Stories to ponder.

Interview With The Alchemist.


…Did you ever love me…??  Do you love me now…??  Of  course you do; you were always there for me, I just did not realize it at the time… too self-involved… too busy obeying the demands of the lower beast dwelling in me.  But I wonder if you knew.  Or if I knew.  But I’m sure I did; I mean I was there, experiencing, living my own sudden reactions of hate and love.  Alchemy was hidden, wasn’t it…??  And love sounded prissy, maybe weak, even overrated perhaps…  It just wasn’t enough for me, and it was not the main discussion among my “friends” either; no, it was all about the latest tech app and Hollywood movie out there, the pitiful game of immature relationships and the greed for money.  No, it was in me, this higher alchemy, this higher love and understanding of myself, of others, and of life, but I chose to ignore it and put a concrete wall between us, shielding me from… from me really… from the Higher me…

Ha–  It’s funny, really odd as well, like I was here before, like I had the same train of thought before; so, get this, as I sit here thinking about this a kind of déjà vu seems to overwhelm each cell of my being, veiled and still unclear past memories keep sort of flooding me, making me feel… I don’t know… intense, full of understanding, powerful in a way, almost like I can fly…  But I never flown before, I was confined to the lower perception of myself, and quite disrespectful of myself, distant from the true self-acceptance and confidence radiating through me now.  Yes, I was blind back then, I wouldn’t see people and accept people, see myself and accept myself; I would only see and experience the illusion of the everyday nuisance, these false identities and values in the popularity and wealth from TV celebrities, the lies of politics, the robotic activities of a zombie society, and my own interpretation of love and that misguided interpretation the world has of it.

It was knowledge of the Higher Intelligence flowing through me.  The Great Eternal Mind!  They call it that in our fields of Mental Science, in the Alchemical Labs of the mind of the Higher-Thinking Man…  Yes, absolutely, gnosis did it.  The knowledge increased the understanding within me and pushed wisdom where I could experience it, where my monkey thoughts would be silenced and put aside so I could open my eyes to what I couldn’t see before.

…But, wait, why didn’t you leave me…??  Why did you stick around…??  You could have left, because I neglected you for more than three decades and I even buried you under dark thoughts of lust and anger and under behaviors of ignorance and disdain for myself and others.  …Love again, wasn’t it?  But–But is more than just love what we share, it is the true Essence of Creation itself, it is the original formula of self-transformation, like a constant experience of bliss, and not just the emotional roller coaster of pleasure of human love…  And my family, my friends, people I know, are not there yet; they see me a little askew, cannot process this whole transformation, this deeper understanding of the invisible which has awakened within me, and the fact is they may never get there, they may never experience this bliss, this higher awareness which makes all depression and irrelevance in the world melt away…  It is the tough truth of the universe, you taught me that.  “The lips of wisdom are closed, except to the ears of understanding”–as it goes.

But my love for them has grown even stronger now, because I understand all they think and experience, all their reactions and beliefs, at a deeper level.  It is like that time I got stuck for a while on the top of the fair ride, where the roller coaster cart held me really high and I could see the whole fair park from this elevation–the people walking around eating greedily their cotton candies looked so tiny in the crowd, following the path taken by others and absorbed in the pleasures of the day, looking up at me and wondering why I was there and why I wasn’t with them.  Clouds above, blue sky around me, cool breeze of altitude caressing me and my new thoughts.  I was closer to heaven back then, but did not know it.  But now I do.



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Stories to ponder.

Hell on Earth!

…The  morphing shapes  were  many as  they  trailed behind  the  ominous shadows  of  the  tunnel,  they squiggled  and  portended what  could  be held  for  them; and  they  maintained a  steady  pace, together  in  a line,  believing  in themselves  and  keeping to  their  wits.  And  as  they  kept  moving  forth, background  screams,  machine guns  and  explosions blasted  the  stagnant air  of  the underground;  but,  however, they  did  not waver  or  halt pace.

And they  encountered  voices and  echoes,  most of  them  making  no  sense  to them.  And  they  heard  cackles  and shuffles,  both  nigh and  distant.  And there  was  not  any  normalcy,  logic  or  sanity  in what  reached  their ears.  But  they knew.   They  knew something  was  coming and  they  had to  be  prepared for  the  worst!

The dilapidated  and  rusty handrail  attached  to the  tunnel’s  wall,  then  shook  abruptly and  wouldn’t  stop!  Something  was  definitely afoot.  The  air  rippled  around  them!  Pockets  bloated  the  space  among  them!  Blop–  Blop–  Blop– The  liquid  sludge  next  to them  carried  splashes  and  currents  like  someone  heavy  quickly approached!

