Codex Ashla Master David

The hero’s journey is the processes of human experience through existence and existence through experience, a literal birth and rebirth. However, the attempt of doing so is wrought with many pitfalls of misconception. Efficacy requires us then to stay our course, discard the bullshit, and to pass on to others only that which is most wholesome. I, therefore, must apologize in advance; for of the three legged stool, the following is, undoubtedly, the shortest limb.

A plethora of systems, religions, and how-to publications surround us; indeed, the internet has cast an informative web on most inhabitable parts of our planet. And while some more accurately address their purpose than others, most of them hint of, utilize, or refer to the whole as if in pieces. This benefits diversified initiates by providing options but creates confusion concerning exactly which among them is best suited for use by the individual aspirant and for that individual’s purpose. If only we had the sorting hat of Hogwarts, eh? But we do. Serendipitously, the universe provides the journey for which the hero is ready. This means that one can successfully vitalize whatever life they find themselves in, with little dependency of all systems. Close friends may share the ceremonial pipe (an orientating and celebratory deed); yet, even similarities of function ironically so often differ in form. Therefore, this communication serves to describe and illustrate the bare bones of a subtle craft, of which you are free to provide insight, personal experiences, question, and if we must, argue.

Given as one who requires purpose and having scant vices to describe the transcendent, it is only fitting to syntax form by function. Therefore, we first should ask “Why should I?” before committing to a task. The answer is that life signifies that one has already embarked on the journey. Finding oneself in this vitally corporal state, the options available are to proceed skillfully, clumsily, or aimlessly. Master Bane has likened this as being tossed into a mighty river. He said, “You can either go kicking and screaming, or swim.” And as Joseph Campbell once said, “The labyrinth is thoroughly known. We’ve only to follow the hero path.”

In so doing, literally, certain distinctions need to be made. Mere speculation must be distinguished from work. By speculation, I mean just thinking about doing instead of actually doing. The conundrum is that meditation is chief among methodologies. Moreover, meditation finds infinite form. It includes action, non-action, inward and outward searching. Doing is accomplished by as little as beingness, yet the mightiest deed done, while not in meditation, is vanity. Thus, mindfulness and bodily participation become paramount.

For clarity, my now 6 year old daughter and 4 year old son were discussing the dangers of cars vs. trucks while we traversed a busy parking lot. My daughter says, “Trucks are more dangerous because they have big tires and they (the drivers) are higher up.” To which my son replies, “Yeah, they’ll (the trucks) run over you easier than a car.” At this point I felt most compelled and interjected that, “The most dangerous vehicle is the one driven by a person who is not aware of what they are doing.”

Given that you have read this far, we can safely assume I’ve piqued your interest or that the above resonates with your personal convictions or interests in some way. With the question of “why?” being laid to rest, let us proceed.

What is the hero’s journey? The hero’s journey, also called a knights errand and a soul’s high adventure, is the quest of initiation into the mysteries of the world or reality by which one is transmuted into higher potential. While the manifest differs from person to person, a few generalities can be made and expanded upon.

1) Realization of one’s higher nature (transcendence of the abyss)
2) Realization of one’s lower nature (transcendence of humanity)
3) Reinstatement or Reintroduction as a changed being.
4) Application in life.

How does one embark in finding one’s higher nature? Logically it follows that if one has no disabilities of the senses or mental facilities, yet is lacking knowledge or abilities, the remedy is experience. However, how does one proceed to experience something that is said to have no beginning? Where does one start? The answer is that one doesn’t start, yet does. For this, we must firstly address the limitations of truth and control.

We live in a holographic, fractal, and quantum reality in which truths are seemingly separated only by their levels of illumination. Truths can fully exist while remaining contradictory to their own respective antithesis. Two examples of this are found in paradoxes and the two truths of Buddhism. Given the perception-dependant state of duality based judgments, it is helpful to demote all absolute certitudes to one’s working knowledge or model. For this, I personally use the yellow bellied imagery of an empty cup. Yes, I’m weird but humor me. The empty cup symbolizes the first step of transcendence. It serves as a reminder that full cups can receive no more. To the point, that to increase knowledge of the world or reality, let go or loosen the grip to dogmas, behaviors, habits, ideals, labels, and meanings to which are cleaved. In essence, strive to witness and interact with the environment differently so that insights or changes may be revealed as inherent. For the yahoo readers, the limitations of truth and control taken together provide the doorway to transcend duality via the yogic path of unity or oneness, which is also the gaping hole of bliss called nihilism. Nihilism will threaten to abolish even the most solidly built constitution, and will be discussed later.

