Flow Motion

‘What is the essential nature of life?’ I ask myself one day. ‘What is it essentially composed of, when you get right down to it, when you get right down to the nitty-gritty? What kind of stuff or material is it made up of?’ These were the type of questions that I was concerning myself with.

 

I was doing my best to sit down on the bench that overlooked the central square where all the cafes were but I didn’t seem to be doing very well. I couldn’t pull it off because I had no body – my body had dissolved. I had become a pattern in the air, a pattern of free-flowing energy. I was in flow-motion. I kept moving off in all directions – flowing and rippling outwards…

 

Well, I say that ‘I kept rippling outwards in all directions’ but this isn’t strictly true – it is the universal energy that is flowing outwards. It is the universal energy that is flowing and rippling outwards so gracefully, not me. It is the universal energy that is moving outwards in all directions and the universal energy has nothing to do with me – it is moving and flowing according its own mysterious laws, laws which I know nothing of. It is going about its own business, which no one can know about.

 

Bits and fragments of me are drifting off in all directions, caught up in the slow and steady current of the great unseen river. ‘Where does the river come from and where does it go?’ I ask myself. This is a question to bewilder and confound. It is a question that has no answer. I am coming apart faster and faster now as the current catches hold. The cracks in the pavement are widening and strange flowers are blooming there.

 

The world is no longer what it used to be. The world isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. You’re not what you’re cracked up to be. You have to be careful where you put your feet because the firmament is breaking up under you – the sky is reflected in the puddles at your feet and you know longer know which way is up.

 

I am trying to make my way down the road but the road is no longer there. I’m no longer there either – I am a pattern of energy gracefully unfolding in space. I’m like a ripple in a pond moving ever outwards. The sunlight is catching on the wavelets and the surface of the pond sparkles like a mirage. A great calm has descended on the scene and I can hear insects making their music in the thick tropical undergrowth. The air is heavy and full of the scents of flowers and rotting vegetation.

 

‘What is the essential nature of life?’ I ask myself. ‘What is the basic substance from which it is composed?’ But I wasn’t really interested in hanging around to hear the answer. My questions, more habit than anything else, undulated gently outwards, the little wavelets catching the sun and glinting pleasingly as they did so.

 

 

 

 

 

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Bouncy Castle

The message came into my head with great force. ‘Bouncy castles for hire’ it said. It was one of many such messages, incongruous and apparently harmless commercial memes that spring upon the unwary. I found myself defenceless against the message, just as I am helpless against all those other messages out there. I recognized it instantly as a garbage meme of course, a virulent industrial pollutant, but there was nothing I could do about it. The message took up residence in my consciousness with all the others. We’re wide open to all this commercial mind-junk, there’s no legislation to curb it. I automatically shook my head from side to side to try to dislodge it but the trash in my mind wasn’t going anywhere. The false thought was there to stay. It had taken up permanent residence along with all the other junk. No one cares what gets lodged in their heads these days, I thought to myself. There was a time, still within living memory, when people had a bit more dignity with regard to what they let in their heads, but not anymore! Now it’s a free-for-all. There’s no consideration given any more. Anything goes. It’s all in the name of free enterprise. We’re all helpless meat-puppets – we’re all legitimate targets in the neverending commercial war between the Transhumans and the infamous ‘free-marketeers’ operating from their randomly distributed base in the now destroyed United States of Europe. Impossible to stop, the Transhumans were little more than digital ghosts haunting the corrupted brains of ex-social media addicts, most of whom were now held in illegal detention camps run by the World Health Organization. We’re all fair game as far as the transhumans are concerned. We’ve all been sold up the river. Free will was one of the first causalities. None of my thoughts are my own, I realize with repugnance and dismay – the Transhumans own everything we think. Everything’s copywrited these days including our most intimate emotions. No ideas are original – they’ve all been designed by the corporate AIs to maximize product loyalty. My mind grew clear for a moment then and I realized with a shock that none of this was true: the thought-jackers were making me think that the conspiracy memes had gotten inside me and were thought-jacking me without my knowledge but this was a lie. I shook my head from side to side to clear it from all the mental debris that was clogging it up and then, at the next set of traffic lights, took a sharp left turn instead of continuing down the dual-carriageway as I had planned. I had just created my own destiny, I realized; I had just given the finger to the sinister thought-controllers. I am a free man, I tell myself – I make my own decisions. No one is in charge of my thinking. No one apart for me, that is. That was just the Government making me think that by putting all that disinformation and fake news into the newsfeed. The Mandela Effect wasn’t real – no one was changing the past. I am a free man and the past has already happened, I tell myself again. There was no way the past hasn’t happened yet – that was crazy talk. It was just the conspiracy memes created by the Transhumans circulating in Facebook that were making me think that…