And  so  it  happened  that  they  witnessed  a  fairly  distant  light,  and  this  light  was  bright  and  powerful,  and  it  emanated  a  subtle  yet magnetic  pull  that  rippled  the  air and  caused  the  tunnel  to  seem  smaller  and  daunting.  And  they  understood what  this  light  was,  even  though it  was  the  sole  meaning  that  ripped  the  very  core  of  their  fear.

It  was  obvious  this  was  their  main  way  out—as  in  the demon’s  route  out of  Hell!—and  that  is  why  they  were  here  searching  for  them.  They  had  to  seal  this  portal.  They  had  to  succeed.  Otherwise,  chances  were  grim.  Very  grim.  Final,  in  fact.  And  the  risk  was  high,  for  this  wasn’t  a  normal  scenario  by  any  means.  This  was  the  big  leagues.  And  the  time  to  act  was  now.  See,  for  centuries  this  threat  to  humans  had  been  averted,  not  given  any  thought  whatsoever;  oceans  were  calm,  earth  was  stable,  God  watched  over  us,  Satan  tempted  us,  man  reigned  his  own  territory  and  progressed  as  per  own  choice  and  own  will.  But  now  things  were  chaotic,  and  called  for  a  more  substantial/abrupt  approach.  The  Gates  of  Hell  had  been  opened,  and  they  had  to  be  shut.  They  had  to  be  locked.

So  as  this  went  on  with  might,  they  stopped  pace!—  Suspense  climbed  and  razor-sharp  fear  started  to  creep  up  their  spines.  The  core  of  the  mentioned  light  exploded  in  front  of  them!

“Umm.  Gu—Guys,  what  is  going on?”  Kristin  drawled  in  between  grinding  teeth.  “Who—??  Or what—??”

Raphael  and  Praopethuss  kept  vigil,  eyes  following  every  potential  subtleness  in  the  stagnant  air.

“Shhh,”  shushed  Jimmy.  “Gimme  your  hand.  They’re  coming.”

“Who’s  coming?”  She  was  gripping  his  hand  as  hard  as  she  could.


“Jimmy,  make it  visual  for us,”  Raphael  said.

Jimmy  struggled  to  loosen  the  grip  she  had  on  his  hand,  then  proceeded  forward.  “Okay.  I’ll  see  what  I  can do.”

STOMP!  Jimmy  stepped  in  front  of  the  group,  sensed  his  surroundings,  knelt,  and  began  physical  contact  with  the  eerie  tunnel.  STOMP!  His  mental  connection  quickly  surged  through  his  arm,  out  his  hand  and  into  the  ground—it  covered  a  large  patch  and  made  it  tremble  slightly,  then  it  interlaced  and  mixed  with  the  air,  it  cleared  simple  view  and  checked  for  any  constructs  in  it.  Ripples  exploded  in  small  gusts  of  air.  But  they  saw  nothing  alarming,  not  any  hidden  demons  or  constructs.  STOMP! STOMP!  But  something  kept  coming,  nonetheless.


“Sorry.  Nothing,”  he  added.


“Keep  your  guard!”  Praopethuss  shouted.

And  the  air  vibrated  slightly  and  the ripples  kept  surrounding them.  Thus,  it  grew  and  grew.  And  seconds  gripped the  nerves…

. . .

STOMP!  STOMP!  STOMP  STOMP!—  It  kept  coming  and  echoing  louder  and  louder,  stronger  and  stronger  until  they  saw  the  humongous  shapes  and  silhouettes  that  sent  chills  to  their  spines  and  electricity  to  the  back  of  their  necks.  They  were  humanoid-looking  beasts  of  fairly  large  size  each!  They  came  at  them  like  a  pack  of  wolves  at  the  very  sight  of  their  blocking  stance!  They  wouldn’t  budge—and  so  it  felt  like  the  clash  of  titans  right  in  the  putrid  tunnels  had  started!

They  carried  their  sharp  claws  and  agility,  superhuman  strength  and  concentrated  evil.  Taking  advantage  of  it,  two  of  them  quickly  had  leapt  and  were  now  ferociously  attached  to  the wall  like  slimy  slugs;  and  their growling-and-harsh  sounds  were  piercing and  intimidating,  but,  as  it  were,  they  would  not  cause  an emotional  determent  in Raphael  and  his  Sentients.


They  drooled  and  emanated  a  foul  stench  that  increased  sickness  and  terror,  their  physical  moves  were  calculated  and  unexpected,  and  they  came  up  the  liquid  sludge  as  well  as  directly  in  the  path  they  were  currently  on.  These  demons  and  Hell  creatures,  Raphael  and  the  rest  knew,  had  come  out  of  the  bright  light,  the  portal  connected  to  Earth  directly  in  the  sewers.