Fools have an affinity toward falsifiable truth and control alike. Naivety informs those who are the slaves of themselves that “enough” control yields freedom. The belief of absolute freedom via absolute discipline is best left as a suspended potential pending a proper and methodical investigation of the facts alleged. Consider now a ravenous shark. So skilled in hunting, the shark has a 99% success rate in catching and devouring its prey. A veritable eating machine, every inch is perfectly designed for optimum performance. Yet, disembowel one. As noted in Moby Dick, the shark will, if given the chance, turn and eat its own intestines. Such is the blindness found in those void, instinctive and hollow eyes. What freedom exists within the confines of a program? Line for line and nut for bolt, any machine which has been constructed can also be, so says the fearful Johnny Five, disassembled.

At some point in the process of suspending beliefs, perhaps considering others, meditating or in some other way, a very real, powerful and life vivifying experience happens. It is the paradigm shift which occurs when one realizes one’s connection with everything else. With it enters a pervading silence which ends desires, thoughts, and ambitions. Buddha called it nirvana, and it has many names. With the peacefulness of a dove, comfort lulls even the best intentioned people into relinquishment of purpose. The world seems perfect, everything is as it should be, and that nothingness is perhaps the worst state mortal death could hope to achieve. This bliss is a necessary step for sure, but also premature. For now, I must, as Khaos framed it, cast a bug in Buddhas’ eye.

There is a zen story about a young monk who attained enlightenment. He told an older monk that he finally understood that he was everyone and everything. The older monk simply picked up a piece of wood, hit the younger on the head with it, and asked, “Who is it that is hurting?”

For those who have found oneness, Buddha or Christ-nature, nonduality, or the Jungian idea that one who sees muck is muck, wouldn’t it be a reunification with divinity, or at least of the whole self (in this case the macrocosmic muckness) if we disemboweled them too? Logically, the theoretically relative union is connotative of a likewise previously unacknowledged separation. As the Oracle in Matrix III says, “It’s a pickle, no doubt about it.” However, as surely as the center of nowhere is everywhere, the abyss does have an end. The abyss terminates at finding the transcendent, which is one’s highest nature. The truth of connection to infinity AND separation thereof through finite temporality vivifies the preciousness of vitality and mortality, yet retains the sacredness of all that is eternal.

As established, first must be known why one’s lower nature is also important. The same lack of knowledge or abilities that prompts a quest for one’s higher nature likewise mandates a quest for one’s lower nature. Considering the cliché, “as above so below” our search for illumination must not therefore neglect experience with the diabolical. More to the point, the identity established through pain or some odd contortion of nihilism and belief is that of the lower self. It too is the point of reference of the conceptualized “me”, expressed in the form of ego and body. Since the lower nature is our self (bodily inside the field of time) we should certainly understand it also. Most will agree that it is easier or more pleasant to find ones higher nature, yet few, and even they are scoffed at, retain that the quest of lower nature is the yardstick which defines and measures work. I can certainly see their inverted point, because as one becomes inverted, it becomes upright.

As wicked as portrayed, the quest for lower self is initially very familiar. How fast can you run a mile? What would you do if? What do you think about [insert subject]? What is your job title? How much is your house worth? Regardless of the questions asked, the answers are important to you personally because they define a relative position or value which can be improved upon, or provide a material through which weaknesses may be identified and eliminated. This is the process of equalizing limitations and raising both abilities and knowledge in pursuit of an overall improved person. What do you want in life, death? If not, let us consider the abilities of truth and control.

Recalling the wastelands of nihilism, it is then with doubt that any idea is first formed. However, against better judgment some ideas do function and seem verified by reality. It is with this special understanding on the nature of ideas and truths that one can start at any one known thing and conclude at all things that are at least knowable. The right or wrongness of ideas is not inherent, but merely a subjective tag which connotes how accurately they function in their intended applications. More to the point, the relevance or importance of any notion is found strictly in its ability to empower.

