My body is a machine. It depends on the mechanic whether it is oiled, greased, cleaned, checked, repaired … It depends on the pilot that it is properly used. I’m the mechanic, at least I try. There are two other entities in me, my body and its mysterious pilot. If not me, who is he? What does he want from me? That is the question.
My inhabited body
I am not alone in my body. Someone or something intervenes in spite of me to change my course. And I let it go, because I know it’s for my good. I read a few years ago that we are run by aliens who actually act for our good. The thesis seduced me, I almost adopted it. Since then, I have finely analyzed the inner interventions that did not come from me. And the result blew me away, as you will see.
The other day I had an express fever. It initially annoyed me, me who nevertheless does not risk anything. But in the midst of a pandemic, lulled by the song of alarmist sirens, any outbreak of fever is immediately suspect. But no, that tchi! A lot of noise for nothing. I did not call the emergency room or run to my doctor, moreover I do not have one. A healer is never sick. Otherwise it sucks.
Each time my vibratory rate increases, I have a crisis like that. The higher the step, the more violent the crisis. It takes me during the day. Tremors, feverish sensation, strangeness of the world, disorientation in my own body that I no longer recognize as mine. No fever, however. Just these warning signs. I am prowled. I accept.
Covid?
But more recently, I’ve been buying myself a killer. Rhinitis, cough, bronchitis symptoms, it could even be a covid, and it lasts, and it does not end. Surprise, I haven’t done that in 20 years. What do I say? Thirty? Forty? This time it’s not just an alert, but a real disease. I guess in the meantime my inner healer is on vacation. For all we know, no more healing. I became a normal guy again, sick in winter, suffering because of his old age, straight, fleeting, not even touching.
And in the midst of this deadly evil disease, I get another stroke. A very scary thing, all my neurons disconnect their synapses and after a scary, terribly scary void, it restarts any way. It seems that the neurons have reconnected anyway. At least not as before, that’s for sure.
Floating that can last a few minutes or a few days, I am so lost in ordinary life that I have no way of evaluating the duration of these complete interruptions of image and sound. Just like I “turned off the wifi. In short, she dies to death, the stroke, the super floating, all this upsets even a sorcerer, and almost panics a healer.
I suspect that we should not draw a conclusion until the circus is over. After the unprecedented feat I just accomplished, I freed myself a tsunami of energy, it breaks my old circuits, it takes the time I digest. And I repeat this nursery rhyme which is the appropriate leitmotiv: “You will understand when you grow up.” We are never grow up in this life. We’re getting older before.
This Time
I was there, wondering why I had fallen ill, when I found this beautiful sentence of Jim in his graphic novel Detox: “The disease enters when you are not in your body. When you visit too much the past or the future.” Not fallen on deaf ears! Except the fact, to visit the past as well as the future, I do not leave my body. I always carry it with me. In its astral form, of course, but that’s the part that prevents disease. keep on searching, Xavier.
Then I go back to my symptoms with no declared disease. I’m a specialist. One night I say to myself, “This time is mine. I’m ready.” The next day on waking there is nothing. There is always a good energetic reason behind these false health problems. An event trigger. This time, it was the last edition of the Erquy Meetings, three years ago.
It must be said that my vibratory rate had seriously increased after the last Encounters. Each time the same thing. The living gives me a good dose of divine energy. God it is good! No earthly pleasure approaches.
Still, this strange disease -which is not a disease- had destabilized me. But since it had happened without a problem, I didn’t think about it anymore. In the meantime, I receive two visitors for the 9th edition of the Rencontres, which will undoubtedly be the last. One of the two Encounters questions me about initiatory tarot and more precisely about the vision of my benefactor Jean-Claude Flornoy, who was certainly one of the very first specialists of the Tarot of Marseille. And will remain so for a long time, as long as his friends remember him.
Apotheosis of Flornoy’s Tarot
With the patience and meticulousness of the master cartiers of yesteryear, Flornoy entered tarot. For years, he scrutinized its origins, examined the structure, faithfully reproduced the most initiatory games, those of Nicolas Conver, Jacques de Viéville or Jean Dodal, my favorite. Above all, Flornoy discovered the inner meaning of the arcane, which is the ultimate treasure map, the treasure of the inner gold. He also established how to perform a draw, with the Hyperborea cross draw.
