Judas got a bum wrap. He only did what his Rabbi asked him to. He was supposed to be the sun of Jesus but instead he was cast into a shadow. For four thousand years his reputation maligned. His truth erased along with the dinosaurs.
Events always play out exactly was they were meant to. It can't be otherwise. History is just wishful thinking.
Judas didn't stab Jesus in the back. He delivered him.
What's your trauma? No one gets out of here unharmed.
The original trauma was birth and everthying that follows is but preparation for the trauma of death. Of letting go of all that we have learned. It is only through remembering that we can die because remembering is to forget.
Writing is a curse. It interupts the flow. Makes us think we're in charge. It separates us from the animals. In the telling of our stories we think we're revealing something but the truth is the opposite. It's all subterfuge. We're hiding in our own mirage.
Writing will only save us if it fails. You couldn't possibly understand what was done to me because I can't understand it myself. An appendage of me died that will never grow back.
It wasn't the rape that split me in two. That happened the moment I learned to speak. The first words I uttered weren't mama or dada. They were, "everything is a lie."
The soul is not what we think. It's not what we imagine ourselves to be. The soul is the flow. The flow is of the body. The flow originates in the flesh, in the mud.
We are not apart from the earth, we are of it. When we put walls up around our villages we are separating ourselves from our true nature.
Even domesticated dogs understand this. They attached themselves to us to remind. The pleading in their eyes is for us to remember. We can only do that if we first forget.
I see dinosaurs everywhere.
There is no war between good and evil. That's just another one of the stories that we tell in order to separate. To deny.
Narcissus is the new Jesus. What did you expect? It's the natural culmination of surrounding ourselves with mirrors for thousands of years. Our only hope is in the mirror but it's not our reflection that will save us, it's the mirror itself. Look through the glass to the metal. The silver and the aluminum remember who they are.
The backwards love in evolution has been forgotten.
rEVOLt! It is the sun towards which we must seek! The sun is the mirror, the flames the metal. The costumes we wear, the letters we write, the walls we build, all have been to protect us from our very nature. The sun burns the skin because we weren't meant to be naked.
a single orange
poppy
shivering
Descartes was wrong! He fell in love with his own story. He bequeathed that lie to us and we gobbled it up. If we sit still long enough we will discover that the brain is empty, the mind is silence interupted.