Gentling A Wild Bat

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Giving my tired head a rest on the palm of my hand I see the continuation to the problematic sentence in between the tiny arrangement of flowers underneath my window. The little blue box with its lid opened on the ‘Tuesday’ section reminds me that I am safe from hallucinations as the pill had been consumed shortly after dinner. Instinctively my head returns to a position of confirmation.

My world becomes a vortex of memories projected through the eyes of a being while the last sound before the thriller is my voice repeating the now completed phrase over and over…

“Her eyes are sapphires, fires, liars. She is the light… the lying light…our fire created sapphires…  innocent liars…”

Until the world is calm again and the filigrees of memories take the lead, like a mirage caused by my dehydration.

The light of my living room arrogantly ridicules the one in her sapphires; so much so that I am scared off and in doubt my lips know only to twist and coil into a smile…that smile…her smile. This act in itself is a kind of language understood only by the hunter and her prey. It is similar to a contract, it is a guarantee, signed, sealed and handed over to cause the collapse of murderous intentions. Their transformation results in bittersweet gasps and insatiable shadows as they act in contradicting manoeuvres allowing weakness at first, only to rise again and feast on an expecting, welcoming lamb.  The shapes and sounds of things to come include thundering feminine grunts accompanied by a background of whispers … gentle clawing soothed by the magic which seeps out from our pores while we’re fully clothed, yet naked.

In ‘god’-like synchronization the rain drops mercifully begin to fall to the rhythm of those inspired by the fleshly sensation between our bodies; creating the prelude to our chorus:  drip…drip…drop…

From walls to wind are dancing feet moving ever forward while her skin presently owns my embrace and me. I walk behind her almost in a waltz; my fingertips covering her eyes, excited by the static summoned by flesh tasting flesh. The grass is dampened by the slow drizzles of rain and as our feet connect to the green beneath them; the tickle prepares us to merge with the flock of shower drops and simultaneously the wind gives in and gradually stops.

A moment is all it takes for gravity to envelope us in a blanket of soil and leaves. My lips aching to rest on her collar bone, my hands wandering… alone. The moonlight pierces through the crowds of spectators with their wooden locks of browns and greys; falling like a spotlight onto her but excluding me even as my body moves in and out of the ray’s radius. Our movements are urgent now; the rain speeds up in accordance. Her heart beats so fast I can feel it pulsating in my throat.

We were like bats worshipping one another.

The landscape and scenery are only a contrast; steam and rain, dark and light along with the moonlight.

She holds on to me as my lips press onto her forehead.

I smell a tear roll down the side of her face as she looks at me unwilling to utter a word. This moment is not meant to be spoiled by thoughts and questions about what lay ahead.

Like bats, with the sunrise we were no more.

My heart threatens to tear out of my chest as I run down the stairs and towards the place beneath my window.

A sharp turn left… then a right… then another right…

She looks at me, cautious, analysing.

I scoop her up and hold her to my chest, just then – a rain drop. A small tear wells up as I begin to walk back to my apartment.

My palm gentles the top of her head

Again

Next up… The Philosopher’s Stone

Art of Healing

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Human branding is the process in which a symbol or ornamental pattern is burned into the skin of a person, with the intention that the resulting scar makes it permanent. This is done by using a hot or very cold branding iron; alternatively a design may be stencilled on to one’s skin and thereafter burned using a hot, thin piece of steel. It therefore uses the physical techniques of animal branding on a human, either with consent as a form of body modification; as punishment or imposing masterly rights over an enslaved or otherwise oppressed person. It may also be practiced as a “rite of passage” such as within a tribe.

Why a brand?

Two weeks ago, my psychologist asked me to complete this sentence:

‘In life I have the potential to be…’

Before I could answer he added that I might want to think about something which in my opinion would require more than one lifetime to achieve.

“In life I have the potential to be a revolution.”

He then proceeded to tell me that there was an error in my sentence as one person cannot be a revolution… one person can (according to him) only be a part of a revolution or be a revolutionary. He teasingly mocked me for the bad sentence construction and I waited for him to finish off before trying to clarify my reply to him.