 

 

 

 

 

Avoiding The Hero’s Path

I yearn to walk the path of the hero. I have always yearned to walk the path of the hero! This yearning was born long ago – somehow something from the higher worlds had penetrated into my sleep, and awoken something within me. It had come in the form of a strange, ethereal music, the strains of which spoke of the Hero Path. This music came from no earthly source and it held within its tones the resonances of glory that pertain to the Hero Path. No one needed to come over to me to explain the significance of those tones, the import of those resonances. My innermost being recognized those tones of glory – it responded to it immediately and a straightaway yearning within me was born. My inner being responded to that unearthly music in the same way that the leaves of a young plant respond to the rays of the sun and since that moment I have yearned to walk the path of the hero. I have from that moment yearned so deeply to embark on that Journey and in doing so forsake the weak, worthless, pointless, and grotesquely self-indulgent life that was the only life I knew…

 

Having said this, I also have to say that I never actually did forsake that worthless, pointless life of mine – that life which I was so rightly sick of. It still is the only life I know, the only life I can imagine. I know full well that this so-called ‘life’ of mine isn’t worth a damn. I have seen through it, I have seen it to be unworthy. When those rays of glory fell upon me that day I saw my life for what it was – a tawdry exercise in self-gratification and nothing more – and I found myself deeply repelled by what I saw. There is no honour in such a life, I realized. Such a life is not worth living. To be compelled by mechanical forces, whilst not knowing that one is being so compelled, to lead such a life is a very terrible affliction. It is an unspeakable horror and yet we cannot see it as such, and this ignorance – somehow – is the worst affliction of all. Seeing what I saw that day troubled me deeply and I knew at that moment that I could never go back to being the sad excuse for a man that I used to be. I had glimpsed something greater than myself – I had seen a possibility that I could never before have even dreamt of, and I knew that I would never be able to unsee it.

 

And yet, and yet… And yet here I am, much the same as ever, all these years later! Nothing much has changed – I carry on in the same old way that I always did. I suppose one outcome is that I now live under a perpetual shadow. Is it guilt? Is it shame? Is it a mixture of the two? It’s as if I don’t have the excuse in the way that I once did before, in some kind of a fashion at least. What did I know back then, anyway? I knew nothing – I didn’t even know that I had been born, so to speak. Looking back, I am filled with incredulity – how was it possible for anyone to be as emptily self-absorbed as I was? How had I been able to go from day to day without having even the tiniest scrap of self-awareness? As I have already said, there is a very great horror implicit in this situation, a horror that is all the greater for being entirely invisible to us when we are in it. And yet – even though I can see all of this very clearly indeed – I constantly find myself wishing that I could go back to those days, back to that time when I simply ‘didn’t know any better’. Awareness truly is a curse, from one point of view, at least…

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Not Cricket

Over the years I have inadvertently become an expert on nullifying environments. I can tell you anything you want to know about nullifying environments – anything at all. You probably don’t want to know about NEs of course but that’s another matter. That’s another day’s work. That’s another issue entirely. If I was to name a topic that no one ever wants to know about it’s nullifying environments. Folk’ll talk about anything in preference to this, anything at all. Any taboo subject will do, just so long as we don’t mention NEs.

