New Doors

I am in the midst of the most exhilarating, wrenching, challenging, rewarding time of my life. Right where I want to be!

I have plunged quite deep into D&S/S&M. I am "personal property" of my dominant Mistress (Ms. Ann) a woman who I am totally in love with (despite the fact that she is married and in an open relationship like myself...it is strange and difficult, and not so strange and difficult at the same time) I have been cuffed to an iron cross, flogged, caned, candle-waxed, stuck with needles, fire-cupped, and all sorts of things you probably want nothing to do with. I have had out of body visionary experiences during some of these episodes. My pain tolerance is growing. I love all of this! Endorphin / dopamine rushes are the most powerful mind altering experiences. No drugs or alcohol are done at these things (they do not mix with the control that is neccessary) and we go all night into other realms. This is the pulse of life for me. Along with this goes the most intense trust I have ever placed in another human being. Such trust is not possible without love. This was the missing ingrediant in my former view of these things. From the outside, S&M looked purposefully degrading and brutal (and that can be an aspect for those who seek it) but I discovered for myself that Love is the magic ingrediant: awesome trust, liking the person you commit to (being friends) and even falling in love. A heady mixture. Ann turns out to be a soul mate. We have the greatest time together, and when we play, we play hard. Hell yeah! This is exactly what I sought to bring about in my life, and I did it. I am on this ride for good.

Last Saturday night I saw a demo, a black leather "body bag" attached to an industrial vacuum hose. A tiny little hole for the nose and mouth, breathing thru a plastic tube. The participant is zipped into the bag. The hose is turned on, and all the air is sucked out. Total mummification! No movement. Only breathing, while others touch you thru the leather in your immobile state. It looked like "gitmo" type shit! I volunteered to try it and - hidden trigger! As the bag was zipped up I lay there, mouth and nose only thru the hole. It was hot. Cant see or hear. Panick! Couldnt breathe. I called a halt. Ann poked her head into the bag and said "this isnt a competition, ya know!" The woman doing the demo told me "if you're having issues already, you dont want to do this." I didnt do it. My first refusal. It is great to discover these limits in myself, and to be a part of a scene of people pushing themselves to the limits of adventure. To do it all as the "boy" to a sexy mistress and woman I love is the best part.

Heather and I remain best friends. We tell each other "I love you" every day, and mean it, but she does her thing (World of Warcraft) and I go off and do mine. We support each other financially and emotionally, and do our own separate things. Because of this I can stay out all weekend with Ann, and come home Sunday night without any bad vibes. It is how we want it right now.

As old doors close, new doors open. This simply means that for energy to continue to live, it must transfer and re-route. It snakes out of a past into the present, and must continue forward into new channells that you open and direct to the best extent you are able. No walling it up or stopping it, unless it is to sink into a well. My new doors are almost always in front of me, so much so I see them a few years before I actually reach them.

I have finished my novel "Challenge the Yumocha" and am actively seeking an agent and / or publisher. I collect my many rejections as badges of honor (signs that I am doing the work)

How are you?

Cocoon

In any transformational process, especially one involving a realignment of the emotions with the intellect, it is crucial to be patient and gentle with yourself. Slow and steady wins the race.

Semi-consciousness can be a cocoon that protects the subject during its greatest vulnerability. Only when the butterfly emerges can it become more fully aware of what has taken place.

Challenge the Yumocha!

My recently finished book “CHALLENGE THE YUMOCHA” is about people who are building a new civilization on another planet. The known world is unraveling. A formerly free country, plagued by terrorism, is destroying itself from within. Totalitarian forces have established a police state. An alternate libertarian civilization is being prepared, but it is in danger, and on the verge of collapse. A troubled yet hopeful middle-aged man, a renegade ex-cop, a mysterious young girl, and a maniacally unpredictable rock drummer meet during an escape from a death camp, and struggle to reach the new world. Little do they know that the turmoil they are caught in is but the localized expression of a cosmic war between a powerful species of god-like beings who are trying to save the entire galaxy from imminent destruction by one of their own who has gone power mad. One of the main characters, a young man named Werbinox, is initiated into this greater truth by a strange old man who possesses unearthly abilities. Werbinox does not know if he can really trust this man or not, but he has little choice but to follow him. In the course of the action he learns a shocking truth, and discovers that the fate of the universe depends upon him. Along the way there are plenty of surprises, action, political drama, rock and roll, surrealistic mayhem, twisted sex, disturbing megalomania, conspiracy, philosophy, torture, and triumph.

“CHALLENGE THE YUMOCHA” is unlike any other book on the market, yet it draws upon well-established genres:

It is SCIENCE FICTION, for its technological vision is advanced. Even though much of its world is recognizable as our own, it is skewed just enough to be an alternate reality.

It is HORROR, for it is full of scary moments and ghost stories.

It is FANTASY, and contains battles between gods, wizards, and monsters, all of which are contained in their own original mythology. In this sense the book fits with the current success of works such as “Harry Potter”, and the older “Lord of the Rings” trilogy. Yet because it explores sado-masochistic sexuality, it is Fantasy-for-Adults.

It is PHILOSOPHICAL FICTION in the tradition of “Moby Dick” and “Atlas Shrugged”, books that continue to sell and influence minds to this day.