For example, let us reconsider the aforementioned cup. The empty cup reminds me of the dark, feminine, receptive, and chaotic energy of the universe from which all light, matter, and life emanate as radiance. The empty cup induces charitableness from the mixture of three primary principles:

1) One can have only one cup; everything that you are, have, and do is you or yours. While the contents may change in quality and quantity, it cannot double as it is your everything.
2) Its total capacity is finite. Unused resources are waste. While having money and wealth are not the same, both are betrothed to progeny at death. Thus, one can never truly have anything except experience.
3) Fullness and emptiness are temporary states, as all things are.

Is it right? Is it wrong? Let the master of mind and matter decide. But until then, I say it worked for me. By that same virtue, I am reminded to hold my tongue from passing judgment (a form of charity given to me that I now repay to others) on my brother’s and sister’s models of reality. We do so in play, but that is for exploration. We are all stars; our false perceptions are true because they work. Often in communities much like ours, individuality supersedes fraternal bonds; the unsaid purpose of doing so is to cultivate an environment or relationship which encourages the endeavors of their craft, to indeed turn refreshment into the labor of refining truths.

Like truths, one can do any singular known act and build upon it until all things doable and undoable are known. Precautions should be taken not to label the unknowable and undoable as impossibilities; for as alluded to, the systematic mapping of abilities and limitations function to give one’s location or value in the grander scheme in life. It is from this initial value one continuously pushes to know and do more. Or as the hierophant informs me, the locked gate of impossibility, to the novice, guards the childhood romping ground of the adept who knows impossibilities are but unrealized possibility.

If ideas supply the bricks of human constitution, control is the labor by which they are assembled or disassembled. Control, in its many initial forms, is the ability to maintain, build, or destroy. The superficial control within individuals is that of will as implied by its common usage. Will power is the ego based energy where Chi is a bodily form. The Living Force is the amalgamation of all spiritual, mental, and physical energies. Like all muscles, will can be exercised and thusly cultivated. There is a residual effect over time which increases the capacity to contain more at any given point in time, but this is merely akin to having a bigger vessel of which the contents ebb and flow. Much like truth, the relevancy or importance of control is based strictly on its ability to empower. This goes to say that as truth manifests in various forms of illumination, so too does control. To not realize this is to forever remain another link in someone else’s chain, a tool, and a slave to one’s own system of control. Yet for freedom, one must conquer the lord of the abyss.

Every self proclaimed Buddha or Sat-chit-Ananada should, when ready, have the benefit of a friend who asks, “Where does your oneness go when confronted with a murder-death-kill, oppressor, pimp, pedophile, slave owner, rapist, or thieving crack head? And, every Christian should likewise have a friend who asks, “What kind of God gives free-will, yet the other option apart from servitude is eternal damnation?” Ah, the monster within has reared its ugly head.

Earnestly asking these or like questions to oneself is like provoking the only creature within a billion billometers that is guaranteed certain to be the absolute undoing of all that one holds most dear. In conceptualized form, it is the anti-self. Quite literally what we have done is to isolate the center of being from all forms of control, even those of self infliction. What materialist would willingly navigate their finances into bankruptcy? So where exactly does the drive to be that materialist originate? Only the bankrupt materialists can say for themselves; for if they continue, it is only by their controlled folly.

In conclusion, seeking the rapture of vitality must involve the perceived threat of harm just as seeking the eternal must reveal the impossibility of death. In this way, life becomes the evil which is gladly blasphemed by its own function and the final glory is something neither dreaded nor anticipated. Thusly, the pains and excitements of living are not shunned or avoided, but embraced and participated in, fully. Furthermore, the hero’s journey identifies the center of one’s being. Through no small feat do we find the gods and devils are inside us as constructs of the mind, yet that mind exists only as a product of that very real Force. This, my friends, is the liberation from which we choose to make love, war, and everything in-between or without.

Having been thusly initiated, the next logical question must inquire by what pretenses one leans toward light or dark if not at the expense of illumination. Of those who know, they were the first to forge religions and archetypal aspects (good-truth-light, bad-control-dark, both/nothing-gray, etc) to facilitate the journey of illumination for others and to further explore the mystery of life from within the modality which informed them of and from the center of their beings. It should go without saying that of those who do not know, they therefore gravitate toward an aspect for which, the properties and vices of, they have the most affinity. Even still, others hide the secret focus, the illumination described in this communication, of their otherwise broken philosophy. A coddling, they fancy, of the less fortunate, worthy, or trusted. That goes with sound reason too, as the premature knowledge of fate would have prevented even the mightiest heroes from becoming so.