 

I’m just joking really. It’s just a private joke that I have going with myself. No one actually knows anything about NEs, as far as I know. No one has a clue that such things even exist. That makes me an expert on something no one knows to exist. No kudos there, right? People don’t know that there’s such a thing as an NE and so of course you can’t talk about it. Of course you can’t have a conversation about it. You can always try to explain about nullifying environments in some kind of abstract or theoretical way but this doesn’t work because there’s some kind of psychological block there – as soon as you even start to explore the subject, even in the most general terms, you will run into a brick wall. People’s eyes immediately glaze over and their minds go blank. You know you’re onto a non-starter. You know that they’ve tuned you out…

 

OK so maybe I’m exaggerating a tiny bit but the key point that I’m trying to make here is that you won’t ever find anyone willing to talk about nullifying environments with you. No one is interested and this brings us neatly enough to a consideration of what a NE actually is – an NE is an environment that acts upon us so as to cause us to find inane nonsense compulsively entertaining, whilst anything else (anything of a deeper nature) becomes profoundly uninteresting to us. Needless to say, we human beings are superlatively adept at creating such environments for ourselves. It’s just about all we ever do…

 

If we human beings have a talent then it is surely for producing these stupendously nullifying environments. I know this sounds like a rather unpleasant and distinctly snide comment to be making but just take a look around you, for God’s sake! All of our energy goes into creating diabolically ugly mind-numbing environments for ourselves – environments that exert an immensely stupefying effect upon our consciousness. We’re busy making ourselves unwell, both physically and mentally, and you’d have to be an out-and-out moron to deny it, you really would. We’re killing ourselves – if not literally then metaphorically, or psychologically. To consistently elevate garbage over the truth is the greatest of all abominations and yet this is what we do every day. To celebrate nonsense-talkers and either persecute or ridicule those who have a true word to say is surely the most monstrous perversity of all. How can we expect to engage in such a diabolical charade and yet at the same time imagine that we aren’t going to pay a price for it? We will never allow ourselves to see it though – we recoil from the truth just as a man with arachnophobia recoils from a fully-grown bird-eating spider crawling up his shorts…

 

I know it’s not ‘the done thing’ to come out with stuff like this. It’s simply not cricket. One always has to strive to be positive in one’s outlook, doesn’t one? It’s also all about team spirit and not undermining morale. It’s so important not to be undermining morale, isn’t it? You see, the official protocol is that you should always say how commendable it is to maintain and protect the status quo, no matter what that status quo might be. You have to go around saying how splendid and marvellous the status quo is, otherwise you’re a complainer, a whinger. No one likes a whinger, right? You get them in every organization. You’ll always get them – spreading negativity and discontent is their thing. Spreading dissent and dissatisfaction. Because they’re unhappy and frustrated individuals. They send us on training courses so that we can learn about people like that. They teach us how to spot them, and then once we do spot them, have nothing to do with them. It’s very important to shun and ignore the complainers because then they can’t get anywhere…

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Was Suffering The Excruciating Misery Of The Afflicted Ego

I was in bad form. I was cranky and miserable. “I am suffering the excruciating misery of the afflicted ego”, I croaked despairingly and saying this straightaway made me feel even worse. It made me feel worse than ever and the reason for this was that I knew it to be true. “My wretchedness is beyond measure”, I wailed out loud, “for I am the afflicted ego”. Nothing good ever seemed to happen for me and all I ever seemed to do was wallow in my own toxic misery. “Where’s the kudos in this?”, I asked bitterly. I wasn’t asking anyone in particular; if anything I suppose you could say that I was addressing the world in general but the world in general wasn’t listening. The world in general didn’t care one jot about me and my plight and I knew it. It meant absolutely nothing to the world if I was suffering and afflicted…

 

The more I considered my situation the worse I felt and I can promise you that I was feeling pretty bad to start off with. That’s being too damn wishy-washy about it – I wasn’t just feeling ‘pretty bad’, I was suffering the excruciating misery of the afflicted ego. Suffering doesn’t come any more excruciating than that, I can tell you! It wasn’t just that ‘no one cared’ either – I’m sure that anyone who did know about my wretched situation would say that I was getting exactly what I deserved. They would probably say, if asked, that the circumstances I found myself in were ‘good enough for me’. Whoever has sympathy for an afflicted ego, after all? We all know that to be an ego is to have it coming to you; you reap what you sow, pride cometh before a fall, etc, etc. Let’s face it, no one likes an ego! No one sheds any tears when an ego gets what is coming to it. That’s no tragedy; on the contrary, it’s the richest possible vein of  comedy! Plenty of good old belly laughs there, I can tell you!