It is ACTION-ADVENTURE, for the fate of all life is in jeopardy, and the characters are ready to fight to the death for their existence and freedom.

For marketing purposes, the book can be classified as FANTASY ADVENTURE.

The Predator

The mist was clearing as the sky filled with small cumulus clouds casting shadows upon the timeworn hills. A lazy breeze caressed the trees, swaying their limbs in hypnotic rhythms. It was strange how the weather always seemed to change whenever he went climbing.

He came to the forest edge and plunged in. There were no clear-cut paths to the top, so he made his own way up in a winding fashion, jumping from jagged rock to rotting stump in a halting but persistent ascension. His heartbeat was strong, pumping rivers of blood to the pistons of his legs and the transformer of his brain. Wide vistas of the valley below appeared thru windows in the overhead canopy.

He often felt like a stranger in this land, not divorced from it so much as a highly charged concentration of its energies standing at the end of a long chain of expansive complexity that began in an explosion of chaos and fire, was stepped down by the formation of individual stars, and then planted into the primordial muck of an atmospherically friendly planet, from there to advance thru the consuming, defecating, reproducing, kill-or-be-killed biology of beasts to the creation of a self-conscious, self-motive being. And yet, conventional evolutionary hypotheses didn’t completely fit with the observable results. There was something about human intelligence - the awareness that allowed him to stand outside of his own thought processes and observe them, critiquing and willing them into certain forms - that seemed non-natural. When compared to the automatism of the rest of existence, human intelligence appeared an alien presence.

His mind drew him to questions of power, and the ways in which it motivated everything. Even the dream of repose in an afterworld was a creation that gave certain types of people a feeling of power and security when confronting the challenges of daily life. Freedom and power were the same, for one without the other was meaningless. Even love and the advocacy of love was a manifestation of power, for love could radically transcend the traps of fear and all that it spawned - hate, envy, jealousy, and the lust for control. Yet only if its source was self-love could it work. Without this there was no love at all, only dependency and manipulation, a mask to conceal unconscious impulses that aimed for something beyond their reach.

He thought about his father, who worked around men and women who lived for nothing but the acquisition and exercise of power over other people. Excluding the purely erotic dimension, this was the worst kind of power there was because it sprang from the inner worm of fear and delusion. The paradox of such a politically motivated life was that those who gained the most power became the ultimate slaves to it, for they were totally dependant upon the willingness of the people to be governed by them. Yet life went on oblivious to who was ‘in charge’. To make their selves seem necessary, politicians had to spin many illusions. Politics was built upon lies, sometimes subtle, sometimes sublime, but usually crude and effective. Those who lived for political power soon lost any vestige of personal authenticity, for if they had any to begin with it was eventually driven out by the need to weigh every word and action upon the scales of victory and defeat in the upcoming elections.

To Werbinox, this loss of freedom was the exact opposite of the kind of power he envisioned. There was no room for dependency upon the perceptions and support of others. Great strength stood alone, and was based on the ability to direct and create one’s self anew. Dreams existed to be manifest into psychic and physical reality.

He was now halfway up the hill. Sweat glistened on his skin. It felt clean and alive. His favorite form of exercise was hiking and rock climbing, which he thought of as adventures. The air around his head gave off tremendous heat, spinning in a vortex up into the sky.

The power inside of him welled up from dark springs and received a new impetus from the outside position within his mind. He had always thought that conflict generated heat, creating sparks similar to electrical synapses in the brain. From the heat of clashes between the instincts and the self-observing intellect - between mind, memory, and emotion; between entities and organizations of entities – came an immense and inexhaustible impulse towards growth and self-overcoming. He observed life and recognized patterns involving the endless organization and re-organization of elements into more complex structures and alliances. This increased complexity produced the paradox of greater strength in some directions, and more weakness in others. A complex life form was able to effect its environment in precise ways, and therefore constituted a more advanced, more dangerous entity. Yet compared to simpler life forms, which replicate and perpetuate their selves with relative ease - being more durable because of their simplicity - complex entities are incredibly sensitive, and easily damaged. Outnumbered by the simple, the complex forms were outcasts amongst the herd nature of biological beings.

Sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes. The clear blue above seemed to deepen in hue, as if growing darker. He wondered if this were a trick of his eyes, caused by the blood pumping thru them. The trees and rocks had a shadowy appearance, similar to a mid-day eclipse. He glanced at the sun, but everything looked normal. Clouds built upon the horizon. The flood of his thought continued.

Endless reorganization could be observed on all levels of existence from the sub-atomic, molecular, biological, psychological, sociological, and the astronomical scale. Molecules banded together to form substances such as rock, gas, water, fire, and cells that banded together to form blood and muscle and skin. The same atomic building blocks were in everything, yet organized differently to produce different results, different realities. Biological entities banded together for safety and power, and formed flocks, herds, tribes, and societies. In the human mind existed a layering from the most basic to the most abstract; from the primitive levels that provided the impetus for the formation of tribes and societies to the more complex levels that produced a rejection of them as artifices that once served an unconscious purpose, yet could now be integrated into consciousness and overcome. The idea of the transcendent and evolving individual as a culture unto his or her self was a relatively new development.

