Pataikos the dwarf god

 

 Pataikos: The Open Confessions of a Reptilian Lord

Ever get to feeling that you are nothing but an ugly, grotesque little dwarf, jumping up and down screaming bloody murder, and turning cartwheels on the sidelines of life while the world goes on its merry way into oblivion? Ever feel like you're speaking a language that no-one can understand; that you are a minority of one; a negative cipher cast off and adrift; no longer a part of the great machine because you are just to damn broken to function properly-- unable to blithely take the shrieking madness around you as sanity and as truth and as real--let alone pretend that it isn't?

You could turn on the television then, and commiserate. You could smile through your tears because god is in his heaven and all is right with the world. You could opt for spiritual morphine. And what is worse than the terror of being utterly alone and knowing it and trying to face it with integrity is the ludicrous obscenity that pretty much everyone else is running scared too. No shred of human dignity remains to you. Your very pain is a marketed, enumerated, meaningless commodity, readily available for wholesale distribution. In fact, there is no getting away from the neighbors at all. The Jones, be they ever so humble, and vulgar, despicable and crude, will follow you straight to hell. One cannot but think of that one who concluded that since god did not exist one would have to commit suicide so as to become a god oneself.

See, the thing is, if you are a vessel of purest gold…the clay vessels will kill you for daring to expose their lives for the lie that they have become. They will silence you, ignore you, and mock you, and when that no longer works they will put you on a pedestal and make you irrelevant--accessible to all. Because once you do become a Mahatma, they have already won--they have made you safe enough to love; an innocuous adornment for which they can congratulate themselves for having had the wit to discover in the first place.

But I would maintain that the parable of the clay jars has nothing to do with the homogenization of human suffering but with the recognition that the beginning of the spiritual life is the awakening of the human conscience to the intolerable enormity of sin, and the singular realization that you cannot die--neither to the sniveling mediocrity which you are not, let alone to the divinity which you are.

So long as there is a democratization of the human spirit--so long as religion refuses to take up the cross in absolute fullness and in anguish, so long will I cry out for Jihad, and fight on the side of St. Michael whose sword is free of gore only because it is washed clean in the tears of the slaughtered lamb. And let us not delude ourselves here. Among each other we are safe. Together, in our solidarity of vision, are we nourished and strengthened. Those we have come to serve have every reason to fear us though. And they will revile us as whores, because that is what we will become for their name's sake. Behold us then, the towers of the flock. Our garlands of peace and love mean nothing, and less than nothing, if they are not watered by the blazing fire of the passion of the Christ that dwells within each one of us.

That said, I think it would be best if I left this group. With every post I become more and more disheartened. I no longer feel welcome here. My twin-flame assures me that I do have a place here in this group, but then, she loves me. We are each of us halves of one undivided sky. Our love is the only truth in which I believe. The thing is though, I see no cause for hope. I never have. My vision is dark and speaks of suffering and no-one wants to hear it. Everyone seems to want love and light and peace and joy and happiness and uplifting inspiration, and positive thinking and optimism and strengthening and faith and glorious visions for the future and there is nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong at all. But if that is what is required, if that is what is  needed, then I have no business being here. It is not something that I have ever been able to deliver without being fundamentally dishonest with myself. I apologized for having written.

The Silken Thread, and I was serious about that, though I made light of it at the time. I was apologizing ,

for being untrue to my vision, and writing that bit of drivel was the hardest thing I have ever done because it disconnected my heart from the truth that I must speak or perish. I wrote it in absolute anguish and it tore through my soul like a plague of locusts. I am simply not strong enough to ever bring out of myself such depth of gentleness again. Do you have any idea how much that hurts? I am, after all, a healer. I want nothing more than to inspire people--to make them feel warm and loved and nurtured and safe and good all over, but that is not what has ever been asked of me. I am asked only to create the balance, whether I want to or not. All the world wants sunshine and light and so here by the grace of god go I bringing darkness and storm.

We talk here of Gibran. He inspired hundred of millions around the world with the spiritual clarity of his light, but what no-one wants to hear about is the fact that he could do this because not a day went by when he did not wrestle with his Lord. And well, in the end… he might well have lost. He drank himself to death. We talk of Mother Teresa and but neglect what her memoirs and confession reveal, namely that she spent her entire life in a dark night of the soul, never once experiencing the grace of the presence of the Lord whom she loved and served. Who among as could carry so terrible a burden or pay so high of a price for peace? We speak of Gandhi, the great Mahatma, and never once pause to consider the tremendous violence within him out of which he wrested the Herculean strength required of him to do all that he was enabled to do for his country.

