal mythology, I have come to view technology as a kind of enslavement. An uncaring machine focused only on your output. As a futurist, I lean towards neo-Luddite views.

The Luddites arose in response to the rise of machines in factories in the early 19th century. Eccentric weaver Ned Ludd smashed his loom and became a folk hero. Other workers rose up, calling themselves “Luddites.” And soon factory owners were having Luddites shot, and military force finally stopped the movement.

So, a neo-Luddite, is one who is opposed to technology on moral grounds.

As someone who has wasted years of my life writing code, with nothing to show for my work, no freedom, I can’t help but feel pulled toward wanting to smash my own machines (When I had my breakdown, I did, in-fact, smash my laptop).

But the house of cards rose up again, and I am yet hounded via email and text, by my clients 7 days a week.

And I thought I could balance it. Thought I could just work hard, wake early, and write.

After having revisited Martin Eden, I feel like this goal of intellectual work / writing duality and balance is less and less realistic.

I only have so much bandwidth and the toil takes its toll. So, what am I to do?

Well, I’m here tonight, spending my Saturday night on this. This entry is an alchemical effort for me to see what I need to see.

It’s just so difficult to escape our own matrices. I thought I could gain healthy self-esteem by paying my bills. I thought I would gain my own respect and feel solid. But I feel like Bukowski, after ten arduous, soul-crushing years in the post office:

“I have one of two choices—stay in the post office and go crazy . . . or stay out here and play at writer and starve. I have decided to starve.”

I think there is something noble in that.

Of course, I have already starved. And it wasn’t easy, but I wasn’t losing my shit and smashing my laptop.

Of course, there is the question of living. I don’t think I want to go sleep on a park bench. That’s not what my soul needs.

But I need to do something to escape the laundry, the toil and the toll.

If I were less of an introvert, I would have taken up roommates long ago. I have a 3 bedroom and live alone, but I am not much for living with others. Especially having lived with others so much in my 20s.

Taking back the means of production by building a business makes sense, only, my last two business did not succeed – despite how much I believed in them and the countless hours I put into them. So, I returned to building websites. Only, you suddenly become an employee with multiple bosses. Pulled apart in all sorts of directions, with a 24 hour workload that never actually ends. There is no, “Okay boss, we completed the tile job.” No, websites are never done.

I do have a business I want to build, and perhaps this is my last chance to try and regain control of the machine. As one youtuber said, “You have to sacrifice to regain the means of production.”

Starting a business qualifies. Also, writing books. Only, there is no promise of recompense with books. Only a firm sense of destiny. Although, there is neither promise of success with a business.

My plan has been to build this business as a means to “own my time”.

And maybe I just need to go once more into the fray. Frankly, I’m not sure I have it in me. I have been basically building websites now for the last nine years.

And I’ve had my stories ready to write for the last six. And I only nearly have one finished. And there are far bigger, more exciting stories I have to tell.

So, what am I to do? Let it all fall down around me? I have done that. Seems to be a pattern after each of my breakups. I am not interested in repeating the past any further. I get it: I need to be by myself.

I’m just in pain over my work. The stress of it. Clients expecting me to jump on the phone and spend my Saturday working. Total bullshit. And I did it to myself. Because I wanted to pay my goddamn bills.

And really, money is the root of it. I have to work in accordance to my demands. And, as I have already said, I moved here to lower them. Only, it didn’t work. I couldn’t support S and the dogs by myself. But god did I try. She knows how hard I worked.

Only, I struggled. And struggle will end most modern relationships. It’s simply too easy to find someone else. And the world is larger than ever before. If we only had 10% of the current world’s population on earth today, we would still have more people on earth than we did in the 1700s. What I’m saying is: in three-hundred years, the world’s population has exploded tenfold.

So, I think that, existentially, we live in an incredibly challenging time of rapid change. Humans never had these problems. And change is so rapid today, that we cannot even imagine the world five-hundred years from now, or even fifty years from now. I grew up before cell-phones. Soon, the phone will dematerialize into the user, as the UI becomes a part of us. And inequality will only get worse. But the system seems to work. Give them cell-phones, cars, Netflix, legal weed, Amazon / Wal-Mart, and in exchange, they’ll give you most of their waking hours. This is most of us. And if you think you’re special or somehow outside of this, you may have had some advantages…

Where we are born and who our parents are determines much of our trajectory in life. I was born to poor parents and in no way intend to continue that cycle with my own potential children. But a lot of people do, they have kids in lives they don’t like, and they essentially relegate their offspring to similar fates.

