Journey back from Ixtlan: A Non-Ordinary Transformation Account of a Persian Enchanted Soul
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John has mastered the art of subplanar vibration; thus by simply receiving his voice and its energy, with active imagination, you can travel with him through the same cosmic ranges and realms in your own aura and at a frequency of your own consciousness. In these recordings, John is witty, wry, courteous, affable, intellectual, respectful of history and tradition, metaphysically alert and evocative, psychologically astute. I attest to that firsthand see my book The subplanes of the Etheric, Mental, Causal, Buddhic, Atmic, Monadic, and Adi operate at a more elevated, subtle, and sublime resonance than the frequencies of our daily existence, but they are not otherwise weird or strange.
In fact, we live and our soul lives at many frequencies and in many worlds simultaneously, in contact with myriad other intelligences and beings, of which we are not ordinarily conscious but which register in our aura and are carried in the larger collectivity of our spiritual and karmic existence. We are, after all, energy beings, chakra fields in the process of materializing through our auras.
John facilitates our capacity to travel more consciously among the fields that are already constellated in us. To be able to access those fields and the pictures contained in them is to inhabit our actual place in the universe and to experience anew the meaning of ancient and long-term karma and past lives or energies in our auras, at least to the degree that these states manifest as psychic and spiritual pictures in actual energy fields.
John provides the tools to work with this unseen, more magical, vaster universe. To dead-reckon the pictures and hindrances that hover in your aura allows you an opportunity not only to experience them fully and thus make the universe larger but to work consciously with them and take a shot at dissolving some of their more trenchant blocks, even ones from lifetimes ago.
Plus North Atlantic plans a new book and a series of training CDs by him in The cards are not mere symbols. Arranged in symbolic pictures packed with kabbalistic, astrological, alchemical, and theosophical information, they are operators and activators of an ancient and elevated mode of consciousness. As synaptic firing nodes, they must be received at the right vibration; otherwise, they quickly devolve into mere intellectual or romantic exercises in staged symbolism and prophecy-mongering, prone to self-delusion on both sides of the deck.
At the right frequency, though, they trigger the message of a higher intelligence and invite a tarot spirit guide into your life. Case is not afraid to siphon very high energies in his downloading of the archetypal Trumps on which the actual cards are based, evoking hidden figures, anagrams, numerologies, koans, projective forms, and trans dimensions. Yet, at the same time, his depictions are pragmatic and accessible. They are neither flamboyant nor inflated, though they do have a science-fiction patina to them.
He manages to represent their images credibly on multiple levels and scales simultaneously, physical and spiritual, tying the macrocosm and microcosm together without tears either homograph okay and leading the student on a grail across the vast reaches of space and time coded in the mosaic windows.
The same tools and matrices can be used for fortune-telling and divination, the sole hierarchy of Greater Trumps replaced by one of the limitless individual maps of karma and soul at a specific Indicator gateway in space and time. The first and zero card, The Fool, is a guileless youth representing the human relationship to the Absolute—that of a rube and neophyte. Actually it is the Heavenly Androgyne. The cube that she sits on is Reality, also the cube of Space—e. The scroll in her lap is memory itself. Her robe, flowing out of the picture, is a creationary stream vibrating in lunar waves of consciousness see below.
The Empress wears the zodiac in her crown, for she is genatrix of all mental images. The Lovers trump six represents our two modes of consciousness in self-conscious, subconscious relationship to each other and in mutual harmony and union. The Hanged Man twelve is suspended in a reversed state of submission and the self-surrender, the ultimate stance of the adept. The Death card thirteen oversees the eradication of old, defunct ideas, systems, and institutions as well as the cells in whose nuclei they were retained. New subconscious ideas are implanted in the nuclei of fresh cells, their pattern propagated in the tarot series and embodied in the Hanged Man, leading to a new personality, a new conception of life and death.
The Devil fifteen is in fact a caricature of the Angel who oversees The Lovers. In this trump, Adam and Eve templates have been replaced by a tormented, contrived man and woman in chains, representing what happens when subconscious and self-conscious attention are turned away from each other and become trapped in the obstinacy and stubbornness of false sophistication and materialism. In The Tower sixteen they become falling figures, tumbling headfirst after the shock of the lightning-flash of revelation spontaneously transforming old ideas of reality and knowledge: the materialistic notion of matter and form as the sole ruling principles of existence.
