Soy mi camino.
Callado y sin meta,
voy por ir nomás.
Soy mi camino.
Callado y sin meta,
voy por ir nomás.
This brought to the light of memory what the war I came from broke: a heart, a memory, a home, a future, a peace, a silence, and a life. But it never broke my laugh, my love, or the revolutionary hope.
“Para de llorar, it’s just a plant.” My mom would say.
And she’s right, the pot fell and broke, and that’s that.
“We can glue it together,” I’d offer, refusing to throw the pieces away. “We can do something with this.” I wanted to save it, and I was sobbing because I knew this pot was older than I was. Just like how her sewing scissors were as old as her marriage, and how our vacuum could be my older brother.
It was worth something, broken or not, because she kept it for so long and it was her favorite.
She threw it away without a care and a normal kid would be glad they didn’t get in trouble for it. And I was– I never got in trouble for breaking things.
I punished myself enough with the guilt I felt, anyway. I’d be a wreck the whole day after.
View original post 566 more words
This is an excerpt from a talk I gave at UCR on “what is a revolutionary?”:
“Forget about yourselves…it’s not about you…not about your education…not about your money…not about your wages…not about how hard it is to go to college. At the end of your lifetime, nothing that you have done, accumulated, published, is going to count; only what’s in your spirit. If at all.
It’s not about you. Change that orientation. The ‘me first’ attitude is the shackles that the system has over you. The fear of losing your lifestyle is what the system has over you.
If you have nothing to lose, what can you do? If you owe nothing to church or government, if you have no money to lose, if you don’t care about what car you drive, what kind of freedom can you have?
There has to be a deep surrender to your destiny, a deep knowledge of your personal freedom and an undying love for others. Without this, there is no real revolution. It’s just demagoguery and cheap talk…like this one.”
The truth is not outside. Everything outside your Self can only serve as a reflection of your inner nature.
The search for truth outside the Self will lead nowhere. It won’t be found in any dogma, religion, system, belief, or practice. All these can do is show adumbrations of the inner truth.
Like the sun reflects itself on the water, so can the inner self reflect its light on the surface of the mind. The clear, silent mind reflects the light of our solar nature, our true Self.
The real value of the mind is as a tool to examine and realize the futility of its own efforts. When the mind realizes its own futility, it drops the effort and simply reflects the inner light in the silence of its non-doing.
“The organic body is the key to our evolution… What then makes up this organic body? It is, at it’s root, vibration… It is a consciousness that uses the energy around it. This is the Noumenal Self, beyond the phenomenal appearance. This Noumenal Self rides the waves of existence, of phenomenal existence, experiencing life and the ending of life. It moves from one lifetime to another; and even at this instant, it is riding the waves of manifested energy; it’s phenomenal body is, at all moments, being created and destroyed without itself ever being created nor destroyed.
Your Noumenal Self is the source of the flame of your existence. It is the invisible being that burns the oxygen and consumes the material it feeds on, creating the flame of the fire. The Flame is a process, not a material thing. So your life is a process, and not a thing… the flame of life is what we, as Noumenal Selves, are using as the fuel that burns. The body is the candle that burns through the lifetime; the oxygen is the spirit energy that we call life; and the flame is the soul that we call the being; the Self, the dream self that lives and experiences throughout this lifetime. Invisible and eternal, the Noumenal Self is the one that makes the flame burn and moves from flame to flame, clothed with the radiance of the flame…”
#occult #pagan #magick #flambeaunoir #esoteric #lefthandpath #lucifer #luciferian #magic #blackflame #lhp #witchessabbat #tantra #sexmagick #toltec #tolteca #thelema #koyotetheblind #thegoldenflower #magic
The students marching and the anti-NRA voices are all about setting up limits on the types of weapons that can be purchased. The most “radical” voices are also calling for higher age limits and for hoops that would make it harder for people associated with gangs, violent crimes, and hate groups to get them. Arguments against any of these points are a reasonable contribution to the dialogue. However, when you pretend that all proposals are “have the government confiscate all weapons”, you are only shouting the same straw man fallacy to the wind. No past president, no marches, and no agenda exists to confiscate all your weapons. There is no dialogue possible if you can’t really address the real argument. You are against “confiscating all weapons.” So? No one is proposing that. If you can’t address the actual petition, your voice will not be heard.
In the end, when that legislation passes, you will feel unheard and will fail to realize that when you had the chance you never said anything about it, because you spent all your time voicing the fallacies concocted by the NRA and never brought reason to bear. My suggestion: address the real proposals using reason and the constitution (or what is best for the nation, if the constitution does not cover it already). Shouting slogans against proposals no one is making is a losing game.
All things base and low
are equal and seek the same.
As crabs in the crate.
Suffering is just a passing shadow, like any other experience. Holding on to it as if it’s more real or more noble is only a desperate attempt at subverting force and turning weakness into strength.
I used to rent an apartment in a big city. The walls were shared with neighbors on each side. The floor was someone’s ceiling, and my ceiling was someone else’s floor. Surrounded by walls and divisions up and down and all around which already were used by someone else, I couldn’t help but wonder: what am I paying for when I pay rent?
“Doors and windows,” said the sunlight. “Doors and windows.”
Today there is no volcano in my view.
No people. No path. No city. No humming.
Today, it’s just the fog that dissolves millions of worlds as it becomes more clear and solid, existing within me and without me.
The word that tells me that there is an external reality is no longer dead. The gate keeper is dead.
Who, then, punishes the archangels? Or do they exist inside me, in caravans?
Do they exist in a room, collecting dust and gathering the consciousness of little children?
Does the manticore fly? Does the unicorn travel on solar currents?
Is the man in the cross still there looking at me with those eyes, asking me if I know that I am there nailed to the same cross, to the same creation, unable to move and therefore only able to upscale or downscale?