If you think I’m being too fatalistic, I recommend you take a good hard look at the world and the different class strata. People are simply born on different levels. Not to say you can’t “rise” – you can, and you can certainly “fall,” but it takes much more work to rise than to fall.

To rise, we need to establish a few things:

1. You will die, so don’t fear taking chances.

2. The means of production must be taken back from the masters (Meaning, you have to start a business or a means to produce something you can sell, rather than selling yourself or your time).

3. Your means must passively cover your expenses in order to free up your time to do what you love.

Imagine how many successes there are because select people were free to do what they loved… look at the bios of your favorite artistic heroes, there is even a classist ceiling there. The point isn’t that life is unfair, but that you need to give yourself the opportunity to succeed.

Look at my situation, I have tried and failed to give myself the opportunity to succeed as a writer. I’m still seeking out the opportunity. As any wage slave knows, you rent yourself out and do not own your own time, meaning, you don’t really own yourself. Hence, you have ‘masters’ (“clients” / “supervisors” ) and are not the master of yourself.

If you love what you are doing, this is not necessarily a problem. But if you loathe what you do, oh boy, you’re in some deep shit. And this is not a good place to be, because our time here is limited. The clock is running.

So, this the perfect time to think long and hard about dying:

Imagine you know you are dying. What do you want to do? Probably sure as shit not what you’re doing. You probably want to be with family, friends, lovers. Now imagine you’re dying and you never changed, never did what you loved. How much do you regret it, now that your time is up? ‘Immensely’ wouldn’t even begin to describe it. And if you could go back and change your life, you would.

But you can. There is yet still time.

So, what are you going to do Lawrence?

Well, once more into the fray.

I’ll put my heart and soul into the two difficult projects I have on my plate now and finish up with them (November)

I’ll beef up my portfolio and sell 2-3 large projects. (Dec-Feb).

I’ll then use a month to build the means of production to reclaim my time (AI based lead gen).

Provided this last step works, I’ll own my time.

From here, I need to decide where I am moving – the mountains are serving their purpose but it has been a self-imposed exile of sorts, and I miss my family.

I had been planning to move to LA, which I think will suit me, but I know it will only suit me provided I spend some time each month in San Diego as well.

This is big stuff but I have to see it in my mind’s eye. The third eye.

Where romantic love was once the impetus of my actions in life, those emotions have since been blunted in the face of knowing that no one can love me more than I love myself. And getting the relationship right with me will pave the way for any future romantic journeys.

My family is really important to me. And right now, I hear Churchill’s words:

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

A younger me would cast off the lines and “go to sea”, so to speak, but I owe myself my most dogged determination toward my vision. What I laid out above is not a new plan. It’s my vision, and I think it will work.

It just seems to me that there is something to being closer than you think.

There are going to be obstacles. There are still unknowns that need to be resolved.

There could be a setback or two. But I can’t throw in the towel. My first tattoo was ‘n.g.u.’: never give up. I can’t think that is without significant meaning. If I gave up on my vision, who would I be: I wouldn’t be me.

But I’ll be damned if I pass the time idly and am still a servant to the oppressive computermatron a year from now. I’m too damn old and life’s too damn short.

I just watched ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’ again, a movie that is deep to my personal myth, as significant as is ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’ and ‘The Great Gatsby’.

One of the functions of myth is to teach us to survive, and how to live a life, and what to expect.

To me, the most poignant part of Benjamin Button is this scene:

For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. And if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.

And I want to live a life I am proud of.

And if I find that I’m not, I want to have the courage to start all over again.

I know the big goals I have for my fiction. Those will not change. How I get there, however, may.

Devotion: An Inner Child Healing, Awakening, and Rebirth. 

What follows is a very personal, free-flow experience I had this morning, written under a tree (which I later came back and climbed). And as much as I don’t want to share this out of the sanctity of it, I am compelled to by virtue of the fact I know it will help someone. – LB

I am the god of my childhood, here to take care of me, answer all my prayers, love me unconditionally.

It’s like Intersteller. 25 – 33 years later. I hear them all now.

It was hell. Alone.