In truth, all the cards are projections and transformations of one another, a single primordial scene merely altered in its key or perspective to show a different aspect of it in a symbolic cosmic procession. The series itself then functions as an initiation. The Angel in The Star seventeen is pouring radiant Cosmic Energy through the five senses and extrasensory nodes, conduits of sensation and subtle experience; these rivulets flow from her pitchers into the pool of universal consciousness and cosmic mindstuff.
In the Moon eighteen a shellfish emerges from the mindstuff as a symbol of the early stages of conscious unfoldment. It begins on a path which rises and falls through blue distances indicating planes of dream and trance consciousness, traversing the cultivated fields of general knowledge, past the wolf and dog representing wild and tame versions of animal mind , past two towers marking the boundaries of the known universe, ascending in cosmic time despite many valleys along the way, a locus that corresponds to periodicity and vibration and that demonstrates how, at an advanced point in our development, even our failures and ignorances will perform at a higher level than our earlier peaks and exaltations.
It will eventually fill the ocean on which the coffins of three-dimensionality float across The Judgement card twenty , wherein human beings arise from bare boxes into the ecstasy of higher dimensional experience all around them. They now understand the collective nature of universal consciousness, its illumination dissolving their delusions of separation. He unifies us in cosmic consciousness—as long as we suspend disbelief long enough to let the trumps ripple through our imagination and the spirits of tarot engage and entertain us. It is further the state of the soul in the consciousness of Divine vision….
The zodiacal figures of Taurus and Leo, a closed set representing the cycles of eternal return in the Wheel, open outward to release realms beyond nature, beyond the night sky. Sampson casts a gigantic interior zodiac that fills in the twelve signs generously, fractally, and in relation to the hidden nature of ourselves and the cosmos. His old-fashionedness of approach and style is actually a positive, a virtue, as the book has a formal and luxuriant flow, weaving a portrait of living archetypes in deep concordance. The Zodiac was the text that Ellias Lonsdale used to teach astrology to my students at Goddard in the mid seventies, over the objections of myopic literary faculty who broke out in sudden academic scruples when faced with the possibility of astrology on the curriculum, though otherwise, pretty much anything else they fancied was fair game see Out of Babylon for the milieu of the time.
Rudhyar locates the self and consciousness in relation to the collective symbolic realms of zodiacal fields. That is, he visions the planetary bodies in the context of the emergence of humanized personalities as cosmic, biological, and cultural functions. In fact, the traditionary sciences of alchemy, astrology, Ayurvedic medicine, numerology, etc. In the end, only traditionary science accounts for the concealed entirety of creation. It takes a certain genius to interpret and convey the ongoing dynamic relationships between atoms and stars, cells and planets, psyche and society—so whatever functional astrology you might learn from Rudhyar, and whatever function his astrology thereby has, he also teaches something deeper: the emergence of identity and self from time, of shape from timelessness, of cosmos from the unwinding springs of eternity.
Throughout the Renaissance, science was wrapped around the hermetic carousel in every imaginable way.
Even today we are practicing magic that we are not aware of, speaking in the voice of Hermes, even as Hermes back then was speaking symbolically for Egypt, Atlantis, and their forerunners on all planes as well as for sciences and technologies yet to come. Yates is a brilliant historian and theoretician of these magical distinctions and, although an academic rather than an occult adept, she traces a critical locus through the development of esoteric knowledge, capturing how Copernican theory arose in the context of Astral magic and continued thereafter, surprisingly, to be developed in the context of an emblematic geomancy whereby the inner sky remained as crucial and critical as the mere external and exoteric heavens.
This conflation was as active for Kepler and Newton as it was for Copernicus and Bruno. They were all magician-scientists, astronomer-priests.
Knowledge and its mnemonic systems in the Elizabethan era were based in magical and talismanic formulas evoking images, signs, seals, characters, voices, sigils, signatures, etc. Because no ontological distinction was recognized, the two magics were fused together unknown and unknowingly such that one was lost in the murk of bogus occultism and the other was systematized and sanitized into sterile physicomechanics. But they come from the same embryo and placenta, and only now, after we have eradicated the hermetic tradition as superstition and quackery, are we beginning to recover the meaning of that City of the Sun, its Solarian citizens, and its forfeited or dormant alchemical chemico-engineering—in solar and alternative energy, in homeopathic and other vital medicines, in new alchemical and biological transmutation, in psi phenomena, in radionic and Selfic wireless machines, and in new magical solar villages like Damanhur located outside Turin in Italy and various communes and healing centers rural Oregon, Arizona, and New Mexico for which Sedona may be the pop reference point but is not nearly ground zero.
