Behind Invisible Weapons

Close your eyes. And repeat after me…

Belief is strange. It has a magical quality that can completely transform reality if you buy into it. It’s so strange that if we’re told something enough times we might grow to adopt it as “Truth.” Even if that “Truth” is actually an invisible weapon disguised to hurt you.

Life inherently has no meaning. Any meaning that we attach to life begins first as a thing created by the mind. Therefore, any meaning that we ascribe to the world in front of us is first derived from the one we cannot see.

When we are young, we live like immortals. Bathing in the ignorance of youth. Waiting for time to never end, we are bewildered by the possibilities that the tomorrow might bring.

What feels good? Everything that doesn’t hurt. Until everything that is good hurts you.

In the end, everyone leaves. This is reality. Believe in free will or do not. Are you awaited in Hell? Or will you rot away below the earth without a care? Are you destined for greatness? Or do you carve your own path? In the end, everyone leaves. This is reality.

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Behind Invisible Weapons

Highways of the Higher Self

Today, Dr. Michael Aquino released an interesting book–an  “automobiography.” It’s entitled “Ghost Rides” and features a look back at some of the cars he came across during the adventure of his life. It features an introduction by horror author Don Webb. It can be found HERE.

The release of “Ghost Rides” has actually inspired me to write a car story of my own…here we go:

I have had cars come and go in my life, and there’s one in particular that will always “be the one” for me. My dad and I flew down to Atlanta when I was thirteen to pick up a car in northern Florida. When I first laid eyes upon this beauty of a car I knew that I would never look at another car the same way again. Behold the Camaro 1971 RS. The car needed a lot of work, not to mention a paint job (it was a vomit green color), but that didn’t matter. It was TOUGH. My dad and I drove this baby from Florida all the way back to the Northeast and along the way we had many adventures, including one evening where the power steering gave out and he had to muscle the muscle car into a gas station to figure out a solution. He went to find someone to talk to. I was left completely alone in the car, in the dark for sometime. My mind wandered into places a thirteen year old normally shouldn’t go, but I was acutely aware of problems I had with mySelf and began to speak to “Satan” openly about exactly where I wanted to be in twenty years. Some “deals” were struck, with what I would eventually reframe as my first conversation with my “NeterSelf.” This was 1997. What I said in that car and where I “drove” mySelf to in 2017 all lined up with what I said that night. And while I was far from the day where I would understand what Greater Black Magic even was, especially as a means to communicate with a part of mySelf far removed from the “world that is,” I regard this “apocryphal communication” as my first GBM working.

Within the mythology of mySelf this is the moment where my life began to get turned upside down on its head. All of this happened in the passenger seat of the sexiest car I’ve ever laid eyes on.

camaro

When we finally got home, my dad started to really work on the car a lot. He would lift weights like a beast and work on the car immediately after. I had the opportunity to help him on several occasions, even if that meant holding the light up for him to check the timing belt. My dad painted the Camaro “gun metal.” He rebuilt the engine. Completely redid the interior, black, black, black, no. 1. He put a blower in the car, and a cal induction hood on it. The car went through a total transformation, which also is quite apocryphal to me within the mythology of Me. I often wonder where I would be now if I hadn’t taken that initial “drive” on the highway of my higher Self. I digress.

My dad was planning on passing the car to me, but my parents started going through some rocky times after 9/11 and he ended up selling it to a collector in Washington state. I had a lot of good memories in the Camaro. My dad was a car nut the entire time he was around in my life and it was the one thing I always felt that I was able to bond with him on. There were certainly more muscle cars he rebuilt along the way, but our 1971 Camaro RS, was the last and most important car I’ve had the pleasure of “getting to know.”

One day, I want one my own…

Xeper through the (rearview) Mirror of the Self,

Adept Nikoletta Winters

Highways of the Higher Self

Saturnalian Echo Chamber

“No true orientation in life is possible without both pleasant and unpleasant sensations.” —P.D. Ouspensky

I’ve been growing more and more skeptical of everything as of late. I question everything—it’s exhausting…and fruitful. I am constantly restless. I am hungry.

Where was I this time last year? Not here.

I want to look at the facts. What does it mean for something to be factual? What is a fact? Are facts merely the things that happened—or is there something more that makes them facts? Facts are derived from truth. Facts are something known to be true—verified through observation.

What does it take to make a truthful, and honest observation? Experience to know better not to lie? How do we accumulate experience?

Flesh + Time = Experience.

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What does it mean to scrutinize everything under an intellectual lens? Can everything that we interact with, in the scope of the Objective Universe, be explained with a propensity for the scientific?

We like the echo chamber because it is pleasing for us to hear the things that we agree with. Does agreeable also mean pleasant? Happiness is derived through the pursuit of values which we perceive to be preserving of life. Cruelty is always up for adoption.

Lining up the entirety of the things I have encountered in my lifetime, there is nothing that I haven’t been able to explain. My eyes report what I see. My ears, what I hear.

Dreams are the truest anomalies.

How do I learn to understand the person I have become? Through love and rational apprehension.

Actual magic is only tangible so long as it produces tangible results.

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Saturnalian Echo Chamber

Keep Swimming

Excuse me while I do some thinking out loud.

I don’t often say this, but I’ve been sad lately. I don’t mean a depressive–“I want to kill myself” sadness. I’ve just been sad. This probably sounds like an entitled first worlder having the blues over her materialistic life. I could see that. I assure you that it isn’t. I would simply call it–indigestion to change. This year has been a lot to take in–a major surgery, a cross-country move, and a job change. It’s a lot to adjust to. You could say I traded my old life for a new one.

rising

Overall, life is better than it ever has been. I can’t complain. There is still something missing though. In some ways I can identify that that something is independence. I miss New England. There’s nothing quite like being able to walk in the woods alone in the late afternoon. The silence is deafening. Make no mistake, I’ve spent time investigating the desert. I can’t wait until Summer is over. I hear Autumn and Winter are definitely something else from what we have back in New England. I’m looking forward to having my first snowless winter in quite some time.

The skies around Tucson can be gorgeous. There’s something about being able to look up and being able to see the stars. It’s like opening your eyes for the first time. I’ve always lived in areas with a lot of light pollution, clouds–or both. It’s interesting to be able to finally see the stars. I’ve been missing this my entire life.

My musical endeavours could always be better. I’ve been learning a lot of new things from a production stand point, but I’m still having a hard time. I miss having creative people to jam with. I want to get into an actual studio again with an actual band. Being able to produce my own songs at home is great, but it’s extremely self-limiting. I like getting instant “no-bullshit” feedback about the music I write. The Internet isn’t good for that. Sure, you can get instant feedback–but it’s slathered head-to-toe with bullshit.

swimmingI’ve had to let go of a lot of things this year. I still think there are a lot of things I still need to let go of. It’s not enough to simply tread water. I need to jump in and keep swimming.

Keep Swimming

The Day I Left

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It has been so long…

In this bed of rust I have lain.

No flowers to wreathe my beauty–

I drowned in tears and barb-wire dreams.

O! WITNESS!

How the snow melting sands–scorch my heart.

Melt my eyes.

Blast my skin.

Is that the Sun I hear? So far away!

I love when the vultures circle–all at once.

My seven mouths–how they sweat!

O so delicious! Feathers and all.

The Day I Left