Luck is not chance. Luck is real, but chance does not exist. Everything that happens is wanted. By whom? Think. Someone wants me well. But it’s rare. More often than not, someone doesn’t give a shit about me. He ignores me, he forgets me. A real pain in the ass. Gotta go, I’m walking in the dreary, I’m marrying the wobbly, doubly.
There is no such thing as chance. Everything that happens is wanted. (Buddha)
A Little Help?
Do we need help, or do we have to fend for ourselves? You know what I think of those who ask for help when they could very well help themselves. Still, the benefactor of Castaneda, Nagual Juan Matus, evokes this cubic centimeter of luck, this opportunity that will not be repeated and that the wise warrior must seize by the hair. The silky long hair of luck has been trimmed short. It’s about grabbing them anyway. That’s why I’m here.
I distribute this chance, this tiny chance that you lack to become what you are from all eternity, and what you incarnated for. Realize yourself in your perfection, develop one after the other all the divine seeds that lie dormant in you, become the equal of the former gods. While taking care not to take you for the Goddess!
Unfinished men take themselves for God. They lose their reason and jump into the void. And they crash on the hard rock of their infrangible ego. That’s what lost Castaneda, just like my own benefactor JCF. The ego is a precious help and a bloody burden. In your quest for the light, he incapacitates you. Learn, like the knight St. George, to keep him at a distance at the end of your spear.
The first half of life is devoted to forming a healthy ego, the second half is going inward and letting go of it. (Carl Gustav Jung)
An Elbow Presses
Cheating is everywhere. The scam stalks you and you crack. The liars are up to it. They stuff you with slack, you play their tricks. Their plans don’t speak for themselves. Run away from them like fire. One without god.
Take a good look at the lady with her scale. Justice is her coat of arms. Crumpled with her knees, madam. Often blinded, she cuts off the heads and cuts into the bacon with her stinger. Her great vicious dagger. Justice of my ass. Look at the trays, both at the same level. For her, everything is worth. Guilty, innocent, crime of blood, with accomplice or without assistance, every condemned will have his head severed.
Step into the dance. Every detail matters. Verdict pending, fear or trust, sentence or deliverance, no assurance, the chatty in trance spoiled the hearing. Intense fear. When the prosecutor walks in, you get wet in silence. Your slate is dense. See how you dance. Jump, dance, kiss anyone.
Already the doors are closed, the locks are put, you unpacked everything, the cats will meow, the idiots will chirp, the prosecutor is paid to quibble, your fate is sealed, your pain swallowed, the packed room found salty, passes on TV, you will have to cry, all you have to do is moan, all you have to do is yell that they let you go.
Look at the lady with her scale. Justice by name. Look at her elbow. It presses discreetly on one of the trays. Is that justice? Impartiality? With her stupid face, she played you well.
Today we talk too much about human rights instead of recalling human duties. (Alain Daniélou)
Not By Chance
Are you from Alcor or Mizar? From the Pont des Arts? Cool Balthazar. There is no lizard. Don’t worry, keep steady in your bazaar. You’re all weird. Personally, I want to believe that there is no chance. Nothing is absurd. We know Einstein’s formula, God does not play dice. When Jacques Monod published Chance and Necessity, he didn’t give a damn about taunting Einstein. Monod refers to both Darwin’s theory and Democritus’ writings. The title of the book itself is taken from a sentence of the latter: “Everything that exists in the universe is the result of chance and necessity.”
Darwin realized he was wrong. Democritus is forgiven for his ignorance. Greek antiquity did not shine with its clairvoyance. At that time, myths were fables and gods were superstitions. We forgive them. But Monod doesn’t have the right to be so backward. He has no other excuse than brainwashing since childhood.
When any inexplicable fact arises in a domain of the past, no scientist will allow himself to invoke the gods of before. In which they show pride, in addition to ignorance.
When necessary, science applauds with both hands. Today in some cases. Necessity follows scientific laws. It is reassuring. We do not need to question physical principles. As soon as chance occurs, science bows down. It takes note and goes on.
Contemporary artists are less stuck, creativity requires. They have antennae that scan the distant past, like George Lukas and his Star Wars. The Black Star that dominates the entire work has much in common with Hyperborea. All scientists reject both. No scientist tries to understand what happened.