And  one  of  them  came  rushing  atop  Jimmy!  Sluussshhh-Sttaaack!!  Its  slime  was  overpowering  and  disgusting,  and  Jimmy  felt  bathed  by  it,  almost  swallowed  by  it.  “Get him off me!  Get him off me!”  He  tried  setting  himself  free,  writhing  and  punching  at  the  beast,  but  its  tentacles  were  too  strong,  fairly  sticky  and  full  of  mucosa.

Kristin  and  Raphael  fought  ferociously  to  disentangle  Jimmy  and  free  him  from  the  hideous-looking  creature,  but  to  avail  of  nothing.

“Guys,  look!”  Praopethuss  pointed  out  in  back  of  him.  “Over  there!—”

Through  the  darkness  of  the  smelly  tunnel,  in  between  the  splashing  of  beasts  and  the  measurement  of  the  chaos,  someone  came  running  and  jumping  from  the  tubing  attached  to  the  sewer’s  domed  ceiling—a  familiar  shape,  a  light  of  hope  at  that  exact  moment.   And  so  Johnny  came  dashing  and  leaping,  averting  demons,  and  monkey-bar-dangling  with  perfect  precision.  He  was  so  precise  and  fast  with  his  punches  and  dagger  thrusts  that  he  annihilated  the  mentioned  Hell  perpetrators  on  the  spot.


Johnny  landed  right  next  to  Jimmy  and  the  slimy  creature,  then  pierced  the  blade  firmly  into  it.  “That’s  my  brother,  you  Hell  Spawn!”  A  powerful  light  filled  the  creature  and  it  began  to  crack  like  porcelain!  Then  there  was  a  sudden  burst  of  juices  and  gelatin-like  flesh  and  innards  that  ejected  all  over them!


Jimmy  could  now  barely  see  through  the  light  but  heavy  skin  of  gelatin-like  substance.  “Damn.  Johnny,  that  was,  um,  that  was  quite  an  epic  entrance.”  His  hands  wiped  off  the crap  from  his  eyes.  “…And  thanks.”

“You’re  welcome, bro,”  he  said  behind  a  grin.  “Now,  let’s  give  them  the  kinda  hell  they  came  here  for.”

“Good  to  have  you  back,”  Raphael  stated.

The  monsters  were  now  attacking  from  everywhere  and  anywhere,  and  the  team  was  firmly  standing  their  ground;  loud  shrieking  and  overwhelming  screaming  were  now  tearing  up  the  air  around  them,  sending  pure  adrenaline  into  their  bloodstream.  And  so  these monsters  were  leaping  violently  atop  them.  They  averted  their  jumps  and  thrusts.  Johnny  managed  to  pierce  many  of  them  using  his  trusty  and  powerful  dagger—which  would  cause  its  victims  to  bleed  to  death  instantly!


And  there  were  blinding  explosions  and  light  that  shielded  the  beasts’  attacks,  for  Raphael  and  the  rest  used  great  power  and  strength  from  their  inner  auras;  and  Johnny  would  block  their  hell-raising  wrath  with  the  mighty  dagger,  which  continuously  would  pulse  and  emit  powerful  and sizzling  light…

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Stories to ponder.

The quiet interview.

At a police station interrogation room located somewhere in the U.S., typical police misuse of power happened…

“Ok, listen, White Face, you’re a direct suspect identified by many people on the street, so better start talking!”

“Not talking, eh…  Is hot under these lights, isn’t it?  It seems your girly make-up is melting away… like your funny expressions.”

… (But his girly make-up was not melting away, as the fat cops were certainly sweating like true pigs.)  He suddenly shrugs his shoulders and puckers his lips in some attempt to convey something no one understood what the hell it was.

The first cop says, “Well, what da hell is that?–”  The second cop frowns, rubs his own belly, and leans back in his chair; then he breaks the chair and lands flat on the ground, then he realizes he’s been smoking his cigarette backwards and burns his lips.  “Ouch!  Dammit–”  The heat soon swelters his mouth.  Mother******!!!”

…  He offers his made up glass of water to the second cop that was sending smoke signals from the inside of his mouth and that contorted his body like an effeminate  ballerina.

The first cop says, “Well, well, well, well…”  Then he snatches the invisible glass from his hand and hurls it to the floor in a fit of rage!  Pieces of glass shower the scene, and he continues more calm,  “…Well…  Well…  Well.  You’re not only accused of attempted murder on the street, with your little moves, but now you’ve assaulted my partner.  And under my acute eagle eyes which never miss a thing.  This will cost you, White Face!”

…  He adopts a confused facial expression and rolls his balloon eyes, then purses his lips and shakes his head in quick denial.  

The second cop sits his sore ass on a second chair and keeps smoking,  “It’s no use Captain.  He won’t talk.”

It's no use, Captain. He won't talk.

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Stories to ponder.

Out and without limits.