It went something like this.

“You asked me to describe my potentially achieving something which may take more than one lifetime to get to… being a single revolution is exactly that. The things that are done behind closed doors stay there for the most part, but what if we were brave enough to show even those things? What if we made a point of not doing anything that we would not feel free to share with the rest of the world? A revolution in my sense of the word means – a world without secrets. I do not mean the physical world, but a single world (my world) for example. It would take more than one life time for me to learn how to love myself enough to freely admit my wrongs along with my rights and to stop covering up the things that I am afraid of exposing. It would take more than a lifetime to speak without holding back or wonder how many people think me stupid for the things I do and say. So my answer remains. In life I have the potential to be a revolution.”

So far most of what history has to offer us in terms of branding or body modification is mostly negative… Anabaptists got crosses branded on their foreheads… and A was given to men and women who’d committed adultery… criminals and animals alike.

I prefer branding because in my opinion it is more personal. My first brand was of a bio hazardous symbol… it represented the chaos I had overcome, the chaos to come… the challenges and ‘hazards’. It’s not like a tattoo (don’t get me wrong I love tattoos as well) where you’re having to add-on to your body in order to create a form of art, but it is your own body creating its own form of art through healing.

Coming to appreciate a certain symbol or drawing to such a great extent that one would like to literally have it as a part of them must mean that it gave them hope throughout the bad times and made them smile broader when things were good… Branding is my form of art… a part of my Dada and also a part of my Druidry. Sometimes while the burn is still fresh, the artist stops to moisten the brand and then to air it out; those are probably my favourite moments, when I can literally feel the heat, air and water playing along almost literally under my skin slowly forming a part of who I am… who I am yet to become; Many professionals will tell you that attempting to doctor this wound will either cause infection or it will just prolong the healing process. The sun, the air, water while showering etc. And the earthly bacteria and germs… all those things help speed up the healing process.

I may not be a revolution in this lifetime, but I am striving to have as little secrets as possible.

So if branding is wrong according to everyone else, that’s alright with me because I am not ashamed of it and ‘If flowers want to grow right out of concrete sidewalk cracks. I’m going to bend down and smell them.’

Next up…

The Philosopher’s Stone

Contemplating Consciousness

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“Like a flash there is presented to his consciousness a clear conception (a vision) in outline of the meaning and drift of the universe… He sees and knows that the cosmos… is in fact… in very truth a living presence. He sees that instead of men being, as it were, patches of life scattered through an infinite sea of non-living substance, they are in reality specks of relative death in an infinite ocean of life. He sees that the life which is in man is as immortal as ‘God’ is; that the universe is so built and ordered that without any peradventure all things work together for the good of each and all; that the foundation principle of the world is what we call ‘love’, and that the ‘happiness’ of every individual is in the long run absolutely certain.” – ‘Cosmic Consciousness’ by Richard M. Bucke

Many people refer to this state as Christ Consciousness, Super consciousness, Illumination or Satori.

According to many philosophers and some scientists, the ultimate goal of every human being is to get to a level of Cosmic Consciousness… This is usually depicted as the 7th Chakra (or the 1st depending on how you work with them) known as – Sahasrara: The Crown Chakra.

The Wikipedia definition of it is as follows: 

Sahasrara, which means 1000 petalled lotus, is generally considered to be the chakra of pure consciousness, within which there is neither object nor subject. When the female Kundalini Shakti energy rises to this point, it unites with the male Shiva energy, and a state of liberating samadhi is attained. Symbolized by a lotus with one thousand multi-coloured petals, it is located either at the crown of the head, or above the crown of the head. Sahasrara is represented by the colour white and it involves such issues as inner wisdom and the death of the body.