It is for the last methodology of leaning do I make things a little more personal. How David? How do I reconcile my behavior and claims of transcending good and evil yet have the audacity to despise the latter? The answer is that in infinity, I do not. However while inside the field of time and duality, I do and will participate.

Master Edge 7/14/2010

Why the Owl Behaves as it does

by Ted Hughes

When Owl became an Owl, the first thing he discovered was that he could see by night. The next thing he discovered was that none of the other birds could.

They could see only by day. They knew it was no use trying to see by dark night, so at every grey dusk they closed their eyes and slept until the grey dawn. They had been doing this for so long, they had forgotten what the dark was.

Owl thought about this. Then he went to the other birds and said: “I know a country where there are farms, but no farmers. You may eat when and where you please. There are no guns, no bird-scarers, no men. I will take you there if you like.”

Since every day, Man killed large numbers of the birds as they were feeding in the fields, they said: “This sounds like a safe, peaceful country, made for birds. Let us go with Owl.”

Owl smiled to himself. “Good,” he said. “Now, since we have no passports, we shall have to cross the frontier by night, when no one can see us. We shall leave at dusk and should be there by dawn.”

When dusk came, Owl led all the birds to a rabbit hole on the hill. “Hold each other’s hands,” he cried. “I will lead you.”

All the rabbits that lived on the hill ran up to see what new game the birds were playing. Owl led the way down into the dark hole.

“Is this night, then?” whispered the linnets in the pitchy darkness of the hole.

“Hmm,” said the crows. “So this is night.”

It was so dark down the hole that the birds couldn’t even see their own beaks. Each one clung to the wing of the bird in front and followed blindly. Owl led them to and fro in the loops and twists of the hole for about five minutes. By that time, the birds, who were not used to walking, felt as if they had been traveling for hours.

“Is it much further?” cried the swallows. “Oh, our poor little feet!”

At last Owl shouted: “Halt, while I see if it’s clear up ahead.”

He popped his head out of the rabbit hole and looked around. It was darker than when they had entered the hole a few minutes before, but it was not yet quite night. There was still a pale light in the west.

“Here we are!” he cried then. “Over the border, just as dawn is breaking.”

And he led the birds out into the open. All the rabbits ran up again and sat, one ear up and one ear down, watching the birds with very puzzled expressions.

“Is this the new country?” asked the birds, and they crept close together, looking round at the almost dark landscape.

“This is it, ” said Owl. “And that is dawn you can see breaking in the East.”

The birds had quite lost their bearings in the dark underground, and the landscape was now too dark to recognize as the one they knew so well by day. They believed everything that Owl said.

Owl led them off the hill and down towards a farm.

“But it seems to be getting darker,” said the doves suddenly.

“Ah, I am glad you noticed that, said Owl. “That is something I forgot to tell you. In this country, day is darker than dawn.”

He smiled to himself, but the birds looked at each other in dismay.

“But what about the nights?” they cried. “If day is darker than dawn, how dark are the nights?”

Owl stopped and looked at them. They couldn’t see his face, but they could tell that he was very serious.

“Night here,” he said, “is so dark, so terribly dark, that it is impossible for a mere bird to survive one glimpse of it. There is only one thing to do if you want to keep alive. You must close your eyes as tight as you can as soon as the dark of the day begins to turn grey. You must keep them closed until I wake you at grey dawn. One peep at the dark, and you are dead birds.”

Then, without another word, he led them into the barnyard of the farm.

The farm lights were out. The farmer was sleeping. The farm was silent.

“Here you are,” said Owl. “Just as I promised. Now feed.”

The birds scratched and pecked, but by now it was too dark to see a thing. At last they learned to find the grains by feeling with their feet. But it was slow work.

Meanwhile, Owl sat on the corner of the barn, overlooking the barnyard. Whenever he felt like it, he dropped down and snatched up a nightingale or a willow-warbler. In the pitch dark, the rest of the birds were no wiser. “This is better than rats and mice and beetles,” said Owl, as he cleaned the blood from his beak. By the time the first grey light showed in the sky, Owl was fuller than he had ever been in his life.

He gave a shout: “Here comes the grey of dusk. Hurry, hurry! We must get to our beds and close our eyes before the terrible dark comes.”

Tumbling over each other and bumping into things, the birds ran toward his voice. When they were all gathered, he led them to a nearby copse, which was full of brambles.

“Here is good roosting,” said Owl. “I will awaken you at dawn.”