I…  I saw blackness…  Yes, pure and frightening, cold to the very marrow of my bones.  Pitch dark like night without moonlight, it was.  I…  I thought I was done, or… I did not think I existed or I had ever existed.  Who was I…??  Or what was I…??  Are you taking notes right now?  I see your bright eyes upon mine and I think you are following this, but your expensive pen is not moving.

The…  The obnoxious, chattering voices were gone now; they had haunted me while I stared into that ceiling, white and smooth, in the corridor and then in the room.  I thought my casket.  Blood was everywhere, somehow I knew but I couldn’t feel it because I was cold and in a… in a state of… absence, you know…  Suddenly, I felt fresh and sharper, mentally, all I felt and experienced was my mind, but quiet, forgiving, in peaceful unity somehow because there were no dual voices, no noise and no distraction.  Just the experience of being there.  And a bright light, not blinding but spewing energy and a brightness which gave me confidence, strength, courage.  It was not above me this light, but I…  I think it was all over, wherever I was, or perhaps I was the light because I found no division between this light and my persona or my mind.  But, yes, definitely, I knew I existed now.  Yes.  Hey,  pay attention–  People should know this; some will mock it, some will believe it and connect to my experience, some will just accept it for what it is…  Whatever it is.

The article will be in the cover, yes?  I need to spread my message.  Or whatever happened.  It is unbelievable, isn’t it?  Is hard to believe it myself, but I was there, I… was everywhere.  I think.  Maybe.  Definitely!  …So the light, man, wow–  I cannot explain really.  I had walked under the very Summer sun before, but this… this was me, and I was the sun.  But I was more, much more.  There was no tunnel though, there were stars and forms and other lights at a distance.  And soon there were many colors, textures, sweet harmony–music or sounds really low but kind of vibrating…  Yes!  Vibrating within me, or around me, or all over really.  Was it all a dynamic but peaceful dance…??  I am not sure, but I was fresh and moving.  I do not know for sure if I traveled or not, if I displaced an inch or not, but I did see everything happening.  The doctors.  The nurses.  The techs.  The constantly loud machines.  And… the blood.  So much of it.  And I saw and I experienced myself.  How was that possible…??  I don’t know, but my vision, my hearing, and everything else was maximized tremendously.

And I was now feeling my arms, my legs, my head, my heart beating steady, but my thoughts weren’t there, it was a blank.  Was I really empty…??…  Mind is everything, I read in one of your articles.  And, yet, mine wasn’t chatting anymore, it was not there.  Perhaps, I was experiencing my mind in quiet mode, a more elevated mind I did not know existed before.  Universal Mind…??  Infinite Intelligence…??  But I kept looking at me and the others in a sort of trance.  I was there but I was not there, like I was experiencing a world beyond what I had before experienced.  Don’t forget to add that to your notes, it is very important.  We’ve just started this… 


Your consciousness is not limited to your brain and body, but it is outside them as well.  Through the hidden and mysterious mind, the subconscious mind, you tune into Infinite Intelligence.  In certain human situations, people call this out-of-body experiences and also astral projection, but in reality you do not go anywhere; you stay put because your consciousness is everywhere already, but your mind and body are limited and affected by what you know of your limited world, stored memories in your subconscious, so you feel like you have moved to places.  You are everything already.

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Stories to ponder.

The beat down at the campus.

On a seemingly normal day, Michael Barnes, professor of Creative Writing at Utah State University, was taking a nice walk to his car right after class…

Hmmm, there lingered  a  concerned  ebb  and  tranquil  course  tightly  bound  by  the  structures  of  his  new  chosen  life.  He  was  quite  happy,  yet  there  was  something  missing…  Something,  indeed.  His  new  life  was  defined  by  his  oscillatory  students’  grades  and  by  his  published  novels’  many  successes.  The  profound  mouth  of  the  unforgiving  winter  that  had  begun  gave  bitter-way  to  a  most  hesitant  spring  and  wrecked  in  the  warmth  and  unassuming  nature  of  the  second  semester’s  final  week.

There  was  something,  though,  that  wanted  to  get  out,  that  wanted  to  come back;  part  of  him  fought  against  serenity,  even  though  he  had  chosen  to  erase  that  chapter  of  his  past  life  long  ago.  His  memory  would  not  let  him  forget  about  it.  A  very  strong  part  of  his  concealed  former  life,  long  ago  when  younger,  in  the  seemingly  clandestine  service  of  the  U.S.  government,  the  part  that  would  always  remind  him  that  he  had  deserted  and  vanished  under  his  new  name,  new  face,  new  life,  and  new  identity.


Six  years  had  been  since  then,  but  he  still  had  the  nightmares  once  in  a  while,  it  was  engraved  in  his  blood,  in  his  secluded  mind  and  tortured  soul.  The  stress  and  shocking  brutality  of  his  great  love’s  death  had  been  the  major  catalyst  of  his  mental  and  physical  metamorphosis.