In Theatre of the World, Yates relates the various geomantic magics and alchemico-astral machineries of John Dee, Robert Fludd, and Vitruvius to actual pulleys, trigonometric tools for surveying, fortification methods, weapons, and stage devices. The Rosicrucians were an invisible brotherhood that either did or did not exist and, if they did or perhaps either way they held the secret key to codes that linked science and magic. The various competing politico-religious factions of the time were unsure of either the R.
Though I make direct and indirect references to this historian all through my writings, my major references to her wonderful historiographies are in two projects: The Continents which I wrote in at the time that I read Giordano Bruno, and Martian Homecoming at the All-American Revival Church written in when I was involved in The Rosicrucian Enlightenment.
And I return to her in the early eighties for her disclosure of astromancy in The Night Sky. Does anything work? And how could you know unless you tried it? And how could you try it with the sincerity necessary for a real shot unless you already believed? And how else do you get the inertia of the universe working for you?
The universe!? Yes, the entire universe. There is no way to try Crowleyite magic on spec. Every man and every woman is a star. That is to say, every human being is an independent individual with his own proper character and proper motion…. Every force in the Universe is capable of being transformed into any other kind of force by using suitable means.
There is thus an inexhaustible supply of any particular kind of force that we may need….. In it The Master Therion describes occult ceremonies with students prior to which he told his nervous colleagues, the participants that they might well see gods and entities before the evening was over; Saturn could even bust in—but, keep calm, my friends, these are only illusions. When overwhelmed with grief at the death of his daughter, Crowley was asked by a disciple why he did not treat it as an illusion since he had advised them all to adopt that position in all such predicaments.
Crowley advises us also to treat every communication, even advertising on billboards, as messages from our soul. But, at same time, it is probably our most accurate guide to how the Earth and we humans got here—how we descended spiritually through the frequencies and zones of the cosmos in different pre-incarnate shadow-forms and densifying vibrations. He captures not the much-chronicled ascending evolution of inanimate matter into life forms, minds and, nations, but its antipode: the interior descent of spirit into substance.
Without the urgency of consciousness to evolve and manifest, there would be no partner for matter. Steiner assumes that a higher phase of the universe has incarnated in substance, traveling through ulterior dimensions and worlds and disparate materialities of landscape to get here, to become sentient and then conscious—even as molecular matter complexifies up through nature to meet spirit.
Prior worlds, not constructed of matter in the same way as this one is, looked quite different from the Earth, and we beings, en route phasally toward Earth incarnation, looked totally different in them too. We have forgotten who we were by becoming it at another level; that is, by evolving into this human form externally, we have expressed and manifested ancient forms and worlds and nonphysical dimensions that are lodged in us internally, far deeper than our cells, though ontologically at their basis. These same worlds reincarnate in us again and again ontogenetically, as cosmogeny recapitulates both ontogeny and phylogeny see my version of this maxim of Steiner in Embryogenesis.
The anthroposophical meta-sci-fi cosmology is almost certainly true in some esoteric sense, even if its worlds were not really planets and we were not men and women on them in the ordinary sense. Perhaps there should be a more elegant and luminous text on this critical topic than this plodding translation of Hauschka. However, in its apparent absence, this will have to do. I leaned on The Nature of Substance heavily in my depiction of the pre-biotic Earth in Embryogenesis, as it gave me something more subtle and complex than just the usual gathering of chemical properties from arrangements of protons and electrons which are interstitial enough.
The overriding premise of Hauschka is that simple: life—vitalistic essence, animation, even intrinsic intelligence—must be present in discrete raw forms in molecular carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, iron, tin, lead, mercury, silver, gold, and the like. These properties and qualities then get translated into the constituents of complex proteins, life forms, personalities, and cultures.
Hauschka attempts to identify and specify them, one by one, in their elemental and primordial manifestations. Whitmont emphasizes the archetypal aspects of vital essence as they get expressed in mind-body constitutional types. Their corresponding homeopathic medicines which, when potentized from dilutions of the same substances, release those qualities as curative virtues into psychosomatic human disease gestalts. Both are texts in an undiscovered library, perhaps lost on Atlantis or at Alexandria, of the esoteric sciences of alchemy and biological transmutation.
I whimsically include this manual as a stand-in and placeholder for the entire alchemical opus. Scientific work on nature was simultaneously an operation on oneself in the East, add the breath, chi, and the internal alchemy of personal development. Alchemy is simultaneously totemism and chemistry and, in being both, confers vital and shamanic gifts at the same time as it feeds the roots of technology and chemico-physics.