What I'm saying is simply this. If we truly want peace, then what are we willing to give for it? If we want only the love and the peace and the light then we are whitewashed tombs and liars because that love and that light which is Christ was born in passion on a real cross with real nails that pierced a real body that really really died in real pain. You cannot have the flower without the dark soil in which it was grown. We say that we want peace, but we don't want to shovel the shit, and why would we? The shit is what is real in our lives.


 It is much easier to hold the light of an ideal than to embrace ones own damn suffering and cowardice and simple human ugliness and the anguish that it causes in our selves and in the lives of those we love the most. And let me make it plane and simple-- until that peace we so long for becomes an absolute reality to us in the most intimate and most profound of ways; until it is wedded to our sinfulness; until that peace becomes an absolute necessity in our lives, we are just pissing in the wind. Unless we know down to the very marrow what that peace IS and until we are willing to give our lives for it, and until that peace becomes a concrete necessity to us we are merely giving the party line, and I want no part of it, now or ever. I am not a pacifist and I am not a vegetarian and I am only willing to die for what is absolutely real and for nothing else.

I know which peace I am looking for. I know what it looks like. It is nothing more nor less than the conscious and immediate presence of god in my life. And that peace--where is it found? It is found in my envy of Michael who not only writes better and thinks clearer than I do, but has found his peace with the Lord and can thus articulate the blessed love and gentleness that I want so desperately to share with the world but cannot.

 So then…as the immortal bunny said: "that's all folks". If you want me to stay, then stay I will, but only if I hear from you all. I cannot promise inspiration or sweet roses…only ever the rain that feeds them and the shit they grow in. Mine is not the portion of gentle kindness or inspiring sentiments that make all things right and beautiful and glowing. I am no optimist and never will be one. I give only what I have. But this I promise--what I give here, I will give ever and always straight from the heart, no matter how much it hurts to say it. Okay?

My formula for peace is very simple and but extremely difficult: it is to stand before each other even as we stand before our god…naked, raw, and bleeding. Until we can share our fears and our tears and our vulnerabilities without shame and without excuse we will have no peace. Until we can look at each others secret selves without flinching; until we can be vulnerable with each other, and that in recognition of our inalienable dignity as human beings, the peace we long for will remain an illusion that can do no more than give comfort in the night of unreason.

My vision for this group: that we have the sheer guts it will take to share with each other honestly how it is that we create the peace of the presence of the holy spirit in our day to day lives. And/or how we don't. Let us weep together at our failures and rise together in triumph at our victories then. Let us then truly be our commitment to peace. We can each of us be each others strength. When it comes right down to it, folks--we have only each other, and if we can create the living peace of god amongst each other, and for each other, then truly are we gathered in his name, and his blessed name will cover the earth with his mercy and the mighty peace of his unending love.

Long live the Jihad. Long live our little family. Long live the fond

hope it might become one.

L

 

God`s grace

  

God in his infinite goodness desires to draw us to himself, to encourage us to work already here on earth, so that we might have something of a foretaste of eternal happiness, whose fullness will be our crown.  

Striving with all our strength to correspond to the invitations of God's grace and increase his glory through the Immaculate Virgin in ourselves and in others, we sometimes experience the happy peace of a child who, having placed himself unreserved into the hands of its mother, worries about nothing, fears nothing, ever trusting in the wisdom, goodness and strength of his mother.

Cat and moon

 

THE CAT AND THE MOON

by: W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)

The cat went here and there And the moon spun round like a top, And the nearest kin of the moon, The creeping cat, looked up.  Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,  

 

For, wander and wail as he would, The pure cold light in the sky Troubled his animal blood.  Minnaloushe runs in the grass Lifting his delicate feet.  

 

Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?  When two close kindred meet, What better than call a dance? Maybe the moon may learn, Tired of that courtly fashion, A new dance turn.  

 

 Minnaloushe creeps through the grass From moonlit place to place, The sacred moon overhead Has taken a new phase.  Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils Will pass from change to change,  

 

And that from round to crescent, From crescent to round they range?  Minnaloushe creeps through the grass Alone, important and wise, And lifts to the changing moon His changing eyes. 

 

Rain drops

 Cicukam:

If rain drops were kisses, I'd send you showers daily. Millions of huge plump little drops saturated with my love. Every tiny drop is a kiss that  has its very own wings and own life to be able to fly to you.