Patterns provided a key to understanding. The organizational process that formed atoms into elements into living entities continued to work thru them, forming herds and societies. Ideas and emotions were welded together to form religions and philosophies, which were then extended to the next generation as a template for the propagation of pre-determined value. Often brute force was used by one society against another in an attempt to expand its all consuming, all synthesizing domain. Within the mind itself ideas and experiences clashed and incorporated into concepts that themselves evolved and expanded outwards for dominion, like viruses.

The heat intensified. Werbinox tore off his shirt as he climbed. The air throbbed with oppressive humidity. The vortex swirled above his head, cooling the sweat on his face and neck. The trees were still and no breeze blew.

Dynamic forces tended to build upon existing structures and patterns that had already stood a test of time and fitness, launching new experimental anomalies from them. As the mutation advanced its stimulus doubled and tripled, its dangers multiplied, and its potential for achieving the shock of awareness increased as it was drawn towards the ecstasy of higher, more complex states. Friction produced sparks. Like a frenzied lightning storm the sparks became so hot and so frequent that they threatened to outrun the capacity of matter to build a suitable substratum to support and contain their dance of energy. Driven by necessity, the receiver shaped itself to accommodate the power of the signal and created a biological structure in which the tumultuous energies of the universal process became compact in one organ – the human brain.

Creative friction formed a subjective universe within an objective universe biological structure, and raged and expanded its boundaries with storm after storm. The first truly human brain stood at the end of a long process, and at the beginning of another. Did it exist to elevate that which was underneath, or to house and manifest the descent of that which was above? Or to synthesize both in the middle? It was a mystery.

This level of self-awareness, perpetuated in potentia thru countless generations, was merely a base for the ongoing great experiment. In a drive to reach more stimulating heights in the subjective universe, the lightning storm of the mind expanded outwards to form connections that never before existed. To Werbinox the perfect analogy was the computer. The universe itself, like the first room-sized computers, had advanced thru endless trial and error to a smaller, more compact state. The brain was like the computer chip. All of its focused energy somehow became self-aware, learned to perceive itself as a discreet entity, said “I”, and knew itself to be unique. At last the motive force of the Kosmos could look upon itself as from the top of a pyramid, standing upon its own subconscious base of molded and unified forms, looking on the universe it had shaped from atop a tower it built without ever knowing what it was doing, yet did mindlessly as Will.

Of course, one could not leave out sex as the fount of life. All animals were manifestations of the sex drive itself. They all emerged from a male orgasm at the very least. Every person that Werbinox saw had a grimacing face and spurting organ behind them. There was no getting around it. In an attempt to control the wellspring of sexual energy, moralists and priests attempted to gain power over the minds and bodies of people by prohibiting most forms of this awesome power. The effects were much the same as prohibition.

Werbinox shuddered. If anything was ‘evil’ it was organized religion. Hiding behind all of its rigmarole was a hostility to life itself. Life against life – who woulda thunk it! When faced with such a contest one had to take sides. Werbinox chose life - the freedom of the mind and soul. To be forever punished for not believing one way or another was akin to being punished for a thought crime. Any so called “God” who would cast him into the fire for what was in his mind was the dark lord himself! Werbinox believed none of it. It was all rubbish.

A great many minds had passed beyond the religious neurosis. Humankind walked a razor’s edge between animal instinct and superconsiousness, constantly transforming the world into its own torn image. This image danced to two rhythms, expansion and contraction, fire and ice, growth and decay. Both rhythms were creative. Both acted as motive forces in art, psychology, philosophy, religion, and politics. Working in tandem within nature, they often expressed conflict when manifesting in human thought and behavior. Some individuals seemed to be evolution incarnate, advancing civilization as a side effect of their very passionate and personal work. Some embodied the death impulse, infecting the culture with self-destructive tendencies, actions, and values, even as they claimed to be agents of freedom and progress. Growth and decay were both legitimate and necessary sides to existence, but a person had to know where they stood. Far too many never realized they had even made a choice.

The motive principle that an individual represents shows itself most decisively in the way they assert their drive for power, betraying whether they operate from strength and self-confidence, or from weakness and fear. The strong man stands alone, not requiring power over others. The weak man seeks out any advantage, however slight, to feel superior to others, never realizing how small he makes himself in the process. Being a void, finding no value on the inside, he has to endlessly measure himself against others. This puts him in competition mode for a lifetime, driving him to always seek recognition, honors, and fame. He hates solitude, for he does not exist within it. The strong man, conversely, revels in solitude, disdaining the habit of superfluous comparisons. Sufficient unto himself, he displays the necessary egoism of the artist and sovereign as his natural state. He knows not guilt or fear from the exercise of being himself, yet lowers his head in reverence to the labyrinthine mysteries of the greater Self and all of existence.

Jumping on top of a rock, Werbinox shouted into the space before him:

“Let the gods envy me, for I am the source from which they feed!
Let the wretched haters sink into the whirlpool of their own depredations!
Let them flee from me as from the evil one!”

He jumped down into the tangle of weeds and briars. The vortex roared silently around his head. Not a single leaf stirred. It seemed odd, but he couldn’t be bothered. His thoughts had his full attention.

Nature had taken a short cut and quantum leap toward itself in the mind of man, and discovered with the newly born power of choice that it could swim against the current if it chose to, and cut against the grain if that was its desire. An individual was not a slave to the multitudes, nor to the culture he or she was born into. An individual could possess so many variables from other human beings as to constitute a different specie altogether. This was what the herd called a deviant.