Barfield not only posits that consciousness must exist first for matter to exist but he fights off all manner of reductionism that opposes that viewpoint, bringing his celebration of spirit into unexpected places and recapturing a God who has been stolen by the scientific and religious authorities to serve their own purposes. As a practicing lawyer, Barfield presents a brilliant, idiosyncratic brief against the dominant scientific materialism of his time, and he wins a humanistic judgment of logic and hope.
You could begin phenomenology chronologically with Edmund Husserl, but I prefer the lusher and more erotic Merleau-Ponty. Even his name has the lightness and dance of epistemology. I love the way that MMP digs inside of history, art, perception, ideology, and belief systems, and makes his philosophy and ideation from scratch.
He picks away at conventional explanations of things, unraveling pat and facile observations, fashionable Marxist and existentialist maxims of his time with a tweet at Jean Paul Sartre ; he shows how everything has living roots, endlessly reactivated in the primary flow of impulses through the nervous system, through structures in the brain, through preexisting images driven by history.
And he does it with wit, gentility, and joie de vivre. The is the book of how we work—the pathways and neurophenomenology of us in the simplest, most accessible terms. We and the planet are a single coevolution of a single vast complementary body and transpersonal mind. Thus we should expect that the E. Its chemical elements are among those commonest on our planet. Its whole is redolent of the Earth, whence it was dug…. If the vertebrates be a product of the planet, our mind is a product of the planet.
Its senses each and all gear into the ways and means of our planet, which is its planet. Ours in an earthly mind which fits our earthly body…. Together they make up the sum total for us; they are all we have. We called them disparate and incommensurable. Are they then absolutely apart?
Can they in no wise be linked together? They have this in common…they are both of them parts of one mind. They are thus therefore distinguished, but are not sundered. Nature in evolving us makes them two parts of the knowledge of one mind and that one mind our own. Its outer surface also leaks like a sieve allowing molecules to be expelled and drained away when done with. Its coming was, we known now, pregnant with an immense advance for the whole future of life forms upon the planet….
Evolution has constantly dealt with the relation between bodily and mental as more than mere analogy. It is altruism as passion. The likeness to an optical camera is plain beyond seeking. If a craftsman sought to construct an optical camera, let us say for photography, he would turn for his materials to wood and metal and glass. He would not expect to have to provide the actual motor power adjusting the focal length or the size of the aperture admitting light.
He would leave the motor power out. If told to relinquish wood and metal and glass and to use instead some albumen, salt and water, he certainly would not proceed even to begin. And in a number of weeks it will have all ready. I call it a bud, but it is a system separate from that of its parent, although feeding itself on juices from its mother. And the eye it is going to make will be made out of those juices.
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Its whole self is at its setting out not one ten-thousandth part the size of the eye-ball it sets out about to produce. Instead it will make two eyeballs built and finished to the one standard so that the mind can read their two pictures as one. The magic in those juices goes by the chemical names, protein, sugar, fat, salts, water. Whitehead demonstrates that much of ultimate consequence that really happens in any given world-age is invisible to the actors of the time, camouflaged in the background of their culture and its unexamined conceits.
Then he proceeds to dig into our own unexamined background, wherein he finds a process creating reality that we miss daily. But such specific characteristics have become irrelevant for the society in question by reason of the inhibitions and attenuations introduced by discordance, that is to say, by disorder.
It only elicits that complex into importance for its members, and secures the reproduction of its membership. What are eternal objects? The two sets are mediated by a thing which combines the actuality of what is temporal with the timelessness of what is potential. This final entity is the divine element in the world, by which the barren inefficient disjunction of abstract potentialities obtains primordially the efficient conjunction of ideal realization….
By reason of the actuality of [the] primordial valuation of pure potentials, each eternal object has a definite, effective relevance to each concrescent process. Apart from such orderings, there would be a complete disjunction of eternal objects unrealized in the temporal world. Novelty would be meaningless and inconceivable. So does novelty come flying out of the background to astonish us?
Is novelty the prop and pillar that hold up the background, astonishing us into compliance? It is not simply or easily understandable, but you hear the footsteps of the serious consideration of the universe by the species mind, our species mind, as we are stirred and inspired to take ourselves and our words and deeds seriously and to weigh each proclamation and demand that we make upon reality and society. And even so, the measured weights and measures and precise sememes and etymologies of the words strive to bring us closer.
