The Faux Pas Press #192: In Love with the Void

There is void in the space that we do not occupy and there is a smudge in the space we do. Our occupied space in this invisible interchange of energies is a gift. Our inclusion in the human experience, not matter how insignificant it may feel or how painful the cuts, is a measure of God's love - eve this smudge upon the void. We feel the weight of happenings, we tell the stories of hurt, we circle the wagons at the sight of danger; but the greatest of gift of any is our simple occupation of the void. So, we give our thanks when the story seems favorable, we lurk and scheme and maneuver when it does not. We often pay little attention to our behavior. Our thanks welcomes helpers unseen to the naked eye. I think our behavior is the only way to show that we occupy the space in gratitude. Our behavior recognizes our relation to the All-powerful Creator.

I sit quietly sometimes looking at the faces of those around me; I am filled with sorrow to think that anyone, anywhere would experience anything but goodness. So in mourning with those that morn, we see relics of treasures with a glassy and antique rouge. We strike an awareness pose on any infraction that we have committed. A sudden sneer can quickly become your crime. There are not too many dark places on the border that I fear. But I do fear the result of behavior. Will they be working with you this time around? Or will you be working against them? There is no way to say that I love more so I must be clear about my behavior. What I mean to say is, "If you stop for a moment, inhale the same air as those you have despised. If you taken a moment, breathe, and say a silent prayer for those around you, and if you give, without thought of return, gazing innocently into the void, you will see it. You will see the resonance of all of creation oscillating with you."

Your hopes and dreams gradually sift out the wheat from the tares. Your thoughts materialize around and the experience is pure. Why is it that some do and some do not? Is it a universe of threats puncturing the ether around you? Or is it our unwillingness to see others with this awareness? Do we offer smug criticism when we ought to offer hope and encouragement? Do we offer nails when those who need us clearly lack a hammer? I can not say that I know the truth of many things. I can say that I see only a percentage of the truth. I think I see the truth but I do not. And it is a breathtaking experience to stop and admit to myself that I do not, and in so doing, see the void. And in that void, that place where I can admit that I do not actually know the truth about anyone, I am in love.

The Faux Pas Press #191: Colors of Rusty Ruins

 

Victory does not happen all at once. Sometimes it does find you all at once I suppose. But gradually victory has little meaning when it is only celebrated by oneself. And I don't mean to say that you can't experience victory alone. And I'm not saying that your should guilt your more successful friends into talking to you; the rationale being that they 'shouldn't forget the little people'. I mean if you have to forget the little people and have victory all alone then fucking do it. I don't think many in our culture would fulfill a semblance of their dreams if they didn't break the ties of home. So, by all means, break ties if you must. And forget about the little people. They are only has little as they want to be. If a loved one gives up then that is on them. Victory can be had in many strokes. Usually it doesn't come in one big stroke. (Disclaimer* - I don't pretend to know victory at all. Failure seems more common and expectations lowered often seem more fulfilling.) But if you are like me (and if you are reading then I assume that you are), you probably find little fulfillment in even considerable achievements. My argument today is that you should.

Building, building, and building upon private victory, soon you find yourself in high points, overlooking the treacherous land you've braved to reach it. We pray and falter along the road, trying to find the perfect moment under the Sun. It does happen sometimes, doesn't it? But here I am listening to the chimes of Internet Radio, lounging while my brothers sleep, trying to find victory in some way. What do I know?

Home is closest while away. Time is most precious when tomorrow is not guaranteed. Our strides are bravest when we feel cowardly. And the definition of bravery then becomes the amount of positive action taken when we feel the most frightened. So, that is it then. Bravery is greatest in the presence of great fear. So, we choke back tears who should have poured but didn't. We breathe air as if it is our last. We prepare the way for those to come and we write our journals; we fill the pages for our children so they can face the darkness. We fill the pages of our history to share wisdom we may have learned through sad experience. Our greatest prayer being that our children may be kinder to themselves and others than we have been to ourselves. Light streams to all of us. Some hide it and others do not. So are the colors of rusty ruins we leave - some still holding their luminescence.

The Faux Pas Press #190: Shake Like a Fat Man Shaking a Vending Machine

 

And the Fool looked upon the creations of his hands. And the Fool saw that all the works of his life were in the shackles of lucid vanity; And he saw how his heart had been betrayed on so many occasions. And worst of all he saw that he was to blame for most of the wreckage caused, most of the trouble in the souls of God's children.