If hugs were seas, I'd send you all the oceans of the earth. Thunderous ones, calm ones as well as the dark and mysterious ones White foams filled with soft embraces, and lapping gentle waves caressing your whole body.

And if love was a person I'd send you me!

Sadly, all I can send are the individual raindrops. Each one that special kiss that is very straight from my heart. Keep them safe in your soul, under lock and key, for nothing is more precious than gifts from the heart.

Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same with treasures hidden deep within.

God`s identity is ours

 

Absolute truth is summed up in our own identity and God`s identity. We are created by the creator, by divine design.  We are parts or sparks of the God energy. An  God individualized  point of light in creation. We are perfect.We are not truly our thought, but a thought of a Universal Consciousness, a Divine Source.  We have the gift of free will to chose our destiny. We, at our core are perfect, created in the likeness of God metaphorically, for God is unimaginable and unfathomable in all of His/Her/Their divine aspects.

Therefore, our intention, or will creates either suffering or perfection.We can do anything when we tap into the Spirit of God, we can do new things, creativity is directly flows from this place. We can heal when we

are within this energy field or source field of love. Power, healing, energy, life, joy, it all comes from this place.

The essence of God is perfection. The essence of me and You is perfection. We have the incorruptible seed of self, which God created. We have the ability to call things into existence. If our thought betray us we are then filled with fear and suffering and that is the ego at play.

To enter this divine place we only need to to find the presence of God within ourselves. Feel the love of God, the essence of who we really are, and allow our thought , dreams spring from this well. This is from where faith and creativity are born from..

So all we need to go is to the beginning, to our roots. We are that goddess, we are that God, yet God is the infinite One who we are to expand and grow into. As we understand God, we become part of God, a partner, a co-creator. We are perfect...within the love of God.

love, light, peace,

Incarnated one

Incarnated One...who is he?...love this story.

There is an old story about a group of monks living with their master in a Tibetan monastery. Their lives were disciplined and dedicated, and the atmosphere in which they lived harmonious and peaceful. People from villages far and wide flocked to the monastery to bask in the warmth of such a loving spiritual environment.

Then one day the master departed his earthly form. At first the monks continued on as they had in the past, but after a time, the discipline and devotion that had been hallmarks of their daily routine slackened. The number of villagers coming through the doors each day began to drop, and little by little, the monastery fell into a state of disrepair.

Soon the monks were bickering among themselves, some pointing fingers of blame, others filled with guilt. The energy within the monastery walls crackled with animosity.

Finally, the senior monk could take it no longer. Hearing that a spiritual master lived as a hermit two days walk away, the monk wasted no time in seeking him out. Finding the master in his forest hermitage, the monk told him of the sad state the monastery had fallen into and asked his advice

.

The master smiled. "There is one living among you who is the incarnation of God. Because he is being disrespected by those around him, he will not show himself, and the monastery will remain in disrepair." With those words spoken, the master fell silent and would say no more.

All the way back to the monastery, the monk wondered which of his brothers might be the Incarnated One.

"Perhaps it is Brother Jaspar who does our cooking," the monk said aloud. But then a second later thought, "No, it can't be him. He is sloppy and ill tempered and the food he prepares is tasteless."

"Perhaps our gardener, Brother Timor, is the one," he then thought. This consideration, too, was quickly followed by denial. "Of course not" he said aloud. "God is not lazy and would never let weeds take over a lettuce patch the way Brother Timor has."

Finally, after dismissing each and every one of his brothers for this fault or that, the senior monk realized there were none left. Knowing it had to be one of the monks because the master had said it was, he worried over it a bit before a new thought dawned. "Could it be that the Holy One has chosen to display a fault in order to disguise himself?" he wondered. "Of course it could! That must be it!"

Reaching the monastery, he immediately told his brothers what the master had said and all were just as astonished as he had been to learn the Divine was living among them.

Since each knew it was not himself who was God Incarnate, each began to study his brothers carefully, all trying to determine who among them was the Holy One. But none of them could see were the faults and failings of the others. If God was in their midst, he was doing a fine job of hiding himself. Finding the Incarnated One among such rubble would be difficult, indeed.

After much discussion, it was finally decided that they would all make an effort to be kind and loving toward each another, treating all with the respect and honor one would naturally give to the Incarnated One. If God insisted on remaining hidden, then they had no recourse but to treat each monk as if he were the Holy One.

Each so concentrated on seeing God in the other that soon their hearts filled with such love for one another the chains of negativity that held them bound fell away. As time passed, they began seeing God not just in each other, but in every one and everything. Days were spent in joyful reverence, rejoicing in His Holy Presence.