We find in those occasions, as known from our present standpoint, a surprising variation in the range of intensity of our realized knowledge. We sleep; we are half-awake; we are aware of our perceptions, but are devoid of generalities in thought; we are vividly absorbed within a small region of abstract thought while oblivious to the world around; we are attending to our emotions—some torrent of passion—to them and to nothing else; we are morbidly discursive in the width of our attention; and finally we sink back into temporary obliviousness, sleeping or stunned.
Since you are going to have to deal with erasure at some point, you might as well get it from the master. After all, everything dies and is expunged, elided, obliterated—every library, even the universe itself. As was the case with Whitehead and Barfield, not everything in this book is understandable to me. Most of it is over my head—way over my head. However, I do come away with a sober understanding of how everything in the world, every meaning positively asserted or borne into being on the wings of human will, contains within it an erasure of the same meaning and figment at another, emergent level.
Erasure is basic cosmic and philosophical hygiene, no matter what else you believe about the universe and yourself, no matter how spiritual or mythological or psychic you propose to be. It is not a matter of ideology or affiliation. You can damn Derrida and consider him irreverent, irrelevant, pompous, and misanthropic.
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But there is no way around the paradox of thought itself—the role of the unconscious and, of course, finally death, in erasing every mark, even utterance, every memory, every act and thought, every life and the insignia of every life. By capturing that elision, Jacques D. For all the chatter of us, for all the busyness the world, for all the fervent, intense, aggressive creation boggle and creature agency of the universe, for the collective urgency and hoopla of the hungry and horny beasts, there is finally nothing, nothing at all: nothingness.
All will not only be obliterated but is already corroding, obliterating itself in the act of becoming, in the very formulations of its own being. This is the absolute context of all our ambitions, the ambitions of rocks and cell pulps and punks. In a sense, Derrida has taken the Freudian unconscious see below and exported it from the role of a utilitarian neuro-medical device, a mere operational metaphor that was forged to pseudo-scientize psychology, and made it into the absolute outcome of all therapies, all sciences, all systems—all nouns, all verbs.
But he is not actually excavating the Freudian unconscious at all in the end; he is propounding that Freud himself merely skirted the edges of unconscious meanings, touched upon the shock wave of a far vaster obliteration, a black mirror of all. Derrida is saying: it not only is unconscious; it is unconsciousness.
Finally and forever. Donna Haraway gets at the subtle history and meaning structures that underlie cultural thought constructs and unbidden ideologies, especially those of science, gender, and interspecies relationships. She does so in these texts and her other, better-known ones. Cyborgs, primates, hominids, dogs, and gastrulas each contain complex symbolic histories within their humanized order, the deciphering of which yield clues to our own nature, our unexamined agendas, and especially our impregnable fortresses of scientific proof and barren concreteneess—where we come from as well as where we are going or, more properly, blindly stumbling :.
The dogs who come out of the belly of the plane are subject to a different social contract than the one they were born into. However, not just any Puerto Rican stray is likely to gets its second birth from this aluminum womb. They invented this game; this game remodels them. Metaplasm, once again. It always comes back to the biological flavor of the important words.
The word is made flesh in mortal naturecultures. One of these naturecultures is the science industry, and one of its shape-shifting factories is embryology: the metaplasm of the genetic and biological field. This is where Haraway began her journey, not as a feminist deconstructionist but as a historian of the twentieth-century embryology of Ross Harrison, Joseph Needham, and Paul Weiss, in Crystals, Fabrics, and Fields. The embryo is her model for organicism and hierarchical organization with emergent properties see Kauffman below. It involves vast numbers of dynamic strctures interacting in time and space; life consists of orderly, complex, group behavior whose limits are defined by rules of order empirically unearthed.
The idea of limits leads to that of levels. Appreciation of hierarchical organization remains the fundamental difference between organicism and any form of reductionism. The fact that Zizek is a fraud, a clown, and a ham is irrelevant; in fact, I suspect that Z himself would own up to these kitsch personae and deceits as high praise, even essential in some way to his posits. Yes he is sort of a Marxist, sort of an anarchist, sort of a self-declared Lacanian turning the pleasure principle as much inside-out as much as upside-down , as, at the bottom of it all, he means to explose the lies of these extant standing belief systems too, particularly the ones that reign throughout pop academic America at all shades of the political spectrum.
That is, he gets to the bottom of the languages, ideologies, and disingenuities by which we disguise our actual and usually exploitative greed and stratagems—which are far more exploitative than we acknowledge. There is no easy way out of the bleak universe that Zizek proposes because it is, ultimately, the universe, the universe of the Big Bang and matter itself, the universe of tedium, boredom, and a birthday surprise—as the more salient point is: he is having a fine time of it, heralding the sheer discordant fact of his own existence and the existence of any of this splatter instead of eternal nothing or a universal totalitarian state.