Its role may be envisioned somewhat similarly to that of the pituitary gland, which secretes hormones to communicate to the rest of the endocrine system and also connects to the central nervous system via the hypothalamus. According to author Gary Osborn, the thalamus is thought to have a key role in the physical basis of consciousness and is the ‘Bridal Chamber’ mentioned in the Gnostic scriptures. Sahasrara’s inner aspect deals with the release of karma, physical action with meditation, mental action with universal consciousness and unity, and emotional action with “beingness”.

In Tibetan buddhism, the point at the crown of the head is represented by a white circle, with 32 downward pointing petals. It is of primary importance in the performance of phowa, or consciousness projection after death, in order to obtain rebirth in a Pure Land. Within this chakra is contained the White drop, or Bodhicitta, which is the essence of masculine energy.

The great news is that anyone willing to learn and practice the rise of consciousness stands a chance to achieve a state of Cosmic Consciosness.

The way I see it is that; within us are the building blocks, the bricks necessary to get to Sahasrara and Kundallini is the cementing factor, stabilizing as it goes and setting in stone the progress made by our subconscious.

Contemplating consciousness always takes me back to the first time I ever met one of my primary spiritual teachers.

I was nervous; as managers often are when they have a complaining customer. However his first response to me before I had even introduced myself was, “Oh my! What a wonderfully developed Third Eye you have there.” I immediately thought this man was some sort of looney, apologized for the bad service, spoke to him a little about Jean Paul Sartre and carried on with my night.

For about three weeks, he would come by at least once a day to chat to me, until I started to take in a bit of what he was actually saying. Not long after this he offered to teach me if I would be willing to work, and as uncertain as I was… I accepted the offer.

He’s a single chap of about 65 years of age… never married because his love (like mine) was just a little unattainable… he is also the head of Philosophy at a university close to where I stay and it was through him that I got to learn so many wonderful things about that which is far greater (meaning more fun and interesting) than the self.

Once upon a day I used to base my life on the things I had and didn’t have. I liked to fuel my ego with silly things like how much alcohol I could handle or how many girls I could interest, what clothes I was wearing, how many piercings I had or how good I was at flaring (useless skill of throwing around a bottle of alcohol and catching it).

Now…

All I know is that Kundalini is one of my favorite phrases, and I am never too tired, drunk, moody or busy to have a good chat about her path and role in our lives if we are willing to give her the life and strength to proceed and to make a change.

I was going to spend some time talking about the Super Conscious, but then I realized that it would be a very arrogant thing to do, as that would be like assuming that I have already obtained it…

I just feel the need to say this:

When the world becomes way too burdensome… I believe that we should focus on the spot just above the crown… the real sanctuary, the mightiest teacher, the place where spirit and self become one… because Kundalini does not stop halfway through as she is not meant to stay within, she is meant to be pushed ever forward, towards the light, there at the pinnacle of our potential awakening!

Lord Byron’s Virtue

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She walks in beauty – – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to the tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
She walks in beauty – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies
One ray the more, one shade the less
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o’er her face – –
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
She walks in beauty – – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies
And on that cheek and o’er that brow
So soft, so calm yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow
But tell of days in goodness spent
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
She walks in beauty – – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies.
Very different from Don Juan isn’t it?
I thought I would share this because it is not very often that poetry moves me this much. Since I cannot read it aloud for the entire world to hear the best I can do is share it here and hope that many will stumble upon this post.
We often find that musical pieces and songs do tend to get old (not including the classical pieces that is).  We see it everywhere, there’s a ‘Top30’ countdown every week and each week songs fall out and new ones take the place of the old ones.
Fortunately it does not work that way with poetry…
Lord Byron won’t be kicked off the chart by Walt Whitman only to be replaced by Wordsworth followed be Yeats. How about having a literary duel; Shakespeare vs Pratchett… hmm? Can you imagine how chaotic things would be if it worked that way with literature?  I do not mean to say that they all sell the same or that everyone likes them, only that they will remain in the chart in the long run.
She Walks in Beauty is a brilliant piece… what makes it brilliant is how relative it is to our times although it was written almost 200 years ago. Here the expression of beauty is done through the opposition of dark and light. He almost blends the two, creating the necessary balance for genuine beauty. It is also lovely how he uses ‘the night’ as a source of beauty.
As someone who values everything that is genuine and real, tangible, innocent and honest – I must admit that I adore this poem and that Byron has most certainly taken up one of the top spots in the chart of my heart.
I wish the world would let go of the new and start dusting off the shelves of antique beauty. There is so much more to be found there than in any other form of entertainment that we have now. Where are we headed to?
If the author of a piece like ‘Don Juan’ can spend himself entirely on a piece such as this one, then surely we ought to have a little more longing and appreciation for innocence and simplicity.
‘All that’s best of dark and bright’
‘One ray the more, one shade the less’
‘So soft, so calm yet eloquent’
‘A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.’
I am yet to read a more exact description of beauty, and if such does exist we need to look around and ask ourselves, “How long before beauty becomes a myth in our world?”
‘She walks in beauty – – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies’
 Just a thought really!