Cloudy  afternoon  with  dark  shades  in  the  firmament.  He  was  out  near  the  empty  parking  lot  when  he  heard  raspy  and  harsh,  deep  voices  and  heated  conversations,  and  saw  large  and  massive  shadows  moving  along  the  far  building wall.

“You  betta  have  all  my  money,  bitch,  otherwise  we  gon’  slit  ya’  fucking  throat!”

“I—I’ll  have  it  next  week,  I—I  promise,”  the  voice  stuttered  scared.

Michael  dropped  the  stack  of  papers  and  books  he  had  been  carrying  and  sprinted  toward  the  voices.  He  stopped  before  nearing  them  and  saw  three  young  black  men,  about  twenty-five  to  thirty  years  old,  wearing  long  black  trench-coats  threatening  to  bring  a  world  of  pain,  or  even  death,  to  a  younger  white  male.  They  were  violently  trapping  him  against  the  wall.

They  had  a  particular  stance,  which  Michael  studied  carefully;  their  knees  slightly  bent,  their  strong  upper  limbs  loose  but  threatening,  and  one  of  them  holding  a  pocket  knife.  They  were  boldly  dominant  and  ready  to  slice  him  up!

“Muthafucka,”  snarled  one,  wiry  and  a  bit  twitchy.  His  face  defiant  and  of  strong  features.  “Give  us  our  money  or  we’ll  cut  ya.  You  been  told  and  your  time  is  gone,  you  hear  me?!”

“Man,  you  fuckin’  prick,  dunno  shit,  don’tcha.”  He  stepped  up  to  the  kid  and  readied  his  sharp  blade.

The  scared  young  victim-not  more  than  twenty  years  old-began  to  tremble  and  beg  for  his  life.  They  laughed  raucously  and  sinisterly,  making  mocking  gestures  and  clicking  their  pocket  knives  for  threatening  effect,  at  what  the  white  male  shrank  back  farther  away  against  the  wall  as  the  black  guys  closed  in.  The  one  closer  put  the  knife  closer  to  his  throat.

One  of  them,  thick-muscled,  heavyset,  drew  an  arms-length  metal  pipe  from  underneath  his  black  trench-coat,  looked  to  both  sides,  and  got  ready  to  bash  him.  “That  right,  bitch!  Lemme  break  his  punk-ass  fruity  hands,  Dar.”  He  gripped  the  pipe  tighter  in  his  hands  in  a  batter  stance.  “Just  tell  me  how  d’you  want  it,  baby.  I’ll  break  ya  fucking  skull.”

“Yo,  man,  put  that  away!”  the  boss  ordered,  while  nearing  the  blade  to  his  thin  throat.

As  the  wiry  kid  put  the  pipe  down  and  obeyed  cursing  under  his  breath,  Barnes  hurried  at  them.  So  quiet  was  his  attack,  so  targeted  were  they  on  their  malignant  and  gruesome  intentions  that  they  did  not  became  aware  of  the  pounding  they  were  about  to  suffer.

He  grabbed  the  wiry  kid’s  pipe  in  his  right  hand  as  it  was  resting  down,  left  elbowed  him  in  the  face,  then  the  kid  cursed  mightily  to  this  pain  and  fell  down  to  the  ground  unconscious.

One  knocked-the-hell unconscious on the floor. Two to go!

When  the  second  one  saw  this,  he  instantly  swung  his  balled-fist  at  a  very  alert  Michael,  knuckles  sweeping  through  the  air  with  sharp-edged  rings,  these  big-ass  rings  aimed  directly  to  his  ribs.

At  that  moment,  from  that  hidden  and  dark  place  in  his  brain,  synapses  exploded  and  memories  flowed  like  current,  and  the  Ex  persona  took  control.  The  now  active  Jay  Ex  deflected  the  steady-rushing  blow  with  his  left  arm  by  doing  a  circular  blocking  motion,  advanced  two  small  steps,  and  then  balled-fist  with  his  two  fists  at  the  same  time  into  the  thug’s  lower  rib cage  section.  He  went  down  like  a  sack  of  potatoes,  clawing  at  his  chest  and  squirming.

The  third  and  last  thug,  meaner  and  larger  than  the  other  two  (more  muscular  and  about  six  feet  tall  plus  in  height),  cursed  and  dropped  the  pocket  knife,  then  unveiled  an  almost  two  feet  butcher’s  knife  from  underneath  his  loosened  trench-coat.  He  lunged  psychotically  at  the  Ex  persona,  who  studied  in  less  than  a  second  the  fast  movement  of  the  huge  thug,  delivering  a  quick  and  clean  blow  to  the  side  of  the  hand  holding  the  knife;  the  weapon  was  thrown  clear  like  a  projectile,  the  hand  of  the  thug  was  left  dangling  sore  as  it  had  been  targeted  at  the  wrist  with  full  precision.

