Odin(??) says…

Sexuality is like chemical reactions; it depends on the elements that you mix together. It will most likely create a reaction. It can be a really small one or it can cause explosions… but sometimes when you are truly lucky, it will create Perfection.

JosephWright-Alchemist-Cropped
The Alchemist in Search of the Philosophers Stone- Joseph Wright of Derby (1771)
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Quote: Culture of Pity

“Some have dared to call pity a virtue (in every noble ethic it is considered a weakness); and as if this were not enough, it has been made the virtue, the basis and source of all virtues. To be sure—and one should always keep this in mind—this was done by a philosophy that was nihilistic and had inscribed the negation of life upon its shield. Schopenhauer was consistent enough: pity negates life and renders it more deserving of negation.

Pity is the practice of nihilism. To repeat: this depressive and contagious instinct crosses those instincts which aim at the preservation of life and at the enhancement of its value. It multiplies misery and conserves all that is miserable, and is thus a prime instrument of the advancement of decadence: pity persuades men to nothingness!”

— Nietzsche, The Antichrist

spirit_of_self_pity_and_despair_by_satanoy-d77jjt4
by DA user Satanoy

In the center of it all

To the unapologetic, complex, mouvant, 3rd genre, occult, poignant David Bowie. Thanks for craking open the world, one song at the time. May you fall from Earth to reach the centre of it all,

– Yours truly  and everybody else.

 

***

BLACKSTAR

In the villa of Ormen, in the villa of Ormen
Stands a solitary candle, ah-ah, ah-ah
In the centre of it all, in the centre of it all
Your eyes

On the day of execution, on the day of execution
Only women kneel and smile, ah-ah, ah-ah
At the centre of it all, at the centre of it all
Your eyes, your eyes

Ah-ah-ah
Ah-ah-ah

In the villa of Ormen, in the villa of Ormen
Stands a solitary candle, ah-ah, ah-ah
In the centre of it all, in the centre of it all
Your eyes
Ah-ah-ah


Something happened on the day he died
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried
(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)

How many times does an angel fall?
How many people lie instead of talking tall?
He trod on sacred ground, he cried loud into the crowd
(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar, I’m not a gangstar)

I can’t answer why (I’m a blackstar)
Just go with me (I’m not a filmstar)
I’m-a take you home (I’m a blackstar)
Take your passport and shoes (I’m not a popstar)
And your sedatives, boo (I’m a blackstar)
You’re a flash in the pan (I’m not a marvel star)
I’m the Great I Am (I’m a blackstar)

I’m a blackstar, way up, on money, I’ve got game
I see right, so wide, so open-hearted pain
I want eagles in my daydreams, diamonds in my eyes
(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)

Something happened on the day he died
Spirit rose a metre then stepped aside
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried
(I’m a blackstar, I’m a star’s star, I’m a blackstar)

I can’t answer why (I’m not a gangstar)
But I can tell you how (I’m not a film star)
We were born upside-down (I’m a star’s star)
Born the wrong way ‘round (I’m not a white star)
(I’m a blackstar, I’m not a gangstar
I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar
I’m not a pornstar, I’m not a wandering star
I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)

In the villa of Ormen stands a solitary candle
Ah-ah, ah-ah
At the centre of it all, your eyes
On the day of execution, only women kneel and smile
Ah-ah, ah-ah
At the centre of it all, your eyes, your eyes
Ah-ah-ah

The Pale Blue Dote

I because sometimes I need to remind myself to look outward. When I think of how insignificant we are, of the vastness of what lays beyond (no matter how dizzy and small and it makes me feel), of how the universe doesn’t give a flying fuck about you, I get a sense of relief form the marrow of my bone that expending towards eternity!

“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”

-Carl Sagan

He’s all right. For the dramatically narrated version:

Captain’s log: About control of the spiritual experience

I read an awesome article about Npredator (Narcissist-predator) in spiritual communities. I highly recommend that you read it. It is very interesting… because we all know one. 😉

I’ll highlight the one I find especially interesting.