All moralities that Werbinox had examined thus far seemed to overwhelmingly side with what had already been achieved and established. They always sided with the herd by virtue of its mathematical preponderance. He subscribed to a far different morality, a morality that promoted the mutations - all those who were becoming - an evolutionary morality that paved the way for higher, freer, more powerful human beings. If they happened to topple the encrusted edifice that stood in their way, so be it! If they inaugurated a riotous, spring-like chaos of freedom, so much the better!

New pyramids awaited the form giving powers of man. New technologies pressed forward from the harnessed storms of the mind. Even now the building went on. To what goal or purpose nobody knew. Perhaps without purpose, only the dance and play of power itself, rising and falling, cycling back to itself, enlarging the circle a little more each time. Life existed to discharge its energy, consumption being mere supply and preparation. Near misses and spectacular failures were everywhere. Organic and psychological structures were not always sound, the unities not always harmonious, the alliances not always healthy, the ruling drives all too often self-destructive.

‘When will the builders come with sufficient power and vision to correct the faulty plan, to bend the straightened line, and to bless Life and all that Is as joyous and sacred? Who will smash the failed frames of religions and philosophies to free human minds and hearts for their very best strivings? Who will teach men and women to not only live for themselves, but to be as those who are worthy of living for themselves? Who will teach them to transform their selves into the image of their deepest, most necessary and creative desires? Who will be strong enough to siphon of the brute and stupid into constructive channels? Who will teach people that to take charge of their own evolution is the greatest work?’

The roaring in his ears had ceased, and all was quiet. The sensation of the vortex above his head was gone.

The tangled forest closed about him tightly near the summit. What seemed so fragile next to the void of space and gas and rock was also a remorseless flow of brown, green, and red from an inexhaustible well of forms. Fluttering wings of black and yellow butterflies whipped the air into soft waves. Solar rays penetrated the canopy of hardwoods and pines as thru a cathedral ceiling, illuminating the colors of the forest as on a day a thousand years ago, or into the future. Time contracted and became meaningless. Eternity was now as it always had been, was, and would be.

At the summit the entanglement peeled back to expose a rock outcropping. One lone tree grew out of the rock, driving its thick roots thru cracks into the soil beneath. Straining skyward with a seemingly frozen dynamic tension, it looked as if it where trying to pull the mountain even higher.

Werbinox climbed atop the rock and gazed into the valley. Objects that had before so dominated his field of vision as to constitute the entire horizon now dropped away to reveal the wide and rugged expanses beyond.

A wall of air suddenly slammed into his body, threatening to knock him off the rock onto the jagged, weed strewn protrusions beneath. Regaining his balance he saw the storm crossing the near ranges, its ominous curtain of darkness ripped by shreds of light. Thunder rolled in barrels and drums across the valley.

“Yes!” Shouted Werbinox. “Bring it on!”

As if responding to the command of his voice, a bolt of lightning flashed before him, tracers meeting in the exact spot upon which his vision was fixed.

‘This is for me’, he thought, feeling delirious. Lifting his arms (wings) he felt himself divide in two – an absolute stillness and the projection away from it. The storm intensified.

A strand of cloud broke off from the rest and floated towards him, silhouetted against the advancing wall of lightning. Elongating into a predatory shape, it extended a sharp pointed nose, and opened a gaping maw rimmed with teeth. Two holes appeared as eyes, radiating a soulless black. It swam thru the ocean of air with the inexorable rhythm of an attack.

‘This is just a dream!’ He thought, a strange word springing from his lips and passing into the wind.

The shark dove and swallowed him in its belly of mist. Reflections of thoughts danced upon the pixilated canvass. A light bulb popped in front of his eyes and inside his head. The bolt struck the tree behind him, blowing him off the boulder onto the brambles below. Excruciating waves of pain.

The predator was gone, torn in tatters by the wind. Werbinox picked himself up from the ground. The gale was full force upon him. Trees bent in half beneath the hissing torrent of rain. Gripped by elation, he was not worried. Everything would be fine.

As hail showered down from the turbulent heights, Werbinox ran down the hillside laughing. This was not a dream. This was life! Lightning struck all around him.

By the time he reached the bottom the storm was over. He ran home across the wet field.

Passages: Into the Dream

Werbinox sat in a wicker chair beneath a tree, a Monarch butterfly flapping around his head. Warm on his skin, the sun reflected off the freshly mown grass. Fat cumulus clouds drifted thru the afternoon sky. Leaves fell curled and colored at his feet. Looking up he saw the old man sitting across from him in a chair that was identical.

“Greetings, my boy! How are you feeling on this fine day?”

“Much better than I was. I still can’t remember very much.” Werbinox said.

“Be gentle with yourself. The memories will return in their own good time. It is a tremendous thing you have done. You deserve a vacation.”

“I got pretty far out there, didn’t I?” He asked.

“Past the point of no return.” The old man said. “And yet you returned.”

“Did I?” Werbinox asked. “I don’t feel like the same person.”

“You are and you are not. That’s the nature of change. Solve et coagula. You can only manifest once. Every time after that is a remanifestation. Find that which runs thru all of it.”