Suddenly I brought out a classic, Flornoy’s book on tarot.Jean-Claude Flornoy, Le pèlerinage des bateleurs, letarot.com editions 2007. No English translation yet. For the edification of my visitor, we have studied a few pages. It got me going again, I felt all my subtle connections re-establish themselves, I had become Flornoy’s emulator again, I thought like him, I felt like him, and I fell – as if by chance that didn’t. doesn’t exist – on a passage that shooked me. The unconscious! Flornoy had only one name for this inner master. I found it rather refreshing.
Silver Screen Warhol
Yes, refreshing. An express trip, round trip, to the sweet paradise of my thirty years. I was Jungian, I idolized Nietzsche, I revered Bergson, Apollinaire, Baudelaire, Ferré, Dylan. I idolized Lou Reed and David Bowie, I dreamed of the Factory, its ramshackle faun and its master of ceremonies Andy Silver Screen Warhol. I still believed in psychoanalysis and its consuming unconscious. Now I don’t. It is the conscious mind, the fruit of the logical brain that I deem voracious today.
Unconscious Body
The unconscious is my body. I win over it and its mysteries a little bit every day. The body is my ally, it knows things that are not learned in schools. Those who know their bodies have not gone to school. Or if they went, it was forced and forced? As soon as the opportunity arose, they went out and did something useful.
I too ran out of tarot school. I left my friend. My benefactor, even dead, kept me too long. He let go of my leash, I can walk without crutches. I grew up. Thanks to him, who was as helpful in showing me the Way as turning his back. Now I walk alone. In the streets, no one.
Tarot was his ally. He joined his other allies in the infernal trap of Val without return to Brocéliande. Some may recall that, but I think we need to move on. I write these lines in 2023, Flornoy left us a long time ago. He conceived his tarological method even longer ago, almost half a century ago. At the rate things are going and at the rate of solar flares, the vibratory rate of the planet is radically different from what it was forty years ago.
50,1 %
While rereading Flornoy’s book, I come across this text which describes the passage from shadow to light. the moment when the petulant, exhausted and answered, finally reaches the threshold of awakening, this moment when clear consciousness becomes dominant, at fifty percent and one tenth, he specifies.
“Until then, the unconscious had acted on automatic pilot and repaired the errors of the conscious on its own. He no longer has that role to play. Now he becomes an ally, not always well understood, but reliable. Total confidence is established between the unconscious with unpredictable actions and the conscious, which finally accepts this new collaborator, until then experienced as an embarrassment. This confidence transforms everyday life and gives an unknown security, a new serenity in the actions, including the most astonishing, the most doubtful or random of them.” (source)J-Cl Flornoy, Le pélerinage des bateleurs
Crazy me! Thank you Jean-Claude for this detailed description! It reflects exactly what I have been going through for ten years or more. This stranger in my house, this puppet in my sanity, this pilot of my season is not an alien or an evil spirit, it’s ME! My double, which finally expresses itself, once bore the misunderstood name of the unconscious. What a nice equation!
Double or God?
You know how much I adore reducing multiple mythological gods to one person, or multiple events to one original fact, or multiple labels to one vial. Well, it seems to me today that the double and the unconscious are not two names for the same voice, that which speaks to me, that of my double who leads me. This double that I previously identified with the inner god is one with the psychoanalyst’s unconscious.
I hadn’t thought of it. Thank you again, Jean-Claude Flornoy, for bringing back the notions borrowed from psychoanalysis, a practice that bugs me and bristles me, but which still exists and still attracts followers. Uncle Freud is a dubious character, but I admit a weakness for giant Jung.
Which gives the equation: DOUBLE = HIGHER I = INNER GOD = UNCONSCIOUS. For me, it means a lot. Well simmered over low heat, this reduction already upsets the grande cuisine of interior landscape. The implications are many, all are refreshing, some are mind blowing. Aaaah, that feels good! I’ll get back to the point, I promise.
Or the double is the god, and the god is Marduk. Or Mammon. Or another archon of the same kind. But something holds me back. Like an old doubt. Nothing is simple, and archons are fucking complicated. Everything mixes, the extremes merge, the doubles become entangled. And the brain gets involved.
Short Circuit
Our general knowledge is thus full of duplicates, classification errors, identical phenomena considered to be different, manifestations subject to contradictory interpretations, and identical bottles with various labels. That is why I undertook the systematic cleaning of these mental rantings twelve years ago. Their mass overwhelms me. Vampires of the intellect, they mainly function as handicaps. They are empty signs that mask the interior landscape. Their multiplication generates a fog of incomprehension that is quite dissuasive.