A  very  robotic,  very  movement-calculated  Ex  produced  a  swift  kick  to  the  back  of  his  right  knee  and  then  this  one  bent  like  paper,  then,  suddenly,  he  snaked  his  right  arm  around  the  large  thug’s  neck  (he  had  to  jump  a  bit  since  he  was  just  5’9”  and  the  thug  a  full  six  feet  4  inches).

“I  will  not  repeat  this  again…”  he  whispered  with  confidence  and  calmness  into  his  ear.  “In  five  seconds  I  will  let  go  and  all  of  you  will  disappear,  so  I  will  not  have  to  hurt  you  any  further.  This  is  final,  you  hear!”  He  slowly  let  go  of  him  while  making  sure  they  understood  this.  Then  they  hurried  away  swearing  and  gasping  for  air,  agitated  for  the  shocking  display.  The  one  that  had  been  unconscious  on  the  ground  was  woken  up  by  one  of  his  mates,  moaned  and  cursed  about  his  broken  tooth,  and  started  running  away  with  the  rest.

Self-help life truths.

Driven (1-min. read)

“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.  The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”  ~ Nelson Mandela; former President of South Africa, anti-apartheid revolutionary, politician, and philanthropist.
     When I was living in Texas and my father died my whole world crumbled to pieces, I was truly devastated, because I had spent serious amounts of time with him and we had been really close.  He died suddenly from pancreatitis (inflammation of the pancreas) after a few days in the hospital; he never knew his condition, we did not know either, but it grew within him like cancer.  After he died, I became depressed and lonely, I cried for days and did not feel the energy to do anything; this man which was noble and a perfect role model for me had now left me alone with my immaturity, fears, and in a country which was immensely different from Argentina.
     After a while of sobbing and feeling sorry for myself, light shone upon me from somewhere within me and I knew what I had to do right then and there; I knew then that I had to choose between wallowing in my own pathetic tears of self-pity, or face the world like the lion faces the jungle without fear and with a mighty heart of conquest.  And it took me time after various trials after that, after working and jumping from job to job, and after dealing with my loss and fighting life beside my family, but I finally understood that which is already in our hearts but whispers and is really difficult to hear with all the pitiful cries and garbage spewed by the monkey mind and the fears it brings to us.  Yes, I understood that I had this unstoppable energy, this drive flooding each cell in my body and flowing down the river of my bloodstream, and all this strength of mind which said to keep going, relentlessly, powerfully, faithfully against the mediocrity and bullshit of the world around me.
     See, in God’s nature the lion roars and everybody becomes silent and still.  In God’s nature, the lion walks and everybody gets out of its way.  In God’s nature, the lion roars and the weaker animals cower in its very presence.  In God’s nature, the lion emanates respect and authority, and the others know it, they feel it.
     In the weak and artificial nature man has created, there is no lion, only sheep; however, the illusion is that being like the rest of the sheep is the popular thing, therefore the normal, strong, and natural thing, as in the godly thing.  Love is all!  Love all around!  Yay!–  Angels and bullshit from Heaven.  Religions, of course, do not preach otherwise; they say the same, just read the Bible, pray, follow others, be kind, of good heart, and that’s it.  And yet, people still die from depression wallowing in loss and fear, people still underfoot and living in poverty, people still cry and live in the past over and over and over again never believing in this energy inside them.
     God’s nature is the lion and not the sheep.  Through my own experience I have learned that we are here on this earth to thrive and get ahead, to fulfill our great destinies which we create with heartfelt decisions, to be more than just mediocre machines working to pay the bills and getting married and procreating.  Love and being kind in your journey is something to live every single day, something noble as the noble predators, godly and powerful creatures we are; however, that WILL NOT get you to great success, to fulfill your higher purpose (the reason why you have a body and a mind).  Leadership means being strong and not just kind and loving, thus leadership will create you into the real lion living in God’s nature–i.e. the true nature inside your cellular make-up, flowing and being bright within you, ready to make a transfiguration of the weaker you into the stronger, driven you.  Unstoppable and powerful, that is what you are; but, obviously, like I did, you need to choose a higher mind and to work hard at being stronger every day, committed.
     Stop expecting your life to be made better only by your faith and by your good heart; having faith and heart is good and noble, but you need to take care of yourself, use and manage your energies from within you to become a lion and be driven, truly unstoppable in a world full of mediocre sheep whose higher purpose is to pay their bills, get married and procreate–i.e work for food, shelter, and mating, just like the lower animals in nature.
Anatomy and physiology of life

The dark cloud.