 

I don’t expect anyone to feel any sympathy for me. I know what they’ll say before they say it. “Good enough for him!” they’ll say, full of smug satisfaction at my comeuppance. They’ll probably be delighted to see me get what I deserve. Thinking all these thoughts about my situation was making me feel crankier and more miserable than ever. “I’m cut off from life itself”, I said to myself. I realize that I don’t even know what life is. I know nothing about life, I know only the horror of my own sterile existence and that’s not the same thing at all. That’s a different thing, entirely. As I walk down the high street I see people enjoying life all around me. They are smiling and happy and carefree, all the things that I am not. They are participating in the rich bounty of life but I’m not. They don’t even know that they’re participating – they’re doing it without knowing they’re doing it. They’re participating automatically – that’s how lucky they are! I’m excluded from life. I’m on the outside looking in. How is it possible for anyone to be as hideously alienated from life as I am, I ask myself?

 

I know the answer to that question already, however. I know the answer to that particular question very well indeed, as it happens. The reason I am hideously alienated from life is because I am completely identified with a terminally dissociated afflicted ego and the lot of a terminally dissociated afflicted ego is not a happy one. Not many laughs to be had there. Not for me, anyway. For someone else there would be for sure but then that’s not really much consolation for me. How much fun can you have whilst being terminally dissociated, after all? How well can you engage, how much ‘a part of things’ can you be? No prizes for guessing the right answer here. You know the answers to this question as well as I do. You’re probably just too polite to come right out and say it…

 

 

 

 

 

The Long Game

I was planning my dream life. This is going to be great, I told myself. This is going to be amazing. I could hardly wait – even though I knew I’d have to. Life’s a waiting game, I told myself, you have to settle in for the long haul. You have to get smart about it and use your loaf a bit. You have to play the long game, I said to myself wisely, but even as I said this I knew that I was lying. I wasn’t playing the long game at all – the long game was playing me!

 

The big seagull was glaring across the street at me, its angry eye full of cold menace. It had found a half-eaten snack-box full of chicken bones and soggy chips in the course of its scavenging and it wasn’t about to relinquish its prize. It was the apex scavenger on this street, its glare told me, and it wasn’t about to let any weaker form of life come along and takes its rightful spoils away from it. The seagull thinks I’m a weaker form of life, I thought to myself incredulously. It thinks that I ought to be afraid of it! I took a threatening step towards it whilst maintaining eye-contact but the creature didn’t budge. On the contrary, it continued to look me straight in the eye, its indomitable will daring me to come any closer. Other, smaller birds – mainly crows, blackbirds and a few street pigeons  – watched on with interest. They were watching from a safe distance, obviously anticipating a showdown. Who’s going to win, they were probably thinking – the big old seagull with its savage beak or the newcomer on the scene who was daring to chance his luck? They wanted to see me get my comeuppance, I felt. They would enjoy seeing me get well and truly trounced.

 

Should I retreat, I wondered. Should I back down? I had a feeling that this showdown wasn’t going to go very well for me. It might not go my way at all. I was worried that I might come off the worse. I might even get badly hurt – the seagull was awfully big-looking. Perhaps I should opt for a tactical withdrawal before things got nasty, I thought to myself. All the other birds looked on, obviously hoping that I would try it on. Go on, they seemed to be saying to me, what are you waiting for you pussy? My nerve finally cracked and I jumped back out of range of that cruel beak and slunk into the shadows, trying not to look beaten. Trying to make it look as if I didn’t really care. I made to fly off to the safety of the nearest roof-top but then realized that I couldn’t fly because I wasn’t a bird but a human being with arms and legs. I knew that, I said to myself. I knew that I was a person…

 

Nothing in life happens quickly, I told myself. The important thing is to have a strategy. And to think positively. Always think positively because that way you will attract good things into your life. Because that way you will attract abundance into your life. I wanted to attract some abundance into my life because I felt so hollow and empty. Terribly, terribly hollow. Terribly, terribly empty. I was in dire need of abundance, I realized. Lack of abundance was killing me slowly. In some ways it was as if I was already dead. It was as if I was just hanging around waiting for the actual event to catch up with me…

 

Don’t worry everything will be great, I told myself. Everything’s going to be fine. All you need is a strategy and then you can settle in for the long haul. That way you can relax and take it easy secure in the knowledge that you are playing the long game. Waiting for things to work out for you. I wonder what my strategy is, I wondered glumly. Is it to be a complete fucking moron? Is it to slowly devolve into a worthless street scavenger, some pathetic cowardly creature existing miserably at the very bottom of the pecking order? Is my strategy to undergo some sort of degenerative transformation so that I become a type of hungry ghost whilst still actually alive? Is it my strategy to act like a total knobhead at every available opportunity and make myself into an object of ridicule – the butt of every joke going? If so then I’m doing rather well, I told myself. I’m definitely onto a winner here….