“I can still feel him in me.” Werbinox said. “His ego is gone but his energy remains. It pulls me in certain directions at times, but I no longer fear it or fight it. The gulf between the polarities is as wide as ever, but it doesn’t split me in two.”

“That is a life condition that you will learn to better control and utilize with time. You are a unique case of a universal condition of sapience. The hero wears many different faces.”

“Including his own nemesis?” Werbinox asked.

The old man smiled. He seemed very tired, his complexion an ashen gray. Producing two cigars he handed one to Werbinox, along with a box of wooden matches.
“You have made incredible progress, and I am very proud of you.” He said.

Werbinox lit his cigar, puffing smoke above his head. Looking around he saw figures in white shirts and pants walking slowly and aimlessly thru the surrounding trees and lawns. Some glanced at him with recognition, their faces strange yet familiar. Facing the old man he felt disconnected from time, a symbol on a Tarot card.

“I’m not sure what is going on. I seem to have awoken from a dream. Or into one.”

“How do you feel about that?” The old man asked, his face crinkling.

“Good but weird.” He replied after a moment’s thought. “There seem to be many different personalities inside me making new alliances and friendships. Some things are resolving, and others are not. Some are left hanging without any explanation at all. I feel I’ve accomplished something, but it isn’t anything I can share with anybody. I hold a gem that only I recognize as priceless.”

“Welcome to the next level. Would you care for some wine fermented from grapes grown in the best unknown vineyard anywhere?”

“Very much.” Werbinox said, accepting the jug the old man handed him. It flowed pure ambrosia down his throat, blossoming tendrils of peace and celebration. The sound of music drifted from over the horizon.

“I have been gone so long.” He said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “What is happening out there?”

“With the disease removed, the inexhaustibility of the organism has reasserted in all dimensions, curing itself in ways beyond our wildest estimations. We are reconstructing here and there, yet largely stay out of the way. A stream flows clear again once the thrashing is over.”

“So we rise from the dark valley?” Werbinox said.

“Yes we do.” The old man responded. “Yet in the rise the paths to the next chasm are laid. Such are the perpetual oscillations of life.”

“What about the city?”

“With more people comes more politics. New movements spring up everyday. They are insignificant now, but soon they will be annoying. So many do not see that politics, and the currents of racism and religion it absorbs as fuel for its will to power, is the externalization of inner conflict with the hidden parts of the psyche. What do you fear and hate? It is all your own energy projected onto other people as the imagined source of your misery. It is so much easier to lay blame at the feet of others than to face the self in the glory and horror of its full complicity.”

Vapor trails streaked overhead. The distant music became more raucous. The butterfly flapped manically around Werbinox, stimulated by the cigar smoke. Sensing rather than seeing them, a crowd of people gathered at the edge of the lawn behind him.


“What can we do about this?” He asked, sipping his wine. A young girl with long blonde hair walked on the periphery of his vision. He had seen her face before. Did he know her? She blew him a kiss.

“Not much.” The old man said. “Whatever you do it has to be individual, else you become just another cell in the collective beast. Make your life as full, rewarding, and self-directed as you can. Right there is your success. Perhaps it will inspire others to do the same in their own way. The more who seek self-awareness thru initiation into their own mysteries, the less there will be who need the palliative of governmental politics, which never solves anything because resolution is not its purpose or goal, rather the endless misdirection of passions and prejudices for personal gain.”

“Shit stirring!”

“Exactly.” The old man toasted him with his wine.

“You once told me my initiation was complete. But it is never really finished, is it?” Werbinox said.

“Not unless you are, and by that I don’t mean your physical demise. The walking dead are legion. Slow suicide is their method. Consumed in the cowardice of chronic self-deception and thought crushing narcotization, they wait for circumstances and the accumulated effects of abuse to do the job for them. That is no way to die, and certainly no way to live.

“People of all ages and experience levels still have a lot of growing up to do, and this is not the same as growing old, which is defined by increasing restriction, hardening of well established, insufficiently challenged views; the erection of a fortress mentality, No to this, No to that, No-No-No! To the contrary, growing up is a process of inward and outward growth. For every No over here there should be a Yes over there, an opening up to new perceptions, new challenges, new people; an examination and utilization of previously undiscovered and underdeveloped emotions, abilities, and talents; a ceaseless drive to enter into your own mysteries and bring forth into conscious being your greatest, most creative and productive self for the benefit of not only yourself, but for the nurturing, protection, and evolutionary advancement of all intelligent life within your sphere of influence. Growing up, then, is initiation; a life-long and perhaps eternal process of being-becoming-being that, once it resolves to a new and higher level, begins all over again. It is a path of mastery applied to yourself as your most important work.

“Even when transported to a different location, the current culture is no friend to growing up. It even conspires against it! Instant gratification, the quick fix, easy score, getting away with it mentality is not compatible with the long-term psychology of growth thru commitment and adversity that is necessary for true initiation to take place. Nothing less than a consciousness revolution can rectify the gross imbalance of this society, and such things are difficult to predict if not impossible to engineer. The time is right, or it is not. Many think they can read the signs of a change, and are all too often wrong. For something to rise, something must fall. The insatiably materialistic, mindlessly patriotic, militaristic, great power chauvinistic, shut-up-and-get-in-line fascistic, succeed at all costs winner take all ethos that fuels your culture along with technology addiction, substance abuse, and fear based fundamentalist religion must lead to its inevitable dead end and crash and burn for any substantial, culture wide consciousness revolution to occur. The god that you get is the god that you feed, and whether people turn to a machine, a pill, a guru, or a savior to make things seem better, real and substantive change comes only from sustained personal effort. The reward is shaped from within, not granted from without.