The break-up of Yugoslavia is plenty to keep him occupied and smiling for pretty much the duration, inside the deafening mute background noise and debris all the same. Remember, Z says, referencing Lacan, it is not so much that masturbation is sex with a fantasy object; it is that sex is masturbation with a partner. I am not sure whether he proposes a way out of this jungle or even thinks that there is one, but the tour under his charge is as delightful as it is macabre and horrific.
McLuhan widened my perspective to recognize the hidden meanings and unacknowledged agendas and propaganda of technology. What would Mac-L have to say, if around now, about the subtexts of email, Facebook, and Twitter, the intrinsic violence and decadence of the media themselves, which are unleashed among texting and my-spacing teenagers?
What do the electronics, the formats, and the devices of all machineries tell us about their meaning and use and hidden agendas? Who are the aliens, and who are the actual robots, them, or us? What would Deconstructer of the Medium disclose about the slurpy, untagged switchero from the Gutenberg Galaxy to the Kindle Galaxy? When getting information of this sort, especially iconic post-modernism, it is always best to consult the founder, even one who lived before the epoch in question.
McLuhan is still the seer of the possibility that we are presently undergoing. I suspect he will be so in the twenty-second century too if anyone is around to record it. By exploring this neurological condition thoroughly, Sacks opens a window into the mind itself—the way we think, the way we see, and how neural pathways interact with psyche and the phenomenological landscape as well as with their own evolutionary morphology, as they seek an algorithm to render universal chaos sensible and livable.
Sacks is drop-dead brilliant on the relationship between the phenomenological and the neurological realms and at locating the thresholds among the pathological, the psychotic, the merely exotic, and the psychedelic. Here the disease under treatment is a disease and medicine both, as well as a nervous-system probe. Brahkage orates on perception, artistic creation, and the path of vision in every sense of the word as well as his own spiritual and individuating journey.
Rough, outrageous, impatient, even petulant and bullying, he makes it clear and makes it stick that we each need a way to see and a way to live.
If you take what is given to you passively by the culture, you will die spiritually and aesthetically in every sense. It is a time haunted by sexual sterility, yet almost universally incapable of perceiving the phallic nature of every destructive manifestation of itself. It is an age which artificially seeks to project itself materialistically into abstract space and to fulfill itself mechanically because it has blinded itself to almost all external reality within eyesight and to the organic awareness of even the physical movement properties of its own perceptibility.
The earliest cave paintings discovered demonstrate that primitive man had a greater understanding than we do that the object of fear must be objectified. The entire history of erotic magic is one of possession of fear thru holding it. If my sensibilities were otherwise oriented, revelation would take an other external form. Yet, in a hypothetical deep-reality, tribal game board of Planet Earth, BLW launches a fresh and vital Hopi and Amerindian universe out of the sheer non-Indo-European parse of its phrases and how they cut up space and time into things that are not, in an IE sense, space or time.
The objective or manifested comprises all that is or has been accessible to the senses, the historical physical universe, in fact, with no attempt to distinguish between present and past, but excluding everything that we call future, but NOT MERELY THIS; it includes equally and indistinguishably all that we call mental—everything that appears or exists in the mind, or, as the Hopi would prefer to say, in the HEART, not only the heart of man, but the heart of animals, plants, and things, and behind and within all the forms and appearances of nature in the heart of nature, and by an implication and extension…in the very heart of the Cosmos itself.
The subjective realm subjective from our viewpoint, but intensely real and quivering with life, power, and potency to the Hopi embraces not only our FUTURE, much of which the Hopi regards as more or less predestined in essence if not in exact form, but also all mentality, intellection, and emotion, the essence and typical form of which is the striving of purposeful desire, intelligent in character, toward manifestation—a manifestation which is much resisted and delayed, but in some form or other is inevitable….
Note the torquing, vibratory, rhythmical, rotative transfer of energy and meaning between the punctual and the segmentative:. Whether, as has been implied by some enthusiastic fans, the Hopi language would get humanity to faster-than-light spaceship travel sooner than English is not so much a practical question as a koan and riddle for future Whorfians and aerospace and astral-space engineers. Though I stubbornly read every word, I eagerly looked ahead to each next dream italics and then participated in the decodings like puzzles or games.