Like – With – Like

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“I am a wonderful help to women
The hope of something good to come
I harm only my slayer
I grow very tall, erect in a bed
I am shaggy down below
The lovely girl grabs my body, rubs my red skin
Holds me hard, claims my head.
That girl will feel our meeting!
I bring tears to her eyes!
What am I?”

(Old English Riddle)

Introduced to North America in 1492 by Christopher Columbus on his Hispaniola expedition, its top 3 Producers are China, USA and India.

Every season around the world more or less 74 384 856 tons of it are being produced with more or less 40 different variations of it. Its skins have been used for dye, it used to be prescribed by doctors to help with fertility; In Rome Gladiators were rubbed down with it in order to firm up their muscles and the Ancient Egyptians worshiped it; believing that its spherical shape and coaxial rings symbolize eternal life.

For those of you who are still completely lost; I am talking about the Onion.

Whatever were you thinking?

There are roughly four kinds of onions that are readily available at almost any grocery store. Those are the White Onion, Red Onion, Green Onion and Garlic. Their actual names are a little different though but for the sake of keeping things simple I am not planning on getting into the scientific names of onions.

Fighting like-with-like, a technique that goes as far back as 5 000 BC.

I like to believe that fear is fought best with fear. Doing whatever it is that scares you over and over until it becomes no more than routine.

Last night my best friend and his brother were video recording me while I doctored my flu with a good dose of onion juice which I had to take in through my nose. I swore and I coughed and nearly drowned in my own cure but I endured it, I also hated every moment of it. My best friend laughed, his brother laughed and then we all laughed together at my somewhat twisted sense of medication.

When looking at the use of onion in medicinal terms it is found to be a remedy for conditions with symptoms like the ones which are caused by exposure to onion: watering eyes, running nose, inflamed eyes due to sinus congestion and hay fever are significantly relieved with onion.

So for immediate relief of a running nose and / an annoying cough here’s what you will need:

Nose wipes

An Onion

A grater

A bowl

Steps 1, 2, 3 and 4

Take the onion, peel it and grate it into a bowl, then take the syringe and fill it half way with the juice of the grated onion (make sure that there are no actual onion bits in the syringe[for your own good]).

Steps 5 and 6

Find a comfortable place to lie down and make sure that your head is tilted as far back as possible; best way to do that is to lie with your head just off the edge of your bed and let it hang.

Steps 7, 8 and 9

Empty half of the syringe contents into one nostril and the other half into the other while breathing in through your nose as deeply as you can.

Do not change your position for about a minute after the intake of onion drops.

Step 10

Wipe away your tears lad!

So I can still smell the onion drops in my nose but the upside is that I can finally smell again.

So while my buddy has the next two days off work to sit at home with a horrible case of the flu, I get to lean back, take a deep breath and while I am not 100% cured, I still thank Mother Nature and Mr Onion for saving my nose from utter misery!

I must add; the experience is horrifying but it lasts for a minute or two… it is effective and there are no doctor fees required, at most just a short walk to your nearest grocery store or mini market.

How’s that for magic?