So, the Fool strolled through neon-lit bars in strange towns. He strolled up and down the littered streets of Korean Red Light districts that he had tried for years to forget. He put down drinks priced unreasonably. The charm of snaggle-toothed women led him to betray himself mirroring their charm with the power bestowed upon him by the Council of Mages. He knew before the World began what he was to do, but for days, he had forgotten. For years, he had forgotten. And so he walked and walked and walked. And so he breathed the brightening air of high elevation. (Going higher doesn't necessarily mean that you go higher.) Still troubled, the Fool sat still for moments at a time and slowly learned to do this for days. He pondered, "I must have forgotten something. Surely, surely, there must be a reason for all of it. Surely, there are those who love me and others who I can love. There must be others worth loving. Surely, there must be children crying."

One day, as the Fool sat upon the Mullah's footstool in Zabul Province - he looked out upon the Graveyard of Dreams. He remembered. He could be still. And the voice the Magician echoed through out this hallow and desolate land, and the Fool was emblazoned, quickened by the energy in all things. And so he remembered. "You were born for this purpose!" And so the Earth shook like a fat man shakes a vending machine. "They've been watching you, boy - those who stand and wait. The thousands of unborn, waiting for that one act of bravery, waiting for that one shot in the darkness to bring light to desolate places. And, oh, the stories that you have told yourself. Oh, the ridiculous lies that you have sucked upon. Oh, what you have done to yourself. You've taken and taken. All the dirty nights of posture you given. What of your promises? What of your beloved? Stand, Fool, and take up your satchel, take your Carpenter's Square, and take up your compass."

And so the Fool went about the rest of his days in service to God's children. And spoke daily to those who stand and wait. And the tears baptized the Earth. And the innocent saw goodness. And the wicked saw light. And the children felt hope. And the women felt magik. And for a brief moment, mankind was at one. The troubles of others were no more. And the family was together. And the brothers gave oaths. And everything started again - anew. And every kingdom would see the errors. And patrons of selves became the patrons others. And they would serve. And they would serve - those who stand and wait.  They also serve who only stand and wait.

The Faux Pas Press #189: The Fool Inherits the Magic Spear of Lugh

Zulu Couture Chaos now reading between the line of physical worldly expressions. And at the helm of its orchestration is a wizard from beyond, the "One Who Lives One Hundred Years". He places his hands upon the Fool and blesses him with the fortitude to stay pure and focused, unscathed with the torments of the flesh. And so, after blessing the Fool with good wealth and health, he travels on.

The Afghanistan Highlands play backdrop to wandering nomads breaching international borders, and ecstatic as they are to cross over, their fear must flow over the edges. Toe to toe must not be the way to go - at least not anymore. We carry the Spear of Destiny in a case beneath my bed for crying out loud. Would you want to fuck around with that?

 The Band of Bearded Unrighteous Brethren dip the balances of Athena's Scale and the Celtic gods incarnated again in each of us. Not knowing where tomorrow will take us, living on higher vibrations and spirited prayers, the Band Bearded Unrighteous Brethren tackle each day with serenity, courage, and wisdom.

 That is important because I used to know this girl in Carmel, California where Clint Eastwood lives and the snooty-tooty bitches roam luxury stores. She was the one who spoke of the higher vibrations. "You are more than just that Subway sandwich you eat," Purple Goddess said. "You are what you eat," was the programmed response ingrained through years of government sponsored public health initiatives. "You are what you eat. You are what you eat. Are you going to eat that? OMG, I can't believe you're going to eat that." What she reminded me of was an important update from the ultra-dimensional mainframe. She reminded me that no one node on the endocrine hierarchy can determine the makeup of existence. That power in one chakra does not indicate power in the next. So, we reject these notions that eating prison food makes us less worthy of the gods. Besides, Chambo Fresh has the Magic Spear of Lugh beneath folds of a cloth under his freaking bed. Would you want to fuck around with that?

So these are the totems that Chambo would inherit from the gods. And so for the remainder of the Fall, he protected himself and those around him. He worked steadily on worthy aims, completing all of his sigils, and letting no one interfere. He began to let go more than other people would let go. In their minds, 'letting go' was surrender, but he had no need to surrender. He had only to let go. Not making a list of things he must do to achieve and to matter, but rather, making a list of all the things a man must do to inherit the Earth, to watch the morning come in with the tides of San Diego, to watch the Oracle's of the Northern Sky sing ballads to his safe return. And this was the story of Chambo during the Fall of the 13th hour. He would let the promotion come close without forcing it. The Eastern characters would possess him and doing their bidding would not be a challenge.