And so, in the grey of dawn, which Owl had told them was the grey of dusk, the birds closed their eyes. All that bright day they stood in groups under the brambles, their eyes tightly closed. Some of them were too frightened to fall asleep. Not one of them dared to open an eye. One look at that darkness, Owl had said, and you are dead birds.

Owl dosed happily in the dark hollow of a tree. His trick was working perfectly. He was very pleased with himself. No more mice and rats and beetles for him.

At dusk he gave a shout. “Here is dawn,” he told the birds. “Back to our feeding.”

And he led them back to the farm where everything happened as the night before.

In this way, Owl grew fat and contented, while the other birds grew wretched. They grew tired of scraping in the dark barnyard. Sometimes they swallowed a grain, but as often it was a cinder. The farm cocks and hens that picked the barnyard over from end to end all day long had not left much for the birds.

And when they fell asleep, they were terrified lest they have a dream, open their eyes without thinking, and catch a glimpse of the deadly darkness. It was a great strain. Owl was continually warning them of the danger. “One peep in that darkness,” he kept saying, “and you are dead birds.”

If only one little bird had peeped, for only one second, with only one eye, he would have seen that there was no such thing as deadly darkness. He would have seen the sun, and the countryside he knew so well. But Owl made sure that none ever did.

The birds grew thin. Their feathers began to fall out. Their feet ached from stumbling about in the darkness, and their wings ached from never being used. They did not like the new country. They complained among themselves.

At last, one dusk, when owl awoke them with his usual cry, “Dawn!” they all went up to him and told him they could stand it no longer.

“Please lead us back to our own county,” said the birds.

Owl was worried. He wanted to keep the birds in his power. He didn’t want to go back to eating rats, mice, and beetles.

Then he had an idea.

“Yes,” he said. “You are right. This is a fine country and not dangerous. But, as you say, it is hard to make a living here. Let us find the hole by which we came and return to our own country.”

He led them up to the rabbit warren on the hill. It was almost dark. “Here are the birds playing that game again,” said the rabbits, and they all ran up to stare.

“Now,” said Owl to the birds. “It was one of these holes, but just which one I cannot remember. Can any of you remember?”

“I think it might have been this one,” said Cuckoo.

“Or perhaps this one,” said Jenny Wren.

“Let us try them all,” said Owl.

Most of the birds didn’t dare to enter the holes lest they get lost. The ones that did were soon up again saying: “This one comes out here.”

And: “This one comes out here.”

Owl pretended to be distressed. “We have lost our way back, and it’s all my fault. Oh dear!” he cried. Then he made his voice sound very brave, as he said: “As we are here for good, let us make the best of it.” And he led them down to the barnyard for the night’s feeding.

So it went on, for almost a year.

At last the birds decided they had had enough.

They were too unhappy to go on living. “This is no life whatsoever,” They said to each other. “Let us all die bravely, and at once,” said Robin, “instead of dying slowly in this miserable way.” ” We will do that!” cried the storm-cocks. “We will all die bravely together, rather than live like this.”

“But how?” said Little Gold-Crested Wren. “How can we die?”

“Let us open our eyes,” said Robin, “to the deadly darkness. Owl said that would kill us all.”

The unhappy birds went out with Owl that night for the last time. He led them to the barnyard as usual and took up his post. But instead of trying to find food, the birds all sat down together in a big close group in the middle of the yard. They had decided what to do. But Owl knew nothing of it. He stared down. Softly, the birds began to sing their old songs.

“What’s the matter with you?” cried Owl. “You’ll starve if you don’t eat!”

But the birds took no notice of him. They went on singing, in their thin, hungry voices. It was a long time since they had sung. Now they sang very low, and very sadly.

It was a bright night, with a full moon, but Owl couldn’t catch a single one of those birds. They were pressed far too closely, one against another. He couldn’t even pick one from the edge of the group. And they sang all night.

By dawn Owl was furious.

“Dusk!” he cried. “Back to copse! Here comes the deadly dark.”

He was very hungry. And he knew what he would do. He would sneak down on them by broad day, when they were standing under the brambles with their eyes tight shut. Then he would eat his fill. He would have a song-thrust, a yellow-hammer, a grain-finch, and five bluetits…

“Where are you going?” he cried. Instead of following him back to the copse, the birds had turned up the hill. Following the rising ground, they came at last to the very top. All around them lay the dark landscape. They gathered under the three elm trees there and faced the first grey line that was showing in the east. Then, once more, they began to sing their old songs.