It was the freedom and permission to take hold of a magical world. At each re-reading of Interpretation of Dreams thereafter, through my early thirties, I found that I was able to gain a deeper level of understanding. Dreams are the immediate canvass on which the unconscious splashes its unadulterated dynamics, expresses its intrinsic paradoxes, and exposes its ultimate contradictions and riddles, which make up the frayed substrata underneath all our behavior and philosophy. Dreams are also the safety valve through which even the undreamt aspects of the unconscious release apparitions of uncertain origin that are too frightening to encounter in waking life and that also on the other hand comprise volcanoes too powerful to contain.
Dreams are their compromise status or process, tolerable or at least bearable for the ego to the degree anyway that they do not progress into nightmares , yet transgressive enough to allow in quanta of forbidden unconscious contents that the physics of the psyche require. Freud proceeds slowly and thoroughly, capturing the many aspects of the dream process, showing complete cognizance and mastery of historic dream theory, representing primarily the immediately prior decades of investigation preceding his own revolutionary synergy. The various successive editions of The Interpretation of Dreams function as nothing less than an integration of the entirety of scientific and psychological research in the context of the evolution of a new theory that incorporates and resolves all prior decipherings.
Freud discards fallacious missteps and places each prior attempted analysis or interpretation in a novel light and context, both in relation to each other and in relation to his new X factor. Thus he achieves a revelatory synthesis that nothing leading up to it presaged. The first thing I did when I arrived home from school was my homework. Up to grade four, I was the best student in all my classes and always came first or second in exams.
My parents were the nicest in the family. They were well spoken of for their close relationship—you know, like lovebirds. I had two younger sisters, one eighteen months younger and the other one eight and half years younger. The older one was my polar opposite. She was always late to and from school and was a sort of rebel. She was outgoing and social, while I always liked my solitude. She had a heart as big as an ocean, and she was, and still is, a joy to the people around her.
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We call her Sherrie, which is a shortened version of Sharareh; it means sparkling flames. But as time passed, I began to see more similarities between her choices and mine, and that made me more proud of her. For instance, in music, her taste was much closer to mine; I was very proud of my musical choices. My relationships with both of my sisters were based on honesty, love, and respect. We were so close that I was almost the first to know if they were interested in any guys. I even remember giving them advice on how to solve their relationship problems in some cases.
I guess it is sometimes counted as a weakness, both in the eyes of guys and girls. In fact, conflict was the only thing I always ran away from.
Journey back from Ixtlan: A Non-Ordinary Transformation Account of a Persian Enchanted Soul
I always thought respecting others could diminish all the conflicts between people. But later, as I grew, I found out that life is not that simple. People are able to create conflicts out of nothing and then easily blame them on you. My father was in the military. Even though he was not a very high-ranking officer, he was highly respected. He had connections in all of the military bases around the country. He was known by everyone at the Ministry of Defense. Because of the nature of his work, almost all other military personnel under his authority, or even above him, respected him.
He was loved for his kind and fair approach to everyone. I remember many times when his associates at work asked him to be the judge in their disputes, whether it was a family issue or a work problem. At the same time, he was also very authoritative. No one ever disobeyed him, as far as I knew. Every year during the summer, when the school was closed, he took me to his work place, and I personally witnessed how he treated others and how they respected him.
He treated everyone with dignity and justice. I was a witness to that even as a young child. I still clearly remember those days when I used to run in the long and empty labyrinths of the Ministry, playing hide-and-seek with the guards. Actually, they never played with me because they were like the guards at Buckingham Palace; they never moved from their stations. But still, it was fun to tease them. Sometimes they would scare me with a sudden move, and I would scream and run.
There were times, when I was running in hallways or jumping up and down the stairs, when I would hear the sound of footsteps in the corridors. I had learned how to tell from the sound of the footsteps and the shouts of the guards how important the person was. Sometimes I had to quickly hide behind the huge velvet curtains until they were gone.
I had probably seen two or three Ministers of Defense during my reign in the Ministry. As a child, I used to think I was the prince of that glorious palace—that my father was the most important person in the whole world, and I was second to him. I knew every corner and every hiding place in the Ministry.
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On one occasion, I was seen by the Minister himself. I ran like I had seen a Jin. A couple minutes after I was seen by the Minister, everybody was talking about this little kid who was running around the Ministry. A search began, but as soon as my father heard about it, he called the Minister and told him that it was his son, who he had brought to the building for a tour. The Minister wanted to see me, so my dad took me to his office; I was scared to death. Sometimes I wondered why my father did not destroy them all in a wink of an eye!