The monastery radiated this joy like a beacon and soon the villagers returned, streaming through the doors as they had before, seeking to be touched by the love and devotion present there.

It was some time later that the senior monk decided to pay the master another visit to thank him for the secret he had revealed.

"Did you discover the identity of the Incarnated One?" the master asked.

"We did," the senior monk replied. "We found him residing in all of us."

The master smiled.

Anguish

Dearest love,

I have just finished writing you a rather long and anguished love letter, the likes of which I cannot, in all good conscience, even contemplate sending...let alone to you. It would be best for me to burn the thing--or to post it to Assisi.

Alas, I am cowardly! And what I ask of others I scarcely dare contemplate for myself. Far be it from me to send people running for the hills then. The thing is though, with every post that comes to to Assisi I become more and more distressed and irate. The worst of it is though, my distress is ninety percent pure envy.  And yes, I do remember enough of my catechism to realize that envy is counted among the seven deadlies. But so it is.  I am an old dragon, and dragons fly with their mate or they go it solo.


 I am not so bloody self-assured that I am immune to the darkest depth of doubt where my gifts and talents are concerned, and well, what it comes down to is that I have decided it were better for all concerned that I quit Assisi entirely.

I recognize genius when I see it, Suzie, but I am not so mature or so noble that I will gladly share the bloody field with it. That is strictly a male thing. But so it is. Alas, I am not even beyond the crudity of spiritual one-up-manship. I also recognize spiritual superiority when I see it, and spiritual superiority coupled with genius I will tolerate in no other man, least of all if he happens to be playing ball on my home turf. Quite honestly I wouldn't trust the Lord Jesus himself to be alone with you for five minutes. Him least of all, actually.

I am truly ashamed of myself. And well I should be. To think that I would let envy and machismo and plain old ego stand in the way of world-peace.  But so it is.

I am feeling extremely insecure just now, especially where my writing is concerned, and now, having to share you with so many others in an open forum--all of it is making me feel downright inadequate, stupid, impotent and very much the total schlump. And all the more so because now that you have Michael on board I have become utterly superfluous and irrelevant anyway.  With him to take care of it, the whole fucking world is in good hands.  Well, he can have it then.  I bow out and concede the humiliation of galling defeat. Around him and his pretty, elegant phrases, his glowing wit and his intellectual brilliance I'm nothing but a tasteless joke written on the side of a toilet stall.

No, I am not jealous.  I am envious as all hell, and that is far worse.  If I were merely jealous I would have only to murder him, and be done with it, but to so wantonly waste a mind as precious as his on so indulgent and trivial a prodigality as homicide--that would be truly unconscionable. I cannot help but like what he says.  That bugs me. If I hear one more word out of him I will never write so much as another word on any forum but rather will I cast my pen into the sea and forever hold my tongue.

And by the way...if you wonder why so many forums turn into cat-fights between infants....look no further. Helen launched a thousand ships, dear.  It was her pretty face that ended Troy, no less than that, and hardly more.  People might start wars on account of misplaced idealism, but no ideal however noble ever stood in the way of simple human insecurity. We tend to forget that the world in which we meet is in some ways far more real than the one which houses our bodies.  Alliances are formed here.  Intrigue abounds. It is all very, very real. And who should know that better than you and I?

Its people we have to deal with, after all.  Terrified people.  And terrified people are known to do irrational things--like slaughter each other in the name of universal peace. And we must not forget either that is for such as these that we become as less than nothing, over and over again.  And against that very real injustice we must guard our own pain and the violence thereof lest it strike the very ones that gave it just cause.

Michael carries a sword, remember? It wasn't forged for lack of use. It is shiny and new looking, but only because it is washed in the tears of the lamb. And at what cost? Would we buy peace for less? What is it really worth to us and what does it mean to us?  Such are the questions we need to seriously ask ourselves and each other. Because the first thing our desire for peace is going to come up against is not a legion of devils. No. It is going to come up against our own very human folly and ignorance and weakness. On such fair heights as those will rise and fall the fates of mice and men. The rest is just details!

I guess I need some reassurance just now. I know that you love me and that our love is forever, but still--tell me again that we are an indissoluble unit--a team as fast as the ramparts of the very sky despite the infinite extent of my ignorance, my execrable skills as a writer and my utter lack of sexy human graces.

Okay, so if you left me I could forgive you...but not if you left me for a mortal man, however shiny and new.