Soon the deadly darkness would begin to spread through the sky. Or so they thought. They stared into the brightening dawn and sang, holding their eyes as wide as they could to catch the first rays of deadly darkness.

Oh, they were so tired of their lives.

To die like this was better than to live as they had been doing, going nowhere but where Owl led them, always in darkness, scraping their feet raw for a few grains.

They sang, and stared into the dawn. Every moment they expected the first killing ray of black to shoot out of the bright east.

At the edge of the field Owl was beating his head with his wings. He knew what the result would be. In a few moments the sun would rise, and the birds would recognize the landscape around them.

“Come home!” he cried. “You sillies! You’ll all be killed dead as stones. Come home and close your eyes!”

But the birds had no more interest in anything that Owl said. They only wanted to die.

Slowly the sun put it’s burning red edge into the sky. Lark gave a shriek. He sprang up into the air. “It’s the sun!” he cried. “It’s real day!” Slowly the sun rose.

As it rose, the birds flew up into the branches of the elms, dancing on the twigs, and singing till their heads rang. “It’s the sun!” they sang. “It’s real day!”

From under a black thorn bush at the field’s edge, Owl stared in rage. Then he ducked his head and flew away down the hedge, low over the ground. Even so, the birds saw him.

“He tricked us!” they cried. “And there he goes! There goes the trickster!”

In a shouting mob, all the birds flocked after Owl. All the way back to his tree they beat him with their wings, and pulled out his feathers. He buried himself deep in his hollow tree. The birds flew up into the treetop and sang on.

And so it is still.

Every morning the birds sing, and the Owl flies back to his dark hole. When the birds see him, they mob him, remembering his trick. He dares come out only at night, to scrape a bare living on rats, mice, and beetles.

Citation:

Hughes, Ted. How the Whale Became.

New York: Faber and Faber Limited, 1966. Print

Google books

An abstract inspired by Ted Hughes’ story “Why the Owl Behaves as it does”, by David:

The simple aesthetics in this narrative by Ted Hughes remind me of centuries of story telling traditions from here in the south as it was handed down from Appalachian frontiersmen. Upon closer inspection, the Campbellian theme of a hero’s journey can be found. In spite of focusing on the antagonist, it is an allegory of desire, deception, redemption, and distinction. This theme, as many have that came before it, has inspired and clarified the necessity of my conviction to serve this order.

The desire, the one desire of all life, is to live and live abundantly. This need is hardwired into our system. Every life form seeks, in its own way, to better its condition of living. This can be witnessed by the necessity of reproduction, heliotropism in plants, the behavior of cells in a petri dish, and the avoidance of danger by higher forms.

The deception, and what a multiversal rabbit-hole that will turn out to be, can definitely put a twist in one’s plot. These are, in their most simplistic form, ideas, consciously realized or not, which promise to enable or aid one in the desire for life, yet contain the same systemic fallacy as life itself, impermanence. We humans aren’t so gullible to get lost in a barnyard rabbit-hole, or are we? Consider now the search for happiness or fulfillment, and how many lives have been ruined like so many moths have as they fly into the flames.

I can hear the critics now, because I am one. There’s nothing wrong with following one’s bliss. However, discernment is key as all growth isn’t positive. Right and wrong are subjectively easier to confuse than day and night, yet their effects are just as pronounced.

Redemption for the birds only came when they surrendered their original desire. So too, enlightenment occurs only after every effort to attain it has been exhausted. Most people, I figure, have constructed a matrix around themselves. This projected matrix is a world comprised of ideas. Of these, some serve while others debilitate.

Spiritual work, as an Ashla Knight, involves soul searching, identifying, and either utilizing or dismissing these self imposed concepts. The matrix is a person’s working model, for which ultimate control is the responsibility of its creator. Progress takes as long as it does, and is without end.

My journey down the rabbit hole included an apex of awareness called Oneness, where it is possible to transcend good and evil, and is found in all of nature. However, I also found that oneness is an echo of the void from which nature came, i.e. the Source. It consumed me utterly, until I was no more, yet everything. I never lose that hollow feeling. It has become my battle scar, my reminder, and my companion. Even though it is omnipresent, it awaits me us all.