Good Luck Duck
Chance is all they talk about. They know it’s stupid, that it doesn’t explain anything, but never mind. The worst nonsense is better than a terrifying truth. And so: long live chance! In the end, chance is a necessity… which exempts them from investigating.
For these people, even luck is reduced to chance. What does it matter if someone’s luck absolutely defies the laws of statistics? They don’t care. But they observe in silence. They know that luck is not distributed to everyone with the same abundance. They admit that in insolent luck or in isolating misfortune, there is no chance. But they are careful not to draw the necessary conclusions.
Luck has its darlings as well as its pet peeves. The unlucky never have any. The lucky ones have too much, like Donald Duck’s cousin Gladstone Gander.
Remember this fact: a gander is a male goose. And the father of the goslings who speak such a groovy language.
Gladstone Gander is a fictional character from the world of ducks created in 1948 by Carl Barks for the Disney studios. Grandson of Grandmother Donald, he is the cousin of Donald Duck and his rival with the beautiful Daisy Duck.
Disney studios don’t provide any explanation, which is preferable. The characters of their creatures are quite despicable. Especially Scrooge that we love to hate, and that little Yankees dream of imitating. Double standards. The Atlantic has broad shoulders, so much the better.
High-Pitcher
If you came across this site, it wasn’t by chance. The unconscious guided you. You were looking for something else. You zapped without thinking. Yeah, believe it. I received a hundred times interns that I had never seen, and that I recognized. old friends of the astral. In the baroque crowd of our countless dreams, we make every night a bit of a journey with someone we like.
On the living or on the dead, our nocturnal encounters teach us beautiful. That we forget when we wake up… when the real falls on us. The fake real cranks.
To fall, verb of the first group. To fall ill, to fall in love, to fall on a friend, to fall from the sky, to fall from high, to fall a chick, to fall pregnant.
And stumble upon Eden Saga. Discover a thousand new truths that we already knew, as if by chance.
Coincidentally
Ironic expression that is said with an air heard when you are sure that chance has nothing to do. When the thing was predictable. When the inescapable necessity is at work and it jumps to our face.
Individual Training
Meetings are being prepared, I am all turned around. No one comes to my house by chance. Nobody comes to eat my soup without having planned it for a long time. Some people don’t know it when they arrive here. I release them, it makes them hungry. We know each other for a long time, I explain. It’s true every time, because chance does not exist. I tell them wonders. They wake up different from the day before.
They listen to me with one ear, the other watches. On the lookout for the noises of silence. Here calm reigns. The sea is out of reach, even if it splashes the eyes and borders the landscape. We dominate it. We breathe it. It inspires. And the reki of Erquy goes on. I officiate on Wednesdays. On Thursdays, reki with four hands. A unique, unprecedented sensation. Delectable.
Way up there in the blue, the gulls are screaming. It looks like time on the beach is stopping for a while. A brief moment that lasts and overflows the heart. Enjoy. Take it with your arms, enjoy it with ceremony, it is there, it is yours, the cubic centimeter of luck. To acquire it is to heal, do not forget it. Do not neglect the opportunity that will not return. That’s it, just like that.
At our feet, the sea. I would die happily contemplating it. But not now, not already. I wait for you. Yes, you. Do not wait any longer, in astral we saw each other. Recognized. You take your time, I understand you. But before my last moments, come and spend a few moments facing the open sea. An old bear of good company will give you the mirror. Castaneda is dead and gone, he still lives in the old living bear.
The Extraordinary Dream
There is the ordinary, vulgar, Freudian dream. There is the extraordinary dream. It belongs to the separate reality, the non-ordinary reality of Castaneda. In the extraordinary dream, the warrior is conscious. More than conscious. More awake than usual. Most of a warrior’s work happens when he sleeps. The most beautiful adventures are lived asleep. Sleep is sun. Awakening lasts.
The warrior acts. Always. But he never expects results from his action. (Carlos Castaneda)
No dream is ordinary. The central dream, the main dream, the first dream is to exist. Who really exists? Who feels like growing wings? Who crosses the infinite thousand times a night? Who becomes king, emperor, god even? To whom fate gives a treasure that is not foolishly gold? Who is joy? Who is some ineffable emotion? Who is the fox of the fable?