 

The Faux Pas Press #188: Heirophant Smith, Jr.

Talk being the cheapest expression of what REALLY is, there seems to be some confusion here regarding where we ALL are going; convincingly enough, we seem to be coolest when rejecting orthodoxy is our token and embracing heterodoxy is our footstool. Some practitioners of the sacred arts, reject ego as their EGO persists in the most subtle and peculiar ways. We reject suits, dresses, and churches; we embrace feathers, tattoos, and hair coloring. We reject war, business, and jobs; we embrace listless journey, art, and chant. We reject exercise with weight and meat for recovery; we embrace coconut oil instead of a cows fat. What is permitted in a circle of health and veganism is rejected by those called 'ignorant' by leaf-eating hierophants. So, being cool, I have found, requires as much tithe as any organization. "I reject organized religion," the Enlightened Soul says, proudly marching around in circles where vital energy, money, and time are freely given and taken advantage of without a just return. It may seem ignorant to some how a person can spend his days in service of organization, redeeming his efforts in the form of a paycheck. An artist is too good for sustained employment these days while Mr. Warhol said, "Business is the greatest form of art." Our time spent here on Earth has little to be justified. Let me say, "There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing to fix. There is no product, amulet, or seer stone which must be acquired to find yourself. When Christ said, "Any man who shall loose his life for my name's sake shall find it - he was talking about you. He was talking about those who are silently casting spells in the name of loved ones, in the name of family. Whether you've decided to worship at the altar of diet or free-spiritedness; whether you've decided to roam without attachment to country or land, you may have already found that you still must pay homage to both."

Oh so much cooler are those who find achievement in taking from others! You can shit talk actions taken by those who control resources. You can sit in front of the captains of industry who employ actual millions and you can complain about your lot. Meanwhile, thousands of migrant workers push happily away in service jobs around the country; they are picking vegetables in the Salad Bowl of the Northern California; they are waiting tables at small cafes in Dallas, Texas, pooling their money together with siblings and buying homes at alarming numbers in regions like Oak Cliff or South Dallas near Pinkston High School where others are too good to invest. They are moving to Boise, Idaho when others insist on moving to large cities where they can experience night life and strut. The practitioner finds himself taking advantage of these areas of economy, opening yoga studios in small towns like Rexburg, Idaho or Norfolk, Virginia - all the while aware that the average Afghan worker makes about $1.25/12-hour work day. He is learning Chinese and Network Engineering; he let's others call him 'square'. The Fool, at the beaconing of the Magician, declares, "I may be as square as your EGO declares, but your view of my limitation is the greatest advantage. It is my ace in the hole. Just because you perceive me a 'square' does not mean I am not god in human form.Yes, the ego can manifest itself in puzzling ways. And we've been had - ALL of us.

I once believed, as teachers working in public education barked away in righteous poise, that working at McDonald's would be the worst possible fate in life for me. In 2004, at the poorest moment for McDonald's Corporation in recent history, I was proudly writing papers on Existentialist Rhetoric in the Revolutionary Writings of Juan Rulfo in the Language and Literatures Department of Arizona State University. If I had spent my time learning networks, exercising, and working at McDonald's when shares were trading at $13.00, I would now be a multi-millionaire. Their shares now trade around $83.00 a piece, their managers make as much as I do, and their franchise operations are among the most profitable on the globe. Wouldn't I then have as much time to pontificate, wonder, and chant as any practitioner could ask for? Wouldn't that then be the greatest 'fuck you' to organization one could give? Organizations are not to blame just become some practitioners have left one organizational hierophant for a guru who leaves these same practitioners with less. My teachers were wrong and so were yours. I was wrong about Mormonism, I was wrong about U.S. Bank, and I was wrong about McDonald's - just not as cool as most of you.