“Older cultures understood the value and power of rites of passage in a way modern culture has not a clue about. A child cannot face the trials of young adulthood, with its tempests of hormones and emotions coupled with increasing responsibilities, as a child. To inaugurate a new state of mind, rituals and tests were used to initiate the young into a new and more difficult stage of life. Comprising a being-becoming-being progression in miniature, the rite of passage is a microcosm of the extended challenges ahead. Actual changes are not wrought during the rite of passage, but the basis of the psychological state necessary for change is laid, so that when the actual trials come the initiate can face them as a young adult, not a developmentally delayed child. The older rites of passage made sure to test loyalty to cultural expectations by demanding stoicism in the face of fear and pain. Fighting, floggings, the plunging of fists into hornet nests, the wearing of ant filled gloves, the hunting and killing of ferocious animals, deprivation based vision quests, all of them employed danger, agony, and overwhelming emotion. Leaving aside the possible sadism of the elders, the point was to sear the lesson of transition and obligation into the minds of the next generation, and to test and demonstrate the power of a social hold already established!

“New rites of passage need not be quite so endangering, yet they must make a lasting impression. The young do not respect that which fails to overwhelm. A purely symbolic ritual, devoid of any fear, pain, or test of endurance is counter-productive, for it inspires a sense of contempt for one’s culture that may be deserved. New rites also need not be uniform and monolithic. A free and pluralistic society can support many different coming of age rituals. And as libertarians like you and your father recognize, some individuals are aware of their own transitions, and do not require collectively sanctioned rites to help them cross the threshold. In all questions of social and cultural renewal, however, it must be remembered that such individuals are the exception, not the rule. The vast majority are highly influenced by what other people think, and this fact must be utilized for the benefit of all concerned.

“Exiting childhood and entering adulthood is anything but the only time of transition. Failure to recognize this is an expensive failure for any civilization. Young adulthood is of course full of many rites of passage such as falling in love, getting married, starting a career, childbirth, going to war, and so on. Yet somewhere around the mid to late 30’s or early 40’s a new life transition occurs. The illusory rainbows of youth fade with the hard-edged realization that you will not live forever. The face of mortality reveals itself with definable features! Facing the challenges of this new stage of life with the mindset of the young adult leads to deep depression, denial, delusion, and disaster. Where is the rite of passage to help inaugurate the requisite psychology to not only survive this stage of life, but to magically utilize its power and beauty for the accomplishment of goals and dreams beyond the reach and realization of the young adult? Usually it comes in the form of an unplanned and undesired event, a sudden illness, a divorce, the collapse of a career, the death of a loved one, the death of a dream. Much melancholy and darkness can accompany the passage to mid-life, but those who grasp it with the proper attitude and strength of will discover that it can be life’s greatest time. Fresh challenges are undertaken, and old shackles cast aside. It is a time of new freedoms, loves, and realizations. You may start your own business, publish a book, buy a house, tour the world, run for office, climb a mountain, and become yourself. Whatever you are going to do, now is a good time to do it. Many who stay a course set earlier discover that this is when the rewards of steady commitment begin to appear. Others start new paths by granting themselves permission to finally be what they want to be, and are. It must not be overlooked, however, that much of the fruitful and creative energy of this stage comes from an underlying and potential chaos of financial, mental, emotional, sexual, and spiritual breakdowns, and the facing of ever-present, pitiless truths. Many seek help in making the passage to this stage of life long after they have already entered it, turning to various spiritualities and religions, civic organizations, or initiatory orders. The near-automatic magic of youth no longer works, and a new, more conscious approach must be formulated. Some fail to make the transition at all. Clinging to the methods of a life that no longer exists, they knowingly or unknowingly choose death, going down in a blaze of bitterness, drug abuse, emotional and physical violence, resignation, and despair.

“Whether the most beautiful and productive, the ugliest, or both, eventually you realize the tragedies and triumphs of middle age are over, and the trials of old age have begun. Where are the rites of passage to inaugurate this supreme challenge? Retirement? Managed care? The nursing home? Forgive my bleakness here, but modern culture offers little else. I am not talking about the healthy extension of active life that may in certain cases penetrate well into the 80’s or 90’s, but the physical, emotional, and spiritual reality of old age as it manifests in each individual regardless of biological time. Some ease gradually into this stage, while many others wake up into it as a living nightmare from one drastic incident, when they have in fact been a resident of it for quite some time. The duration of health thru medicine, diet, and exercise does not eradicate the existence of old age, or the need for a meaningful transition into it. Physical and mental incapacity do not in themselves an elder make.

“What is the magically effective psychology for old age? How can it be formulated at the right time and cast forward into the future and beyond? Like every other stage of life it too must have its purpose, and that purpose will be as varied as the individuals who animate it. Yet in essence the purpose is two-fold: to dispense the kind of wisdom and guidance that only elders can give from their hard-earned vantage point, and to courageously face the greatest transition of all. As with any stage of life there are good and bad here, the capable and the incapable, the wise and the foolish. But the good, capable, and wise are our indispensable chiefs, teaching us what they know, setting an example for all of us to emulate in our own way when and if we are lucky enough to reach that stage ourselves.