I was only six years old when that happened. Everybody was ready to help and rescue me in case I was in trouble, even though it was dangerous for them. That was how I knew who was a friend and who was with the enemy. There were times when they had to hide me under their desks when a general would unexpectedly decide to check the departments.
It was frightening and exciting at the same time. Every summer for at least six consecutive years, from the ages of five to eleven, I had the chance to be in this magical palace, living in my tales of wicked rulers who were mean to their people and the savior my dad who was always there to bravely save his people from the hands of these monsters. Of course, as I grew up, I found out that things were a little bit different.
They were not as bad as I used to think. Reality is, we all have to leave childhood behind and come out of the bubbles we build around ourselves. But soon we figure out that we have to build and live in another bubble called adulthood, which comes with responsibilities. My dad had a very gentle side, too.
He played the santur, an original Persian musical instrument with seventy-two to one hundred strings that is played with two light, oval-shaped mallets. At most weekend parties with friends and family, he was asked to bring his santur and play while others sang old Persian songs. Every Iranian around the world has great memories of those days in the times of Shah, king of Iran. Those gatherings were like a tradition for all of us. Every Thursday night, which was like Saturday night in the West, all the uncles and aunts from both sides, along with the grandmas and grandpas and all cousins—young and adult—used to gather in one place, playing card games, dancing, singing, drinking only the adults , and doing other fun stuff.
At the end of night, when most of the adults were happily drunk, it was time for the santur and poems from Hafez and Rumi, or some current famous poets, to be sung in a traditional Persian atmosphere. I liked it very much, and I promised myself to learn to play the santur when I grew up.
I even gave it a try for a while, but I guess I was made for something else, as you will read later. I personally do not know any Iranian who does not miss those fun, simple, and care-free nights in Iran in the times of Shah. My mother was the sweetest of all and a very beautiful dancer. She, like most moms, was our secret keeper.
She was another hero, but back at home. She was the one who always rescued us from the hands of bullies at the school, the one who protected us in the marketplace, and the one who found us if we were lost in the crowd. As we grew, we began to do the things we were not supposed to do, but she kept protecting us when our dad was angry at us because of all those so called bad things we used to do as kids. Women are natural defenders. No matter the culture, the number of wives who have sacrificed their own dreams and desires to protect their families is much higher than the number of men who have done the same.
We men tend to think we are the centre of the universe, and most of the time, we ignore and neglect our responsibility, not toward the family, but directly regarding our wives. I will always be thankful for all they did and went through to raise us up to be who we should be. Of course our own personal choices, as free human beings, can always change the course of our lives and lead us to places no parents want for their children.
My parents really did their best for us and I personally do not blame them for the consequences of my own choices in life. When I finished grade four, at the age of nine, my parents enrolled me in an extra summer school for the talented. They wanted me to pass grades five and six in one tough exam and then go to junior high. What could I possibly do? They just wanted to boast about me before the family. So during that long summer, I did my best, and I passed the big exam.
Then, without having an exciting summer vacation, I entered junior high the same year. I felt such pride walking among kids much older than me, but at the same time, the sudden immersion in junior high had its damages on me too. Because of my interest in history, geography, physics, English language, and literature, I was the best in my class, but not everybody likes geeks! I was the youngest and smallest in my school. But as we all learn through life, popularity will also make enemies; some guys began to develop a jealousy of and hatred toward me, about which I could do nothing.
Back in those years, in the old educational system in Iran, almost all junior middle and high schools were one and were called high school. What happens when your failures meet God? Dry your eyes baby. You cannot let your You cannot let your temporary circumstances taint your faith. In a twisted and haphazard journey of love, life and walking into purpose, Lani falls, triumphs, and falls again.
When the Gatekeepers Journey. Tom Mackenzie is a beaten man, a man that has lost all hope, his ministry Tom Mackenzie is a beaten man, a man that has lost all hope, his ministry destroyed, his finances in shambles, his marriage at a breaking point. He has bought the lie that his past failures cannot be redeemed and that Tayler was the epitome of life. She was my life, and in March , she She was my life, and in March , she was diagnosed with leukemia, dying in April from sepsis. With my faith so weak, I struggled, wondering How does a loving God take such Help Me, See M.
My Essence : A Journey. My Essence is a priceless gift for everyone who wants to My Essence is a priceless gift for everyone who wants to know their purpose and discover their destiny. The author Ed Williams profoundly explains truths in very simple ways. Give this book to everyone you care Jocelyn's Journey.