The Faux Pas Press #187: Forgotten Quake

I'm a pistol-whipping, kryptonite eating, fengshui type of character - no time for indecency or hairy abominations of justice and thinking, not so inclined to do what others think is important. So, there is the residual of past quakes caused in the psyche, a deep desire to please and move around for others. This is what most of my life's choices were. I felt disappointed that others were disappointed with my choices. So, in turn, I altered my aspirations and made them match the pleas others, I altered consciousness and played closely to the role written by them, but then, I realized that they would not have to pay my rent, feed me, or bring me joy. These would not be there when hard times came. They would quit - finding some easier route to a shorter summit and a closer offset. Some don't give a good goddamn about redemption or my tears. I will be okay with my solitude and even my misery to the extent that I can captain all of it with God as I have come to understand him. He is a man. I thought that Sophia was God for a while, but she is just a celestial programmer tuned to the creative frequency. No. God is a man.

Forgotten quakes ripple through cloud formations like shockwaves though sedimentary rock slabs. And in the residue, there are those who stand and wait for your victory, stand and wait for your delusions to melt and your blessings to pour out. You can not make the world pretty for those you love without truth - without purpose. So, on occasion (not all the time but on occasion) you have to keep that pimp hand strong. On occasion, you have to tell all people to GFY. I know it seems hard at the time. What ever will you do if the whole world speaks ill of you? "I have been called worse by better," the Fool says with his head poking verbosely through cloud formations, seeing what others can not see. You can not spend your time pandering or crawling before the world. No matter how much they disapprove, how violently their opinions become - they cry for peace with war in their hearts; others prepare for war with peace on the mind and in the soul.

We didn't thirst after these wars, you know? We are just dealing with them. No, it was you. The protestor, the bigot, the jobless too proud to wash dishes, too entitled to drag ass through lowly places, too angered to empower yourself. Yes, you're anti-war actions extend only as far as your comfort extends. The real anti-warriors are the ones in far-off lands with unpronounceable names - holding the fortress at Qalat, picking up where Alexander left off. I have anger too but at least I am aware of it - at least I channel it at those who most certainly deserve the wrath of forgotten quakes. And the goddess Athena carries my prayers to Elohim and crowns those ballsy enough to plunge.

The Faux Pas Press #186: Exotic Dusk

 

A parody plays again and again in the rooms of the mind. It is about the females with whom and for whom I have willingly bled; and again, they are there speaking lines that another wrote. These are lines with which I am compelled to deal. So, when anger is present most are frightened. Perhaps, they are unwilling to sense and feel their own fears and be honest about them. So, most go around apologizing for each emotional state instead of changing them. "I'm sorry," the Fool says, " I didn't know I was responsible for all thoughts, words, deeds, and actions." The trick, the magik, the rub is that we resist something and it persists in our lives. Thus, all that we attempt to exercise from the corpus finds a hide out in which to sleep and wait for opportunity. What we resist is what persists.

A place along the ridges of the Hindu Kush shows that an exotic dusk awaits also. Thin, wavering lines of frequency come from the output and meet the transmissions of others, our loved ones, our family, or our partners in the galaxy. These lines can bend to any yearning we feel. And our speaking makes all things so. Sigils weave the fabric, and we then wonder how events come to pass. The need to get even, to seek vengeance, the need to be right, to be justified. You've done this my whole life and I've bought and sold this right. But I now forget the illusion that I am not enough, that I am doing what is most important for humanity by bending and listening to these voices, these plaintiffs working on the rooms in my mind.

I begin now. I embrace the truth about my existence, the same truth I embraced as a sober, celibate, pure young missionary for that Church. Oh my god, it so clear now. That religion was placed in my life for a reason. My addictions were placed in my life for a reason. As was this moment placed in my life for a reason. I meet you at Exotic Dusk with a gratitude. I embrace the future and present- one that is love, power, and of a sound mind. A life with purpose is a life in love. I've known and done something about it. You've known it and squandered your time. And I will do nothing to save you now. You must save yourself.

The Faux Pas #185: No Young Team

 

All gripes aside, all tawdry complaints aside, I still can not hold my tongue when words need speaking. Determining when words are necessary has been a problem for me, locked in the cycle of sensory input and output. Talk of desire too often leaves me bereft of real friendship and alone. In my own desires, I've seen how muddled and confusing the tide-reading can be, how incessant the yearnings for communication, and how little I can actually feel wanted or needed. So, my decision is to hermitically hide out, shut down the sensory connection to some, while leaving the signaling open - just in case. I'm seeing that others are not ready for this type of loyalty, not ready for a truthful word to be spoken. Anger sometimes mistaken for contempt. I'm not angry at you; maybe I'm angry for you and have always been. Or maybe, just maybe, I don't know a thing, and must withdraw myself from greater indulgence, review my choices, and cling to what I have called 'righteous' in the past - though even that word disgusts me at times.