“Running thru all of these transitions is the thread of initiation to guide us thru the inner and outer labyrinths of existence. Rites of passage are but a tool for the initiatory process, a template for the dynamic assigning and re-assigning of value necessary for a productive and advantageous determination of one’s own reality in cycles of metamorphosis. The initiate, who is the true explorer of self and life, must periodically withdraw into hidden realms and sacred spaces where energies collide and transformations occur amid great dangers and annihilating illuminations. Then he or she must return to mundane life with the elixir won to transform the world around them. This is the hero’s adventure. Your world needs more heroes, and must therefore train people to be heroes – first and foremost to their own selves.

“There!” The old man said with a flourish, putting aside his empty glass and extinguished cigar stub. “Now you have some ideas you can use to inaugurate a consciousness revolution. Of course, activating them requires one in itself. But I yammer on, and the hour grows late.”

The roar of massive applause drifted from over the horizon with strange acoustical distortion. The crowd of people at the gate behind him grew larger. The butterfly landed restfully on the back of his left hand. Werbinox lifted the smoking cigar to his mouth with his right.

“Old age is not the final stage.” He said.

“Death is.” Said the old man. “And a first.”

The butterfly flew off, disappearing into the autumn shadows. Chimes, bells, and echoing voices.

“Will I ever see you again?” Werbinox asked.

“Not like this. But don’t worry. Those who belong find their way back to the table.”

The old man stood. The haunting sound of a violin lilted poignantly thru the trees. Leaning over, he kissed Werbinox on the forehead.

“You have your new work ahead of you, but my work is over and my time is finished. I must go and conduct my own rite of passage.”

“I love you, ya know.” Werbinox said, a tear running down his cheek.

“All was lost but then regained.” The old man said. “I was nearly expelled for my methods, yet you came thru like I hoped you would. Working with you has been a nightmare and an honor, a terror and a joy. I love you, too.”

He turned and walked slowly away. The chair he had sat in was gone.

Images rose from the grass, faces bulging, wings flapping, hillsides burning, pyramids rising, flapping naked breasts. The gate was opened. People filed across the lawn towards him. Goosebumps rippled his flesh.

“Wait a minute!” he called out. “Is this real? Was any of it?”

“As real as anything.” The old man said, looking back. “And more than you think.”

“What about you?” Werbinox asked.

“Me?” He said, laughing. “Why, I am just a figment of your imagination.”

Sadomasochism in Christianity

“I see sadomasochism in the founding myth of Christianity. The Redeemer offers up the sacrifice of his body for the salvation of the human race. Out of love for us he willingly endures our worst abuse, whipped naked in the streets, spat upon, called names, laughed and screamed at, made to wear a crown of thorns. It’s the ultimate sub-masochist fantasy, complete with the idea that he is also the ultimate power. He endures this abuse willingly, and really, the only way I could endure such pain is to turn it to my advantage – to transform it into pleasure with sexual energy. Finally he is murdered in a gruesome fashion, and in the extinguishing of his mortal self the god is brought to spiritual perfection. The price of sin is paid and our collective wickedness is absorbed in ultimate softness, i.e. forgiveness, which has classically been associated with femininity. Yet here the orthodox tradition gives us the typically overdone counter-reaction of those who cannot reconcile themselves to their sexual nature. The Redeemer returns from his cosmic / metaphysical orgasm as a vengeful, rigid, hyper-masculine, punishing god, bent upon casting into the lake of fire all those who dare not accept his love. It reads like the revenge fantasy of a spurned, unbalanced lover who now feels post-orgasmic shame at his soft, submissive, all forgiving side. Its exactly how I used to be in my younger years, trying to hide this side of myself with exaggerated behavior, and the whole thing stinks of immaturity, fear, and sexual repression.”

“That’s because the Christian religion is the creation of immature, repressed, misogynistic men.” She said. “Except for Jesus himself who, if he actually existed, was supposedly tender towards women. The disciples were intensely male chauvinist. It’s a given that they would hate and deny the feminine side of themselves. They saw their messiah-king killed like a common criminal, a weakling, so they had to invent his masculine, war-like revenge for a future time.”

Aligning with the Genius

The idea of personal evolution has fascinated me for a long time. Quite apart from theories of species evolution, which require great spans of time, personal evolution must occur in my lifetime. So how can it? What does it mean to "evolve" myself? More to the point, what is it exactly that evolves?

I can strengthen and sustain my biology with diet and exercise, but I cannot evolve it beyond its current genetic parameters without the aid of technology. This is in fact central to a current vision of human evolution - a progressive melding of biology with technology. Yet, to me, this only highlights the fact that human technology is what is evolving, not human beings themselves. This technological evolution is rapid, and plain for all to see. What a human being actually is, in terms of a conscious, self-aware "master of destiny" does not seem to be fundamentally changed by this increasing reliance on evolving technology, and is if anything threatened with a devolution that comes from the increasing laziness, dependency, and mindlessness associated with addiction in general, technology addiction being no exception. A caveman with an SUV, a cell phone, and mood alterations in pill form is no more evolved than a caveman without them.

