Livid waste, rancid taste. Hacking and scheming. Cults and their smoky gurus are making money like never before. With questionable methods, unverifiable results and unaffordable prices. The smokier it is, the more expensive it is. And the more expensive it is, the less useful it is. Yet the naive crowd throng there. They pray to be relieved of the burden that oppresses them. The guru takes everything from them, especially the money.
“I am the Way! says the latter. I am the Life! Believe in me and you will live!” What-what-what!? I am alive already! Move away, I don’t need you! “Give up the money! Forget material things! Become pure and clean again” that other cockroach says. If the money is so unclean, please don’t bother. Give it back to me, rat face, you’ll thank me. “Women are our loss! Weak, perverse, bad, impure, they distract us from our sacred duties. Look at her so insolent! Entrust her to me, I will train her!” Do not impose this chore on yourself, I take care of my wife myself. And if you find women so kinky, why can’t you do without them?
So many fake-makers and schemers have gathered in front of the doors of the other world that it becomes impossible to enter. Those who know the way manage to manage, they use the service doors and the emergency exits. But newcomers stumble, get impatient and end up getting discouraged. The sinister spectacle of the sweet hypocrisy of the merchants of paradise is enough to put off the bravest …
Why are so many people drawn to these gurus? For their energy? It is often overestimated. And real or not, this energy is not given. The gurus make it pay dearly. This is one of the signs by which we recognize them. Ask yourself: If I had this person’s gift, would I trade it? Will I also be greedy for money, for recognition, for love? You can’t have it all, unless you play fake guru. You can even gain the zonzon there.
So what motive pushes all these gogos towards these false monks and these exotic babas? Is it because the gurus sound a sense of power to them? It is illusory. And of short duration. The work has to be done for yourself and on yourself. No guru can do it for you. He gives you a shoulder, he sells you (very expensive) a little perlimpimpin powder, and you think you were awakened in a surprise bag. No. It does not work like that. We reap what we have sown. This applies to the guru as well as to the follower.
A little impatience ruins a big project (Confucius)
Would we, by any chance, want to be in the place of this guru we admire? Want to be admired by a crowd of devotees? No, I do not think so. The guru appears to his followers so superior, so inaccessible, that one cannot imagine himself in his place. We need a master, a framework, rails, orders, we need to be reassured by an authority who knows what we don’t know. Without asking if such a person exists, we fall in love with the first illuminated enough connected, quite out of line, enough cheeky to sell blessed wind.
We see the guru, we do not see the guru. You don’t feel its rancid taste. We are part of the fry menu that gurus love. We are meant to be rolled in flour, toast in the kitchen, to drown in the swimming pool.
This is how we put our destiny in the hands of others. This is how one becomes a subhuman, who turns to a superman because he does not have enough energy to find his own inner superman. Greatness is in us, incomplete. Greatness is in you in the form of a germ that it is up to you to make grow in strength and wisdom. And greatness like a flower will blossom. And shine its light on the world. Thus will you put yourself on the path of yourself, pilgrim of your success, actor of your memory, carried by your own history at the crossroads of humility and greatness.
This desire for greatness, we all have it. Fly in the azure, pass the walls, heal, bless, change tack, change pace.
Changing the world
Changing the time
Through flowers, fruit and thyme
Changing all men
Through flowers ’til the end
Changing their souls
Changing their hearts
Through flowers by the cart
War in the wind
Love gonna win
Through flowers never seen
(source)Souchon-Voulzy, translation XS
Merlinesque and whimsical laughter of the fanatic from beyond the heavens. Of the worried devourer. Go without momentum, chariot without an axle. Laughter is slow, the mage is old. If you hurt from the farts, you will die from the thick one, said the Other to his apostles. Be chaste with the vast, be saved with the brave. Be handy with your body, be flame with your name and flower with your power. Without sighing or worrying, be surprised by the Spirit.
Play the game remembering it is but a game. Life is just a game. Death is only a game. Maybe the same game? Movement of the mind, gesture of the kind, soft resistance of the ego which feels lost, but which never surrenders without a fight.
To fight against is an illusion. Divine power makes our will laughable. Who are we to resist those who made us? Does this mean that we will have to endure these degrading adventures for a long time to come? This concert of big lies, pig cries, this obscene cult to the King Money, this sinister celebration of the Unique Matter?
What they can’t see doesn’t exist. Have they seen their own asses? No? Their asses don’t exist.
Knock, knock, knock at the Heavens door, one day your heart will open to you. One day your heart will lean out of your window, your sweet heart will open its arms and you never knew it. It’s the beauty of the thing in the scent of roses we were talking about something else when the effect and the cause complement each other and oppose the solution is imposed your past offers you to relive your life: you are going to change your mind. Change your line. Change your life. Change your wife. Change your view. Keep it new.
It is a beautiful and good thing to want to change again when you reach the canonical age of seventy-two. But can this beautiful and good thing be? It is ridiculous to fail in the inference, to fail in the conduit and to be reduced to death today.
One day your heart will know how to find the voice before, the little voice that it made resound in you when you were little, little, little voice your former friend, your lost counselor, your double, little voice that you had forgotten until now. Start! Let the first day of your second life begin right here. Welcome to heaven on your own. Stay there if you can. Assume. Grow up a little.
One day, one moment, the world. A fault, a breath, the other world. all your vital space is played between the two. Die or live, take or give, laugh or smile, whatever ultimately matters, at the end of the story. Your life is that of another, your soul is your refuge, pray for it to descend into you and thanks to the subtle body, to be embodied more and more deeply, Holy Spirit of our fathers, vivifying energy of the vril, chi, mana, inner power — your prison is a kingdom. Your largely ignored body is the golden door to the edge. Accepted. You know nothing. Who knows anything? Those who believe it are wrong. Those who say so are cheating us.
Between dance and truth, between prudence and temerity, between intense and vexation, here comes the Immense. Levite. Avoid the filthy shade … erase the running blade… May the Reign, the Dome, the Kingdom come. Here and forever, now and everywhere. So be it. Thank you.