A list of hallmarks of NPredator abuse

  • Seeks power
  • Seeks control
  • Makes everything about themselves
  • Larger than life and quite aware of it
  • Spiritual experiences/circumstances are too good to be true
  • They make up elaborate stories that often seem much like other community members’ stories
  • Sudden expert status in a field/on an entity with no previous mention of it/them
  • Claim accreditation and expert levels they don’t actually have
  • Constantly asking for money or support, often in an entitled manner
  • Will not accept/are snippy about critique of their work
  • Copy and imitate the work of others with no credit
  • Brag about their status/follower count/webpage hits, then claim to be humble
  • Is a practiced liar and manipulator
  • Once you no longer have something of value to them, they either don’t care about you or mark you as a threat
  • Twisting words and gaslighting
  • Dodging accountability, if apologies are issued they are nonpologies
  • They use the language of the abused and pose as victims
  • Openly speak of vendettas against specific people
  • Act nice to a person in public, then completely smear their reputation in private
  • They erase their history (difficult in a community of pseudonyms, but if they claim they’ve been in online communities since 2005 and you find all their blogs and comments from then are deleted, it’s a huge red flag)
  • A history of frequent name and identity changes
  • A lack of long-term friends from before they joined the community, or said friends are obvious victims or fellow NPs
  • Over time, their stories, claimed spiritual experiences, and even life details just don’t add up

I especially love the point “Spiritual experiences/circumstances are too good to be true.” I love a good Unverified Personal Gnosis (UPG). For me it’s called DREAMING. Don’t get me wrong, dreaming is not random made up images, it is sacred. It makes the wielder of the UPG a crazy magical being. Most of the “spirit workers” I encounter are in fact DREAMERS.

But human “nature” (read programming) being what it is, we want to our personal experience to fit somewhere, somehow. We start to fill in the gaps. We cannot accept that our experience, as formidable as we experienced it, is in fact regular, normal, and as real as taking the bus or doing the groceries. People is making there sorry not about truth but about control. Because control confirms your power and your power confirms your existence.

The first mystery of existence lays in silence.

Pityful human, trying to dominate, to control, to kill. Then crying about the fact that you just wanted to connect, to be loved, to be heard. It makes me think about a quote I came across while tinkering with my understanding of the Emperor card in the Thoth Tarot.

“It is a vast lagoon of dream fragments of the male unconscious, haunted with eternal shadows that compete, strut, fight, kill and rape, and above all seek the approval of other men.” –  Nikoletseas, The Iliad: The Male Totem

Funeral portrait of Sun Tzu

I dreamed that I was in a huge, luxurious bathroom with many stalls in a rich house. The ceramic was the color of sand when the sun sets on the desert (that was a very specific detail, for some reason). There was concealed a faucet behind the stall line; it was more private, no one knew about this space. I was washing my hands and I noticed a small and very old funeral portrait hanging on the wall.

It was the picture of a Chinese man on a tapestry, guarded by two small swords. I take it into my hand, we start to talk together. He tells me that his name is Jun Tsu and that he did a bunch of writing back in his time. As we are speaking about all and nothing, the portrait breaks and the tapestry in the back of the picture is getting bigger and bigger. Jun Tsu’s bust is now on the table, but it was his real human bust, not a statue. He had a round face an a goatee.

We can talk better this way. He is explaining that the portrait was taken as he was about to die so he feels forever the grip of death around his chest. I wonder how I can make the tapestry shrink back. He suggests that he can be my new clock, because time is the essence in the war.

When I woke up I realised that it was not Jun Tsu, but Sun Tsu, writer of The Art of War. I must had got the accent wrong. I’ve started to read the book this morning. What an enlighten man. I especially like the quote “To a surrounded enemy, you must leave a way to escape” … (or the art of playing with your food.)

Sun Tzu
Sun Tzu