Technology evolution, then, is not synonymous with the evolution of what a human being is, and may possibly be in an individual lifetime. I have come to a realization that personal evolution means one thing precisely - the evolution of consciousness. By consciousness I mean the self-aware consciousness by which "I" direct and order my experience of life, and the multitudinous capacities of my greater psyche. This Aware self is what is "me", so evolving myself means evolving it. This entails strengthening and extending its directing power to the realms of my mind that are as yet beyond my awareness and ability to directly influence. The more aspects of my psyche that remain unconscious, the more they can control me in ways I am not even aware of. "Spirituality" then is a progressive effort to strengthen and extend consciousness, not only to the objective universe, but to the as-yet hidden parts of the greater Self. This is also what I mean when I write about "bringing myself into Being".

Consciousness can only evolve consciously. It cannot evolve unconsciously. "Nature" will not do it for me, and actually tends to work against it. Evolving my consciousness involves working "against" the all too easy and instinctive automatism of nature. This takes work and commitment. It is safe to say that most people do not undertake such work, and are unaware that it even exists. Consciousness is generally taken for granted. Why work for something you ostensibly already have? My current thoughts and observations cause me to think that people are in fact not nearly as conscious as they think they are (and I do not leave myself out of this equation) "Know Thyself" is common property as a phrase, but not as a reality. What will people not deceive themselves with when it comes to themselves? I think the biggest obstacle to progressive self-awareness is the idea that it is already possessed. I myself am just beginning to discover that there is no end to what I can learn about myself, and no end to what I can improve according to the designs of my conscious will.

I celebrate the human ability to alter matter with intellectually created designs and work. But to stop there is to accept what I perceive to be an unacknowledged premise: that consciousness itself is a fully developed and therefore static quantity / quality, and all that is needed is to shape the objective universe to its creations. Yet Consciousness itself, our very essence as human beings, needs to be evolved as well, and our unique capacity for self-analyzing, critical, formative Awareness is equipped to shape and modify the subjective universe of the very psyche it inhabits. The idea of evolving one’s own individual consciousness as a sustained way of life, however, is almost entirely unheard of in our culture, which marches forth to conquer the material universe and other people, oblivious to the more crucial self-mastery that is the actual basis of freedom and self-government.

Esoteric philosophies in general are different “road maps” for using the power of consciousness to affect inner self-transformation, which is largely meaningless unless understood as the quest for greater consciousness. I can become more "natural" i.e. less conscious and more instinctive (more animal) or more "non-natural" i.e. more conscious and more human (perhaps even more than human!) Those are the essential parameters.

Some basic exercises I have done are - making the resolution for a week to become fully aware every time I walk thru a doorway / climb steps / or drive thru an intersection. This is surprisingly difficult to do every time, and I kept notes on my progress. This practice doesn’t necessarily produce any great revelations, but the point is to make the mind do what I will it to do - to become Present when commanded. Later I worked to sustain self-awareness for longer periods, no matter what I was doing. I still do this, and it too is difficult to sustain. The mind wants to wander away on its own. I also apply this to governing my motions in the simplest things, from how I place my feet when walking, doing dishes, throwing things away, opening doors, trying to do everything as smoothly and efficiently as possible. All this is the basis for more ambitious goals to be set later.

Some of these methods have been known for centuries as Magic, which is not, of course, the commonly known mundane art of stage illusions, but the art of the "Magi", or "Magus", who, like the alchemists, seek to create "gold" (divine consciousness) out of "base metals" (animalistic semi-consciousness) This is also the Magic forbidden by monotheism, precisely because its goal is none other than the creation of a god-like state for the individual here on earth, not as a “grace” from another power, but as a willed effort from within the self.

I have some experience with this type of thing, and can say that so-called "magical power" is the conscious power of the Imagination employed to effect willed changes in the psyche, all for the goal of achieving the evolution of individual consciousness to a more self-directed state of awareness and ability (Greater Magic) This kind of thing is also about entering one’s own mysteries willingly as means of catalyzing fresh consciousness extension.

The Egyptians referred to gods and god-forms as "neters". For humans the Pharaoh was originally the only one thought to have his own personal neter, but eventually this idea was applied to most everyone. I relate this god-form to the idea of a superconsciousness, which may be a largely untapped potential for organization of thought and creativity that exists "above" and beyond everyday consciousness, but as a path to a “higher self” within each individual mind. To evolve my consciousness ultimately means progressively activating and accessing my own superconsciousness, bringing it more and more into my daily experience, or rather aligning my everyday consciousness more with it. To do this is to manifest my neter, which the Greeks called the "daemon", and the Romans called the "genius".

My current operating formula is expressed in this saying of my own: to progressively discover, activate, and manifest my own genius is the meaning and purpose of my life

Whatever I must do to pursue this, I will do it. Increased self-awareness shows me that at any given time one thing is more necessary than another, hence my dedication to finishing and publishing my book. This is part of an over-arching transformation of myself and my life. As I progress and change, the thing that is most necessary for me to do will change also. If I am successful, I will know when and what this new thing is, and proceed accordingly. Therefore everything that I go on to do (and to not do) is predicated on a progressive discovering and manifesting my own genius as a sustained way of life.

Hail Set!

-Werbinox II*