While it’s helpful to experience the “equation that creates the fractal”, it is unnecessary to have an accurate understanding (working model) of it. I now compare this realization to the difference between writing in html code and using a visual editor (drop and drag elements). Both achieve the same end, even using the same means technically, but the difference is in the user interface. Given the plethora of systems, which serve as interface, that exist within every facet of life: religion, philosophy, physical training, sciences etc, there is so much to explore and share.

I have changed my eating and activity levels drastically. To supercharge my metabolism, I’ve broken my daily caloric requirements into 4-5 smaller meals which are spaced throughout the day from 2 to 3 hours apart. Of those calories, I’ve shifted toward fiber, protein, and complex carbohydrates and away from fats and simple sugars. I’ve also started weight training to gain muscle mass as muscle is the only thing that burns calories.

My exercise program is a whole body workout, three days per week. In the link section to the right you will find Scooby’s workshop. I am following his beginner workout, with the addition of working up to an hour of cardio at 70%-ish of my MHR. As my fitness increases, I’ll push for higher percentages by jogging in intervals. As is, walking on a level road isn’t enough, that only gets me into the 66% range. I use the tire pictured below, and 2 lb barbells in a training exercise called “heavy hands” in conjunction with walking briskly.

For more information on heavy hands, check out: John Thomas’ site, or its creator’s site, heavyhandsfitness.

I’ll give updates, monthly from this day forward, with quantified results. For now, a few recipes of what I’ve been eating for the last week:

Breakfast:

1) Two servings of unsalted rolled oats with a bananna.

2) Two large unfrosted shredded wheat biscuits with nonfat milk, and apple or orange.

Other meals:

1) Two turkey sandwiches on whole grain bread with mustard.

2) Can chili, non fat crackers, tabasco sauce or red pepper if desired.

3) 1 cup mixed veggies, 5oz can white chicken or salmon, a fruit.

4) 1 can beans (fluids drained), topped with chicken or salmon, a fruit.

5) Burrito made with 1 whole grain tortilla, 1/2 can refried beans, and salsa.

Seasonings:

Balsamic vinegar, table salt, or salsa.

Today I was called away to help my cousin move. On the way, I was passed by a truck that had two teenage girls in the crew cab. They looked 17 to 19 years old.

The one on drivers side made a face at me then shot me a bird. I speculated that her dad was cursing me for driving too slow. I smiled and waved but she looked away before she noticed. The girl of the passenger side then looked at me and started to do the same. She made a face. As she lifted her hand to flip me off, her eyes detected something unforeseen.

I held a gentle smile on my face and waved my hand slowly. There was a moment. I felt compassion and peace swirling just behind my eyes where flames of anger flickered years ago. Through two layers of glass and across 25 feet of road, she received the transmission and her facial expression immediately changed.

As the green truck sped away, I could see a hand slowly waving back. One person at a time. That’s what it’s all about.

No mind tricks required, just human decency.

Today, I attended the wedding of Alethea and Nathan.

From left to right: RivanElan, Alethea, Miles, Uktena, and myself.

It was a traditional Christian wedding, with exception that the bride and groom wore kimonos. It was heart warming to hear the best friend of the bride describing the same friend I’ve come to know online over the past years. I’ll leave the details private in respect, but it was a day to remember.

I wish this new couple the best of luck.

On a side note, this was the first time I’ve met anyone in person with whom I’ve known online, not one – but five. I was pleasantly surprised by everyone. I hope today supplied some mortar of friendship between us, as it surely bonded this new family in Holy matrimony.

Today we celebrated my little girl’s sixth birthday. The party was at a skating rink. Everyone seemed to have fun. We had 10 adults and 11 children in all.

For those who enjoy drama, my first cousin, Trina, upset her sister, Kim, as we had parties scheduled at the exact same time. Given the choice of a party at someone’s house or at a skating rink, her little ones demanded to attend ours. When she called Kim to explain, she was hung up on. Calling again, Kim’s boyfriend answered the phone and started shouting. Distressed, Trina then called me to explain that she was obligated (by guilt) to attend her sisters party. I wasn’t upset at all and cooly reminded her that there will be more parties and not to worry, that I understood. We were not expecting them, but they did come after all. Trina said, “After I got off the phone with you, I told my husband that you guys were cool with it.” He said, “Well, there’s your answer right there. (implying they should come to ours)

Er, there’s a moral to this story somewhere. So, stay tuned; David (my son) said he wants his at the bowling ally in september.

They grow up fast. Don’t they?