The Power Dance

A warrior spends his whole life finding his dance. One fine day, finally, he gets it. Alone in his place of power, he turns, twirls, he floats in the infinite. For a long time he leads his dance. A very long time. A single moment that lasts for hours. And when his dance is over, he dies.

After years of work on himself, purification, control, he has received gifts and gained powers that everyone can see. He also has many invisible assets, none other than him knows them. A warrior has his place of power, his sacred song, his secret name which is the goal he has set for himself in this life. The place of power was given to him by Intention. Nothing happens by chance. The sacred song results from an encounter with a sorcerer, a seer or non-ordinary reality. When the warrior walks three steps into the next world, he comes back with presents. The sacred song is one. The perfect dance is the last thing the warrior does before leaving this world.

The Weak Force

A warrior seeks the light. He does not see her until she shines in him. So he wakes up. He learns not to be dazzled. The white light is that of the awakening, it is the place of predilection of the warrior. “He who is aware of his strength and who knows how to keep the sweetness of the woman, that one has the Tao in his hands. “

The most powerful force is the one that does not impose itself. We do not see her, we do not feel her, yet she is there. This force acts all the time. Nobody is aware of it. I call it the weak force. Physicists will forgive me this borrowing from their vocabulary, their weak force has nothing to do with mine. Still … No, I’m kidding! I have already done the trick in a pseudo tribute to Heisenberg and his principle of uncertainty.

I kept from my years in journalism the taste to recycle famous titles, cult punch-lines. They come to my mind like a sniper’s puns. They apply to a situation that has nothing to do with it. It’s this shift that excites me. A treasure is hidden inside.

But I mislead you. The weak force is not the strength of the weak: that’s just weakness. The weak force is that of the super strong. He who knows, who sees and who loves. The weak force is a control, then it becomes a habit, it is finally a contagious delight. The example comes from a sorcerer at the peak of his power whose heart is open, as much as the body(ies) and the spirit. A triple wizard.

This sorcerer chooses the path of love, the path with a heart. All wizards have to face this choice, not once, but thousands of times. On the stairs of the seven degrees of awakening, temptation on all floors! The ego never lets go. The vigilance of the warrior is first of all a stalking of the ego. Control yourself.

No warrior can wish to control his fellow man. Clash is never necessary. If there is jihad, this holy war will fight your own weaknesses, your negligence, your imperfections. You will never come to the end. They are the clothes of your ego. As long as you live, your ego will be there near you. When the ego fades, you will erase yourself too. Control your ego. That of others does not matter.

With the end of your spear, like Saint George, try to keep the dragon of ego at a distance. Repel him for life. But do not take it too early:

The Meaning Of Your Dance

In the first half of your life, say until forty, the ego is your strength. It hardens your bark and makes you invincible. If you suffer from a lack of ego too young, you can not develop in harmony. Cultivate your ego, but not too much: one day you will have to get rid of it. You can not get to know your dance until you realize that you’re full of shit and somehow you have to get rid of it. The ego is your shit. Our shit to all … In this wonderful world of shit, the ego is life. But also dead. Without him you evaporate. You leave this plan. Angels have no ego. That’s why they do not progress.

They are perfect, but the imperfect man is superior to the angel: he is not limited by any finitude. Man is an expanding god. Enchanting, I am called. Yes, I claim. When I’m finished, it’ll be the end. I admit that I am not in a hurry. I still have so much to do, so much to discover! To enjoy until the end, and to go into a luminous apotheosis, like the phoenix. To be reborn or not is no longer my problem. We’ll see. Everything in its time. Whatever will be will be, who will die will see …

The ego is the expression of the divine in you. It is not bad in itself, it is vital on the contrary. But it is also an obstacle to life, which is love. The problem of the ego is its stupidity. And yours, when he makes you believe that you are god. Poor idiot! As soon as you believe that, you’re dead. The Roman generals having covered themselves with glory had the right to the supreme honor: Rome granted them a triumph.

A million RomansIt is the people of Rome in the 6th century CE! crowded the course, along the Via Appia to the Capitol. Standing ovation at the passage of the tank adorned with precious metals and gems that carried the victorious general. In his lifetime Julius Caesar, the first and most illustrious, was raised to the rank of God. We imagine the pressure during triumphs. He was accompanied by a slave who kept saying to him: “Caesar, remember that you are mortal! (Source)Suetonius, Life of the Twelve Caesars

Ultimate and wise precaution against the total disturbance of the ego called megalomania. “Not for me, Lord, but for the glory of Your name alone,”  repeated the monks with the White Mantle, knights of the Temple.

Mortals, we are all. Soon the geneticists will be able to prolong our existence of several centuries, even of several millennia like that of the gods of before. We will be no less deadly. All that is born must die. Life wants it that way. The gods before will also die, most of them are already dead. Many will die again. Others took over.

The dance begins when the ego goes down. When the empty head resonates instead of reasoning. In the infinity of the mental void, the dance unfolds, it takes you away. The dance is a door. She will laugh and open up. Pass it singing, let the door take you away. That under his ark you mount the march. That you pass the pass, that you shoreline, that you sign the sign. And you walk with the march. You are crowding with the crowd. You cup with the cup. You queue with the queue. You strip with the band. You lie down with a diaper. You flirt with a fly. And it’s a dead man who bites you. Very bring, the dead. Grateful Dead. Amen.