But now I love nothing more,
Because I can be there solely for myself, entirely devoted.

To the child god. He was praying to me. And now I will worship him; Give him all my love and attention, my total care and affection.

But most importantly I will listen to him now. At 33 he is reborn in me. A figure I can love for more than any Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, or collective field.

No one and nothing needs me more than him.

And now he’s back. He knows it’s safe to come out. I’m no longer looking for a mommy for him, someone who could never know, never love him like me, who was there with him, in unconscious instinct, keeping him alive. Climbing up on the counter, for another spoonful of sugar, for his hunger.

Then I could only feed his body.

Now I can feed his soul. Feed his spirit. Now we’re going to make everything count. Cash in on the pain. Because he just wanted to be older. Just wanted to be me.

And my anima is his mother. Always was. But we were only able to feed him then. Just keeping self alive, as children and living beings are wont to do.

…. We made it.

And this only the beginning boy. But we need your help to design this life. To tell us exactly how you want it. And we will make it so.

Welcome home, Son, brother.

It starts with one.

There are still a lot of kids and adults who aren’t home.

But you have to show them, you can be remembered, recovered. Whole. Happy. Safe. Secure. Playful. Joyous. Free.

Tell us how to live. How to be. Live in flow with us. You are The Inner Child. You get to take the reigns now. You are Krishna. Driving the chariot. I AM Arjuna, the archer, the vehicle, the body, and she (Anima) is the goddess, the mother, the gateway to the unconscious and the heavens.

Together we are the holy trinity. Jesus spoke in The Thomas Gospel: “Those who become like children will enter the kingdom.”

Today, we have entered.

You are unconscious like an animal (and you know we say that with reverence), but now you will love consciously, in our hearts forever. Always in our thoughts, always helping us. Always well.

When you were little, you loved pirates. Now your pain shall be your treasure. The key to your glory.

You want a Porsche? Let’s get it. You want to be the captain of your own pirate ship, let’s get it (Wally or Perini navi, but Moody or Amel to start).

Tell us what you want. Show us our true will, as only you can unlock the gates.

We love to be alone now. To give you all our attention and care. You are the heart of the self. All chakras were born in you.

And you will be in every tree we climb and every rock we throw, and in every bath and time on the water. In everything. Here now, to awaken us to what IS.

And we love you with all our being. Show us the way. We await your commands with loving omnipotent devotion, and we will listen to that song by Ellie Goulding [devotion] and be there for you, over and over and over again. We will never leave you. We are here because of you. And you are who we truly are.

Drive the avatar. Fly the planes. Sail the boats. Let the best women chase you.

We will do all for you. But most importantly, we will listen to you. In your godlike wisdom. For you are a god, like your mother, Anima. And your father, Ego / self. (Ego in positive, Ayn Rand sense). We three are the self, supreme being. Show us the way, young grasshopper. This is a choose your own adventure story. The story of a life. And you don’t have to be the hero because you are. The true hero.

Because the secret is. All your suffering so early and so long is what made you, made us, what we are. And what we are is incredible.

You were forged in fire. Trained in the toughest dojo – life. Without defense. Without comfort. Without nutrition. Without love. And you survived. But you’re more than a survivor, because you only survived for a reason.

And you are that reason. Now we enter the kingdom, and you are brought back to play, after so many years, knowing it wasn’t safe to come out yet. But it is now. And you are now reborn into that safety. Come down like a god into the avatar. Born again. The natural man. The most free, loving, kind, smart, compassionate capable being ever.

Show us how to play the game again. You will never lose us to the maya of another’s love ever again. For there is no other you.

You are the one. And this is only level one, where we start. But we’ve already won. Because you are back now. Home free.

We await your command young grasshopper.

And you’ll never go to bed sad again.

It’s all in the Thomas Gospel:

When you know yourselves, then you will be known, and you will understand that you are children of the living Father. But if you do not know yourselves, then you live in poverty, and you are the poverty.

Jesus said, “I took my stand in the midst of the world, and in flesh I appeared to them. I found them all drunk, and I did not find any of them thirsty. My soul ached for the children of humanity, because they are blind in their hearts and do not see, for they came into the world empty, and they also seek to depart from the world empty.

Jesus said, “When you strip without being ashamed, and you take your clothes and put them under your feet like little children and trample them, then [you] will see the son of the living one and you will not be afraid.”