Here, we have the psychoanalytic analysis which exactly matches the experience of the awakened person. Short circuit. Confusion fusion of the double and the unconscious. With a double advantage. Both fields describe the same facts, but psychoanalysis draws truncated conclusions. The psychoanalytic unconscious largely ignores the inner light, the irresistible power of the double.
The reason is simple: apart from the great Carl Gustav Jung, what other founding father of psychoanalysis experienced awakening? Sigmund Freud? Oh no! Wilhelm Reich? On, that’s for sure; awake, who knows? Alfred Adler? Who can believe it? If it has happened to them to analyze awakened individuals, have they even realized it? I’m asking the question.
Die Dying
We must therefore resort to practical philosophy to overcome the apparent antagonism of the two aforementioned visions. The stake of the awakening, I recall it, is not less than the unification of the three components of the being, the body, the heart and the spirit. This fusion is inevitable. For the lost warrior, out of the world, will it be a game-changer?
Back to the presentation by Jean-Claude Flornoy. “It is no longer possible to continue as before, because the inner vision is there which directs the being in the process of unification. All the metals of which it was composed melted and merged to form a new alloy.
Going beyond death, tracing the thread of this life and all of its past lives, then plunging into the white light, eliminates the fear of death. It is not an addiction, like that of an old man who accepts the idea that he is going to die, nor is it knowing that one is going to die. It is the certainty that the unified consciousness has the power to escape dissolution in this white light, source and origin of everything. The certainty of keeping there an I, individuated, despite the great laundry that is death. She will let us pass to other worlds.” (source)J-Cl Flornoy, Le pélerinage des bateleurs
We see how much this lived experience has been influenced, at least in his account of it, by his readings and his practice of Castaneda. A good nagual as he was, Flornoy believes, like Don Matus, that one can escape the Eagle under certain conditions. This is how he interprets the proud motto of the Teutonic Knights: “If you do not die while you are alive, you will die while dying.” I am quoting it at least for the twentieth time, I will quote it again. It is a master quote, as this master clock in old factories, ruling all the others, called slaves.
The Moment He Died
But is there another life, more just and more true, after the death of the body? I think so. Any way to be sure? No, since very few death people came back to talk about it. Flornoy did. He appeared to me in the guise of a crow at the precise moment of his death. Nothing since.
Devic came to see me several times right after his death. Ten days or so later, finished. My mother appeared to me and a friend when crossing the street in front of my stopped car. She gave me a long and deep sight, expressing but void. Then she vanished for good. If one can know another life after the passage from life to death, it seems that the world of the dead does not communicate with that of the living. With a few rare exceptions, which would also merit further analysis.
The only thing that I am sure and certain of is the existence of a mental confusion which the ancients called the veil of Isis. Understanding our true nature, our divine origins and the final meaning of the incarnation is almost impossible as the original messages have been polluted. Nobody understands anything anymore. Which is, alas, one of the sad characteristics of kali yuga, this terrible iron age which never ceases to end.
Is death on the other side, like two sides of the same coin? Heads or tails? Your double will speak to you, your unconscious will open up, your distant secrets will confide in you, you will be another who resembles you like a brother. It was time. You touch your ultimate truth. From all eternity you have given yourself this appointment with yourself. The times have come. Rejoice.
You’ve finally become who you are.
It’s time to gloat.
Face the Wind
If I’m not an archoned to the bones, if there is room in me for others than these scoundrels, who holds the helm? Certainly not me, I am quite incapable.
I long believed that the pilot of my body and my life was Flornoy. Dead or alive, conscious or not, I felt it beating in my veins. It was embedded in my light fibers. As long as his lessons were not fully digested and put into practice, I kept a debt of honor and gratitude to the one who opened the doors to me elsewhere. If it’s not him, it’s Marduk.
I don’t want to continue that. There’s no point in promoting such a poor habit. There’s no need for my followers, if I have any, to come and lay a bouquet on my grave, religiously, piously — believing to honor me, I who hates religions and their intolerance. If you want to follow me, consider this counter-example. Free yourself from the chains that my presence imposes. Be truly you, without model or patron saint, without map or GPS. Face the wind from now on.
This is truth that sets free, not the efforts made to be free.