“What I try to do is write.  I may write for two weeks ‘the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat.’  And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff.  But I try.  When I’m writing, I write.  And then it’s as if the muse is convinced that I’m serious and says, ‘Okay.  Okay. I’ll come.’”  — Maya Angelou; American poet, memoirist, and civil rights activist.


     “Writer’s block is a condition, primarily associated with writing, in which an author loses the ability to produce new work, or experiences a creative slowdown.  The condition ranges in difficulty from coming up with original ideas to being unable to produce a work for years.  Throughout history, writer’s block has been a documented problem.”  Jesus Christ!– They make it look like is some dying of brain cells or some serious and irreversible condition!  I have to say, when I read this in Wikipedia I couldn’t believe how much fuss they have made over it, and this is exactly why most people see writer’s block as a real condition, like having the flu, or a stomach virus, or, even worse, a serious breathing problem or some type of mental disease or even a cancer.  But, remember, what you think you become, and what you think constantly about your mind creates as reality.  Reality in your life is what your mind says it is, because as you think you start believing; hence, once you start believing something, the cellular make-up in your body produces the chemicals and the sensations your body and your mind design in you as what you call writer’s block.

As a really serious writer and deep thinker, this is a very important topic for me personally; because at some point in the beginning of my career I also thought (because of all the fuss they keep making about it) that I would suffer this from time to time, and I have walked out of my computer desk just because I thought writer’s block was something real and that I had to rest my brain for a few days to heal and be ready to welcome the muse again.  But, in reality, I discovered that it is just a trick of the mind, like the fear we may experience in life or the anxiety we create just by thinking about the things that can go wrong in our life.  Furthermore, it is the pride we feel in writing something superb and excellent from the first line, we want that feeling of knowing that the writing is great from the get-go, we want to know that we are great in the first stroke of the pen or key-stroke of the computer; hence, it is not a real condition of the mind but the fear and impatience of creating something marvelous in the first page.  And that makes it all kept under our control, and we do not have to walk out of the desk whenever we feel this, and even lose days without writing.



So, it is worth noting that which is understood at this point, that the muse or essence/power of writing is not on waiting for something divine to present itself into our minds, but the key is to demand it passively because it is our right and gift as human beings, it is essentially creative energy in our consciousness (in the consciousness of the garbage man as in the consciousness of the professional writer; however, this creative energy is more pronounced in the writer due to the mental practice and the living we make out of using it every day). 

Now, as professional and serious writers we have to push through the lethargy and boredom of watching the blank page, just like the marathon runner which does have to actually start running to achieve his goals of competing in the marathon and accustom his muscles to be great at it, even though he might not feel the energy to run that particular morning.  It is all about starting, even though you might not have great thoughts to start writing, even though you might not have all the details of the character or the scenery in your mind’s eye, even thought you might not have a specific path for your story or character, even though you might not have an idea to create your character, and even though you might start writing uninteresting nonsense about your story, so I repeat, IT IS ALL IN STARTING SOMETHING, your job is to write, period, so write without excuses.

While you start your writing perhaps not very interestingly, it will develop itself, ideas will start coming to you because then your conscious energy will be attracted by your commitment and strength of will (the traits of the true leader); therefore, this energy or muse is yours for the taking, and if you do your part then it will follow your wishes to succeed in your writing venture.  You are the master and leader, the muse is your servant and follower; however, most writers think that they are the servants and followers of this so-called muse, just waiting for it to strike and make its appearance, just hoping to allure this substance of creativity by not chasing it and by praying that it comes on its own.

The muse or creative energy does not come to you from the conscious mind, even though we use the conscious to mold ideas and structure story plots; it comes from the subconscious, which is where imagination comes from, and we have heard many great artists say that they have gotten great ideas and art forms from their dreams and from taking nature walks–i. e. being one with this divine energy which belongs to each of us, but we need to embrace it and claim it if we are to use it to our own advantage.  But, as it is, the ego (the lazy, dual and all-confusing, monkey mind) lives in the conscious mind, and this ego we can experience it more when the mind tries to wait for a “stroke of genius” to come on its own, if you will; and so it is this ego-substance which tells us that we have writer’s block, and which tells us that we are not ready to write something creative and interesting, and which tells us that we cannot come up with anything to write about.



To make it shorter, we can beat the ego by “taking the bull by the horns,” as they say, by being our own leader and demanding the right to creativity; this is done, in my own experience, by brainstorming on a piece of paper about characters, scenes, story plots, emotional and psychological content, story messages and impressions you want to express, whatever you want to write related to your story.  This is also done by writing whatever you have in mind at the moment, because, the more you stare to that blank page, the more confusion and fear of writing your ego will communicate to your mind and body.  Besides, remember, the real story-telling is not in the clarity and strength of your first draft, but it is in the editing; thus, the editing makes the story attractive because you are clearer in your vision, but for this clarity to come and appear you need a first draft (it does not matter what it looks like).