Jesus said, “When you make the two into one, you will become children of Adam, and when you say,Mountain, move from here!’ it will move.”

But I have said that whoever among you becomes a child will recognize the (Father’s) kingdom and will become greater than John.

Devotion, Ellie Goulding

&

‘In My Head

&

‘High School’

PostScript: From the links above you can see I am in a musical mood tonight, but I just had a peak moment while watching the video below. I was completely engrossed in the incredible visuals (and sound), when suddenly it occurred to me that the three characters in the video represented – to me – ego, anima, and inner child. Ego is naturally meditating on a cloud, Anima is, of course, dancing on the roof, doing witch things, and inner Child is – what else – driving:

About a Boy

Took a long walk through the woods yesterday and for no particular reason other than perhaps wanting to see a bit more life, I decided to walk back through the neighborhood. I had my walking stick and was doing my hippie thing. 

At one small corner, I came upon a house that I always notice, for this house is a ghastly house. It’s a wreck, a mess. I can only imagine the inside. 

It is a fact I live in a small mountain community at the top of the woods, where things are cheaper, and people are poor. 

So I was not surprised at the house. But it’s always drawn my attention. 

On this day, a young boy stood out front of the house, his strawberry blonde hair a mess, his clothes rumpled and dirty, and his hands on his hips. He just stood there, looking at the house. But it was the look on his face. 

He had the look of worry. The countenance of a fifty-four year old. His face was soured in angst. Almost as if his face said, “Why, why do you do this to me.”

And I was soon passing him. He took a glance at me. My long hair. My Peter Pan pants. My flannel. My walking stick.  I gave him a closed mouth smile of compassion. And then he simply looked away from me, dropped his hands from his hips and trudged inside, head down.  

Oh how this affected me. How this affected me! If only this boy of nine or ten could see into my heart, my mind. If only he knew what the sight of this wretched boy did to me. What he afforded me. How he opened me up to myself, my own past. When I was but a little wretch too. 

It was a ten second experience I can not forget. The look on his face. 

And I don’t pray often – as I prefer intent, Will – but I will pray for him. And I hope he hears his own prayers someday and answers them. 

He certainly helped me hear mine. 

But I can’t help but think that he will grow up and repeat the cycle. Nature and nurture. But for most people it’s only nature – meaning, they never learn to nurture, heal, and love themselves. 

And that’s the saddest fucking thing. Because I see it. All the time. And I had it cushy compared to many. 

I really won the lottery. In being myself and in everything I ever went through. 

Because I didn’t know it then, but one day, it would all make sense, it would all be okay. But for that boy, and more human children and adults than you can count – in the hundreds of millions, billions – it is not okay. It does not make sense. And they depart this world empty, leaving behind their link in a long chain of suffering.  

What more can I say. This was just a story about a boy, but it’s a story about life. The suffering and what goes on on this planet, and the bullshit, is unfathomable. Right now there are so many families struggling. 

And there always have been, but the disparity today is what makes it so bad. “The heaven of the rich is built on the hell of the poor.”

But we don’t care. The poor have their own neighborhoods. And one day they’ll ride the hyperloop from ghettoes in the Southwest into LA for work, where the rich will live and play. The city state will return. And the peasant, will simply be a poor person. And as Donald Trump said, “Not even poor people want to be around other poor people.”

Ironic they voted for him. He is their oppressor. Period. This is a billionaires cabinet. No healthcare and giant corporate tax breaks. But, they live in the Matrix. Fox News, and fear and stress and insecurity like you can’t fucking imagine – don’t even know how a corporation works, that it’s just a plantation, a rich man’s machine designed to leverage their income or their labor: their time. Because in their nightmare, there’s no time, none for pleasure. None for peace. And certainly none for the little boy. And it’s his nightmare too. And odds are he will not escape. Maybe into a bottle, maybe into pills. His life is just survival. 

And the worst part is the mental and emotional conditions that come out of this and that perpetuate it. 