 

 

 

 

The Long Road Ahead

I had created the thought-construct fields only that’s not what they’re really called. That’s just what I call them. I made up the name just now. I didn’t actually create them either – I had nothing to do with it. The thought-construct fields created themselves; they ALWAYS create themselves. They are the self-assemblers and I am merely the impotent onlooker. Not a very flattering portrait I know but I might as well endeavour to be honest. Without honesty what have we? I make up my own names for things because that way I reclaim my power. We have to take back our power in whatever way we can and my way of doing it is by making up my own names for things. Then – instead of being the impotent onlooker – I become the Lord of Names…

 

I was like a sleep-walker – wandering, wandering, wandering. Not knowing where I was going nor why. Drifting helplessly. Barely aware even that I was wandering. Barely aware of my own existence. If you could call it that. Lost in the suburbs of despair. Lost in the burbs. The bloody old burbs. Going from door to door to find out where you live but you don’t live anywhere. I’m not cottoning on to this though – I still think that I live somewhere. I still think that I have a life. I’m back in Sycamore Close – Number 31 Sycamore Close. Life is good, I tell myself, life is great. I wonder what the day has in store for me, I say to myself. I wonder. I wonder. I wonder what. I’m knocking on the door but no one is answering. I’m not answering because I’m not home…

 

I created the thought and then the thought had created me only I didn’t create it at all really. I only say that I did. I created nothing – I was only the impotent onlooker. Going along for the ride. Cadging a lift. Life is good, life is great, I tell myself. I wonder what the day. I wonder what. What will the day. I am walking up the concrete stairwell of Beaminster House. I’ve gone back in time. My leg hurts but I can’t remember what happened to it. I’m painfully hobbling up the stairs – my flat is right up on the fifth floor. There is the familiar smell of old urine only it isn’t the stairwell it’s me, I realize. The smell follows me around like a good friend. I’ll never escape myself. I’ll haunt myself til the day I die. Good times, I say to myself, good times. I’ve gone back in time. I’m back in the familiar environs of the South Lambeth Rd and it’s a glorious summer’s day. The sun is beating down on my head. The stairs seem to go on forever and my leg is sore. The echo of my own foot-steps is the only sound I can hear. They follow me faithfully wherever I go.

 

I’ve gotten lost in the intricacies of the task. The task grows and grows – it stretches ahead of me forever. It multiplies. I’m making my way down a dimly-lit side-street somewhere on the outskirts of the city centre where the pavements reek of piss and the crowds never go. I come across a seagull going through the contents of a rubbish bin, which it has painstakingly pulled out bit by bit. It looks sideways at me, pausing in its task of sorting through the trash as it does so. Its eye glitters with cold malevolence as it regards me. Does it see me as a competitor I wonder? Does it see me as fellow scavenger combing the streets for goodies? Or does it hate me for what I have allowed myself to become?

 

The task stretches ahead of me forever. You must complete the task, you must complete the task, you must complete the task. The voice in my head intones. Like a drumbeat. Drumming it into me with grim insistence. But I’ve lost interest in the bloody task – I can’t force myself to engage in it anymore. I can’t put one foot in front of the other. I have come to a complete standstill. The task goes on forever and I know I won’t ever complete it. I don’t care if I don’t ever complete it, I realize. I couldn’t care less. All I ever hear is the task, the task, the task. Get up, get up the voices say. You have to complete the task. But I’ve forgotten what it is that I’m supposed to be doing. I think that I’ve created the task but really the task has created me. I’m locked into the dream and the dream goes on forever. I’m trapped in my own private dream and it’s going nowhere. It’s like a labyrinth; you can never find your way out of it because the task can never be completed. That’s the whole point, that’s the trick. You keep on at it forever. You keep on trying but you won’t ever win. It’s a trap for fools.

 

The task is me, I realize. I am the task that I have lost interest in. I am the fool-trap. I am the task that I no longer want to complete…