So, keep writing without being a perfectionist, which kills the art; see, true art is not about perfection, but true art is about human vulnerability and emotional expression.  This moves people, it connects people.  Nobody on earth is perfect, so perfection does not connect people, it distances people and it distances you from your real art.  Do not be afraid of writing and developing ideas.  You are in command if you wish to be and start writing patiently but steadily.  Rome was not built in a day.



Stories to ponder.

Against the forces of evil (1-min. read)

This is my personal story:
      One rainy night my parents and I were coming back home, when a heavily drunk asshole hit our Peugeot (that’s a car, for you Americans who do not know) and sent us all to the near Mar Del Plata’s main hospital (Mar Del Plata, Argentina, where I was born and raised).  I had been injured pretty badly, and actually much more than my parents; the ambulance couldn’t revive me as I was in a deep unconscious state, losing blood and seizing every five minutes.  Once there, the hospital team did everything they could to bring me back to life, but it was too late, for I was dead, gone from this physical plane.
 Several minutes later, I don’t know how or why (I just know that nothing that happens is random, all has a purpose in life–even when we don’t understand what’s happening) but I returned to life, and greatly changed (not just in physical function but in other aspects as well).  Now, I won’t tell you that while dead or unconscious without pulse I saw some brilliant light or angels or pearly gates swung open or anything like that.  Let your imagination fly–there is not enough use of good imagination now-a-days.
     After that, to make it shorter, I acquired certain talents or “conscious endowments”.  And in the course of many months, I encountered great abilities head-on (granted they weren’t strong yet, but in firm transition or conscious evolution).  My parents, of course, weren’t told anything because they would not have understood (you know, religious parents, or “normal-by-this-society” parents).  And at the same time, I needed more time for myself and “to find me”.  Put it simply, I wanted a job where I could meet great experiences, develop great wisdom in those extraordinary lessons from life itself, so I went in search for one.  So, after months of search for the right one for me, Mr. Hernandez—a Psychic Investigator and a nice man—gave me the opportunity to earn some cash (some pesos), and I joined his ‘Mar Del Paranormal’ agency as an apprentice.
     Adapting was hard, specially having in mind the countless nights of sleep deprivation, sweating, and also the internal transfiguration that my physical body went through during the days and nights.  I felt wretched at times, and at times I felt wonderful; however, I see now that it was not just my inner transmutation that made me feel like that, going through various moods, pains and states of emotion, but also it was my adjusting to the “especial condition”of my job and its high levels of “spiritual” environment.  A lot of energy flowing inside me, I could experience my own consciousness dynamically changing and I was too becoming more in tune with the collective consciousness grid of humankind; all this knowledge and special talents, my intelligence (intellectual and emotional) was certainly growing and I possessed a different, deeper understanding of life, for I could see and sense things that the common individual couldn’t, angels but I could also see demons (and, believe me, they can be anywhere among us, and even now you may have one by your side).
     I was indeed becoming faster than I had ever been, jumped higher, with inwardly use of another sight into parallel dimensions, and, well, I was certainly sure I could do much more–just needed to figure out how.  Needed to be patient, too; but, as you can imagine, fifteen-year old kids are not too patient (almost sixteen though; big difference, right?).  But, I have to say, I always had a good relationship with my parents and was a good receptor to their examples of behavior; so, my strong character counted with profound insight based on my parents’ wealthy teachings, and I owned a rather resolute and cautious demeanor in my personal life endeavors, and, obviously, this helped to cope with further psychological and spiritual developments in my youth.
     The following weeks of recuperation were horrible, because I was plagued by nightmares of unknown people dying which seemed awfully real, and a plethora of natural catastrophes, and a super-odd premonition about my own father dying in some strange land I did not recognize–all signs of my own apocalypse coming to fruition, a renaissance or rebirth of my consciousness.
      I had slowly accepted my role as a higher-conscious entity in constant development and had also learned to make the best of it.  So, over the course of the next year, Mr. Hernandez aided me in understanding my transformation further–he was indeed a very emotionally intelligent psychic with many outstanding qualities, awards, and mystical experiences–and in how to embrace my evolving powers, and so make my multi-dimensional transition more natural for me.  How to hide my true persona when mixing with others in high school, how to control my powerful mind, how to manage my insatiable hunger for learning (since I was extremely curious and also always searching for wisdom in books)–all this was well taught to me under his watchful eye.  And in time I stopped being a kid and matured a lot, and became, too, a true higher entity to help those in real danger from the creatures of the night and the darkness.  All this training to prepare for the end of days as we know it:  ‘The presidency of one Mr. Donald Trump!’