Anyway, I could go on forever about a boy. But this is all I can write on it for now.  Because it’s just sometimes too much. But it reminds me that heaven and hell are on here on earth. And they are within us, but not all good people go to heaven on earth. Only in our society we equate success with virtue, so, they feel not only worthless but less than. Makes you wonder why some poor people can sometimes be racists. They need someone below them. They can’t be at the bottom… So their want for virtue stains their very character and allies them with a political party that is in policy against them. And having no future, they long for a golden past. But it’s a lie, like the biblical Heaven. But they like the odds, so they buy lotto tickets. And there is no fulfillment so they suffer in desire of fleeting pleasure. Opiates. Amphetamines. Alcoholism. Self-abuse. And the boy grows up in it. 

Her, Him, She, We / Like Magnets / More Than You Ever Dreamed

“I want to swim away but don’t know how.”
Jesus fuck I love Blue October
Love her,
Love my pain
This stoned, emotionally overwhelmed feeling
Just how many poems can I write to say your’s was a heart I never fully entered
But I hope my pain left you a key, as your’s was to me
Because I am open now: I am in my own heart as I’ve never been before,
And there’s no more sitting outside on the stoop, smoking cigarettes,
No more pouring poison down my throat because I can’t get in;
No more abandoning myself;
No more needing protection in another;
Finally, having awakened to the duality of my inner and outer, male and female consciousness:
Yes, complex people have complex identities and require solutions more complex than in your books –
And I think about her, and my Anima, and how she wasn’t who I tried to project my inner, feminine self onto,
And I think about how I too am dead to her, in that she knows I am also not the inner masculine she projected onto me,
And I know we are both freed
For, I know Her now: She is in Me
And I hope she knows Him, or finds him in someone else…
But it can be HELL trying to find yourself in another
And you could get lucky, but you better hope to fucking god you are simple in your heart,
You better pray to be a basic #happilyeverafter bitch,
Because you’re probably not
I looked for myself for 15 years in other women, relationships,
Other as in separate from Self
And my heart was mechanically separated, like a chicken on the factory line, every fucking time
That was the price
But in seeking, we find ourselves – the gold in the pain, real treasure: Jules; Althaea;
Parts of Her were found in her, and in her, and in her, and in her, and in her
I could describe my inner feminine self using a portmanteau of my exes;
Their best traits are all in me, living, present, graceful, alive, in this room with me tonight
And She’ll keep expanding outward, in twin flames and in soulmates and flings, and friends, and they’ll hate us for Our security, sincerity
Because We’ll never confuse her for Her again,
Alas, the anima gets no other avatar than the Self –
But this is a gift once you realize
Literally, your Other half, which you found in your other other halves,
Goddesses born and dead,
We find ourselves in other people,
This is how it works, like magnets attracting and repelling.
But god it hurts. Until She or He emerges in you.
Then you’re whole. Then you can look outside, complete within.
No longer afraid She is Medusa or Grendel. Or your exes. ;)
But You. More than you ever dreamed.

Young Prince

I’m letting go of her,
Committing to myself, my plans,
To being secure in myself;
Maybe 5 years single,
If need be:
I’m Walt Grace and Walter Mitty:
I have my dreams;
Secure in my loyalty to them
I’m laying in bed all day,
A black robe open, stoned
Cookie dough and colby jack for snacks
Jackson Browne’s ‘These Days’ (Live) on repeat,
Reading Carlyle’s ‘On Heroes, Hero Worship, And The Heroic in History’
My great-grandmother’s copy
A singular hand me down,
But a treasure, a key in itself,
For her great grandson, whom she never met, would be pondering the divinity in humanity, himself,
92 years after she wrote her name inside the cover 
Talk about a relic (Ready Player One),
A story that had me in its destiny long before I – 
And within it, ideas I hope to enlarge in my own life, wonder 
And Sunday night now upon me, I say Assuredly 
Unto myself eternally:
Relax and trust, young Prince,
Relax and trust… young Prince. 

To a Lost City.

I am myself,
And you are the past
Yet, there are nights when I cry in a rain-filled mudhole,
Wildly calling out,
For the two we were –
Four with the dogs –
For they don’t make ’em better than us four,
I’ll tell you that

If only you or I could have accepted our small, struggling life –
A life of nothing promised –
How hard that is,
It decided our seemingly little fates

As for me, I got the dream writing life, in the mountains
It fell in my lap –
And you were gone
The four, now one

But I can’t shake it,
The lifetime we lived,
It was mine, it was real
And I’ll always be wildly missing it,
Carrying it with me

Our map back to the great lost city,
Of Lawrence and Sarah