I cling to goodness and conservatism. I cling to religion when I am afraid. I cling to my own thoughts when I'm not good enough and ask the gods whether a self-centered mage can be permitted entrance to any realm at all terrestrial or celestial. My idea of loyalty has been confusing to some - so I will allow for their not being okay with me. So, I ask God to grant me serenity, courage, and wisdom.

I've decided that my senses have been overloaded for far too long. My service has been in the name of Self. And I have tried very hard to heal myself. But I can't. So, today, I simply ask God to grant me serenity. I simply release my incessant yearnings for communication and free Chambo from my own thinking. It has been my thinking that leads me astray. Most of the players who have questioned me, I have pushed away. Most of those who agreeably encourage whatever wayward idea fancies me, these I've allowed to call themselves friends. There is no young team to bridle my passions. Only one who knows me better than I know myself. And so, here I go again on my own. Asking the sigils now to take flight for the betterment of us all. And I ask you to surrender your needs for control. Ask you to let awareness identify fear, accept it, and move on. I'm on island of my own.

The Faux Pas Press #184: Angelic Black Riders

Their insanity shown clearly in my own, their shallowness allows for a swim into my own consciousness, and the night still looks as black for me as it does for them. I can let go of details; I can let go of control. A paradox amounting to the revelation of what I have not allowed for myself in the past. Those demons that I’ve willingly allowed to control me; those angelic black riders that take the bridle of my thoughts, these are the powers that have been allowed to run my life. And because I have looked at others, the Imposter, the King, the Soothsayer, the Vagabond, and the Prostitute, they have so easily taken the power from my inherent gift. And I have allowed them to do this by not surrendering to God.

There is a magik in my soul. There is the ability to surrender outcome, to release results to he who knows better than I. And in my sobriety now, I am able to function like a thinking man, looking at facts for what they are and letting the falsehoods die. My time in dangerous places carries a different ring. I can see the forest through the proverbial trees and I can tackle any obstacle with grace, a grace that is freely given when I relinquish my need to control it. I am a member of teams that may disgrace me behind my back, but what others say about me know is none of my business. What is important is what I think about myself. Nothing else. They can give me gifts: feedback, instruction, help, and pointers. I can allow them to do this without taking their filters onboard. I can allow for things to be out of my control. And I can trust in God to allow for my fate as he will.

So then I am free to conjure powerful thoughts, transformative thoughts. These thoughts are new affirmations like: I embrace the power of the All-Knowing; I forget the stories of my failure as I surrender my success. We tap into the stories that others tell about us. And what do these stories actually mean? They don’t mean very much at the end of the day. We just do our work and let the rest fall where it may. Try this. Embrace new stories about yourself. Not that challenges will not arise but that they will. And that grace can enter into your life.

The Faux Pas Press #183: Usher Across

Our movement, presupposed by the swirling demands of our needs, takes us beyond our capacity to cope. We breathe and eat and fuck and fear all that is unknown. And so it is. There are places that I cannot go; not because I am not able but because I am scared. So, in trust and in time, the Fool assists me in working through this covered blackness, sees me safely across the threshold of known and unknown.

I do operations with extreme precision and surrender the items in my inventory that I cannot and will not control, and in surrendering find that I am triumphant, in letting go of the resentments in my heart find that I am more powerful to serve and save. The covered blackness in consciousness prevents you from clearing space. You see, we need to show others this way. We show them, not as a metric of our rightness and their wrongness, but as a symbol of our trust in the unknown through the known powers that move and make our movements so.

There must be, for you, a serene place of water, of sand, and of fire. This is a place stacked with Mason jars; each jar streaming dark light. And so, a direct correlation exists between our dreams and our unwillingness to surrender them over, accept that they may or may not be ours. What we resist does indeed persist, and our fascination with our own importance keeps us from knowing what is truly benevolent. So, today, let us surrender our importance, let us find the other in our dreams, and like the Fool, usher them safely across the threshold of the unknown. Let's teach others that we know how to usher our unseen into the seen. We gently beacon them across the Fold in the Fabric of Night.