It’s you and it’s me. I grabbed my pending cubic centimeter of luck, and my heart dances. In the immense sorrow that life has become, that which you live, that which everyone lives, there is this opportunity, small, almost invisible and yet invincible. Your target. Sharpen your thread and your life moves on. They are not pearls that you put on, but rare moments, privileged moments, thresholds of grace.
I know a few of them close by. I spend most of my time there.
There must be the intention. The warrior programs himself before falling asleep. He sees his nocturnal future, he makes his plans, he spreads his peaceful weapons. He convokes, meets, and sinks into his night. He directs his lucid dream, at last his decisions are realized, his intention is law. He lives encounters and travels worlds while standing still. He visits the most remote past and the most distant future without leaving his here and now. Or should I say: his here and here?
Twice Me
I have told several anecdotes elsewhere that make it clear what it is. The Toltec warrior on his path of power receives this strange grace. It dematerializes so much that its immaterial reflection can appear in two different points. The warrior can choose in which of the two reflections he will incarnate. The choice is not mental, it is the warrior’s body that chooses.
Jean-Claude Flornoy experienced this duplication when he was an infant of a few weeks, as you read if you clicked on the link above. His castanedian talents were already present at this very young age, it seems. Undoubtedly the astral dimension allowed this feat, since in astral there is no time. And it is by being both on the bosom of his nursing mother and in his cradle that he proved the astral dimension, since in this plane there is no space either.
Flornoy baptized these curious situations here and here. The name is well found. Everything is present before us in astral. Everything is immediate. Everything is visible. Everything is ours. I myself lived here and here a few years ago, to turn a TS into a magical evening under the mocking moon.
Juan Matus, the benefactor of Carlos Castaneda, also lived one here and here, to escape a death by drowning. And Carlos himself lived the same thing, to avoid a death by crushing at the bottom of a chasm.
These paradoxical situations are common in astral, much less in real life. They come only to subjects sensitive to the permeability of matter, capable of causing the elasticity of time and space, and endowed with a power that characterizes the 7th degree of awakening, the splitting.
Splitting Reality
It’s all about this duplication. One foot away and the other here.
What am I doing here?
Between the light and the dark
The anguish and the boredom
The carelessness and the bitterness
Between two lives
In the crowd of nothingness
I feel out
I feel in
Macau 1972
I experienced it several times during my years of wandering, backpack, on the powdery paths of the world. The above chorus perfectly expresses the ambiguity where I was, Macao the thick distress, Chaos Macao the crowd of nothingness, my beautiful Micha and I stuck there while our friends continued the rehearsals and the recording of a rock opera co-written with her.
Duplication often comes from a sense of strangeness or captivity. The prisoners can escape in astral and lead double life while their pain is spreading and not advancing. They are captive so they are elsewhere. Distracted people lead double lives all the time. Read Here and Here, if you haven’t already. You’re gonna get it.
The most real of the two
The recognized reality is not as real as that of the astral. Every time I find myself there, I hold him as the only reliable one, and I take the ordinary world for a crude, unbearable, hypocritical prison. Fake news, fake world, fake lives.
I travel back in time to Passy, my village. A beautiful neighborhood in the 16th arrondissement of Paris I travel in the upper astral in the middle of the super bright. I walk in hexagonal, I wander in dodecahedron and I oblique in para symmetric. The separate reality cuts me in two, it is its role. And the final departure of my friend Devic pulverizes me. With the crumbs, I feed the ducks and jars.
1953
Playdough session at Passy kindergarten with my friend Devic. He forgot his blouse, and I didn’t see the photographer. The war never ends. After the Nazi occupation, the G.I. occupation took place. Dietary restrictions are still relevant. Pierre Mendès-France, Chairman of the Board and owner of the France-Lait factories, has chocolate milk distributed in public schools. The very same year in the summertime, I discovered the holiday house my parents had just bought, facing the splendid bay of Erquy. I’m still here and happy to be.
Devic and I had a long history. We never lost sight of each other or left each other for a long time over the next 70 years. Such a friend is a gift from the Goddess. A priceless gift. Life without him, a terrible punishment.
2024
Why do I have the dubious honour of finishing the road on my own? Is that my lucky cubic centimeter?