You fall asleep and the next moment you wake up. The night has gone by like crazy. You have no memory of it. Barely, here and there, two three images of an incomprehensible dream. There is no doubt that there is something else — much more than these bits of images that float like baggage after a shipwreck.
You go to sleep and then you wake up, the veil of forgetfulness on your ears. And you get back to your daily routine. A thousand things to think about, a hundred things to do, ten people to see until evening. And it starts again.
Imagine what happens when you remember your nights. What you do there and with whom. Without disguise, without painted decoration, without trompe l’oeil or all those dark things that often clutter dreams. If you are conscious of yourself in your sleep, you visit in consciousness the ultimate treasures of the Unconscious. Not only your unconscious, it communicates with the collective unconscious, which I write with a capital letter: the Unconscious. I also call it the multiverse.
Is it really? Is multiverse another name for the unconscious? Or is it ultimately another positon of the Assembly Point?AP I don’t want to slice this beautiful mystery. I like to keep it in the secret of my heart. Secret but radiant, acting all the time by its secret power over things and people. Causes and giants.
“A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.”
Without the dazzling spectacle of my nights, without the frightening consolations of the astral, I would have killed myself centuries ago. No doubt I did at the time. What good is successive lives if everything has to be done again? From all eternity our life is unfolding — always the same, inexorably. Our role is written from the beginning — our role to everyone.
The roller coaster is the symbol of the world. To climb, to approach the tops and without warning to fall to the bottom of a valley of tears. All the valleys will be well watered — poor consolation of such constant grief.
This roller coaster says your AP’s got hiccups …
If you knew who you are when you sleep! If you knew all the knowledge you have every time you sleep! If you embraced the magic that acts in the secret of the nights… Your life, which seems so empty, would be so full and lively and rich!
If not, what is the point of living when you are deprived of the best? Remembering your nights is the very first task to be tackled. At the end of sleep, instead of the banal awakening, the warrior finds awakening. When you sleep, you travel with your AP.
“Every day is an opportunity to give birth to yourself in pain… or in sweetness.”
In my sleep, I saw beautiful things. I met very good people, very smart giants, very tall dwarfs and tiny kingpins. I liked them. Each one had his own ass.
All this has always made me laugh. I was born in a barrel of laughter. Every day, every night, I laugh abundantly. Hence the language of goslings. The gods aren’t sad. The sires are. Their minions are too. The gods are really very old. That doesn’t stop them from being obnoxious. The skies are vicious. Walk on eggs.
Old or not, the gods are gamblers. They bet on black, yellow, they play very big. Losing them amuses at least as much as winning. They play only gold while we, for them, play our lives.
What is the true nature of the dream? Superreal. The dream is truer than the reality. This one has only the real name. The dream, no. But he is so confused, so abstruse, so stupid until we have known the awakening that no one marvels at it. Engrams obstruct sushumna, the central channel of kundalini. Disturbed in its ascension, the vital energy is of insufficient intensity to prevent the ego — damn mind! — believing to do well, to transform the dream into phony pseudo-catarsis, largely incomprehensible. And without effect on the progression towards awakening.
The more we sleep, the deeper the sleep. And the more the ridges are absurd. No need to split hairs to decipher this fabric of rubbish that looks like the sound of a cd covered in lipstick. Try it, if you haven’t already. As bad as serial music or abstract painting. Salmigondis de non-dit. Sick salad.
To remember is to awaken. To remember oneself, even stronger. Are we taking the path? No. Many awakened people choose to go back to sleep. This is not new.
I woke up and I saw that everyone was still asleep. So I went back to sleep.
We sleep, we fall asleep, barely awake we go back to sleep again. What’s surprising? Too many fears, too many threats, too much pressure, too many difficulties to live, social, economic, financial. Instead of awakening, sleep cure. We fall asleep to death, it is the one who snores the loudest. We break fear at the bottom of the bed. At the end of oblivion.
The master of the game? It is the Rule. All obey the Rule, awake or blocked, clear or opaque. Everyone bows before the Rule, and whoever does not do so bites his fingers to the point of blood. The Rule is the top stone, the keystone and the stumbling block. Follow the Rule or lose life. This life and the life that follows. Because when you’re dead, the Rule still works.
It starts in childhood. Dad? Why was I born? Why do we all have to die? Where do I come from before this life? Who decides? Why must we always obey?
Follow the Rule, obey the Eagle. Wherever the inner gaze is, the Rule stands, an impassable barrier. I take two steps, I hit this wall. That’s the way it is. There’s no need to change anything. The Rule is a cleaver that falls on your neck. Obey without fuss. Your stupid questions, put them back in the drawer. Your will to see, you put it on the date. Wisely, patiently, wait in your closet on the day of your victory. The day of the brides with yourself. Finally you love yourself. You will never be the same. Awakening sows, you reaps.
This is possible only by the absolute awareness of the unconscious by the consciousness. When consciousness accesses the totality of the Unconscious.
You feel new life. Finally free. You get drunk with your immense power. Yet the Rule still stifles you…
Or the art of stalking. The word comes from Merlin. It means “roll in the flour”. Play a trick in the way of the enchanter. My benefactor taught me the word. He showed me his reality. With application, he demonstrated it to me twenty times a time, a thousand times a night.Patiently, methodically, stubbornly he threw me in. Rolled in flour and sprinkled on all sides.
More and more, he laughed at my look of discomfort. It depends on what the laugh is. The lesson only carries if it is understood. Not bad jokes, but good ones. They have to be funny and teach a useful truth.
Merlinade is therefore a teaching method. Cruel? Let’s say it stings the ego a little. He needs solid pairs of slaps to decriminalize his prey. That’s you. The blackbird does it.
Make no mistake about it. The merlineur rolls himself first. Otherwise he’s just a liar. When you merline, you’re sure you’re telling the truth. If there is a deception, it is of itself. Look quickly at the link to that paragraph.
For those who follow, go ahead. It is your turn.
Well, believe me, the Supreme Merlin is the Rule. The Eagle. He wears us out, mistreats us and cheats us throughout our lives. Is he our master? I can’t say for sure. Even the Eagle bends to the Rule, just as the gods bow before Moira. The three Fates impose upon them a destiny against which they can do nothing. Here, their all-power comes to a standstill…
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