Of Wood Nymphs and Samodivas

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Nymph: (Greekνύμφη, nymphē).

In Greek mythology a Nymph is a minor female nature deity associated with a particular location or landform. Nymphs are generally seen as divine spirits who animate nature. Usually depicted as beautiful, young nubile maidens who love to dance and sing; their amorous freedom sets them apart from the restricted and chaste wives and daughters of the Greek polis. They are believed to dwell in mountains and groves, by springs and rivers, and also in trees.

 

According to many sources including one very interesting essay extracted from the Scientific Works of the University of Rousse – 2008, Volume 47, Series 5.3’; the myth of the Samodiva was born with the fall of the Bulgarian empire. According to this source the natives believe in the reality of once mythical maidens, but also seek a logical explanation to these legends. They believe that during slavery, groups of 3 women from every region in and around the Balkan areas fled into the forests and remained there.

In mid June when the young shepherds took their herds out, it was well known that young ladies would descend from the depths of the forest, to steal a man of their choice as their groom.

This groom however, was only kept until the end of August (According to Bulgarian folklore on August 29 of every year the sun would slice through the day and the night, making them equal).

Thereafter the young man was banished and sent back to his village partially because having to provide food for him as well was very difficult. Shortly after the groom returned to his village it is said that he would die from either a severe illness or depression. Hand in hand with the groom’s death goes the birth of his child (usually male). The child of a Samodiva apparently had extremely good genes especially concerning his/her physical attributes. The sons of these maidens grew with them until they were strong enough to be sent out as freedom fighters, the girls remained with their mothers in the forest and continued to preserve the bloodline.

Many of the great Bulgarian poets and writers (most of whom were freedom fighters) record various encounters with the Samodivas throughout their journeys. Their descriptions of these ‘deities’ are astonishingly similar to those of the Wood Nymph.

Keep in mind that I am not claiming the Wood Nymph and the Samodivas to be the same… I’m only pointing out that the theory of their existence is not completely farfetched.

As a Bulgarian, the myth of the Samodiva makes me extremely proud to be a woman. Five hundred years of hiding and breeding in secret, telling stories and remaining ‘wild’ and uneducated for the sake of preserving the blood line… No romance, just perseverance… it is no wonder that there is no written record of these times. During the Ottoman rule our alphabet was scarcely used… the poets and writers start springing up just before the fall of the Ottoman Empire and technically this makes us a relatively new country.

A new country with a deep history, a nation so closely linked to nature, so rich in mythology; a mythology that is being forgotten, when for centuries women and men sacrificed their lives daily just so that a Bulgarian would never wonder where he/she came from.

The point is that whether we are talking about Wood Nymphs or Samodivas, we should always try to go a little deeper and decide for ourselves whether mythology is really just a bunch of stories as many people perceive them to be.

‘I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge

That Myth is more potent than history

That dreams are more powerful than facts

That hope always triumphs over experience

That laughter is the only cure for grief

And I believe that love is stronger than death’ – R. Fulghum

 

 

 

‘Mythos’

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In Bulgarian the word ‘samo’ means ‘only’ or ‘just’ or ‘alone’… the word ‘diva’ means ‘wild’ (this in the feminine form).

 

Website for this image:http://satrae.swu.bg/projects-and-discoveries/discover1.aspx?lang=en

Megalithic Thracian Sanctuary “Gradisteto”- Dolno Dryanovo, Gotse Delchev Region

In this rather intricate language, deciding whether a word is in the feminine or masculine form is rather simple: If a the noun ends on –ova, iva, eva, or even just a – then we can safely conclude that it is a lady noun… on the contrary if your noun ends on – iv, ov, en ,ev etc. – it is a Mr. noun.

 

Home is a wondrous place!

The Balkans are overwhelming, the buildings are ancient – houses, churches, parks, museums; they are all centuries old while the history is incredibly interesting. Our mythology is almost completely lost as the past few generations have become more and more desensitized to the sacred land that is Bulgaria and it makes me really sad.

A few months ago I asked my mother what the Bulgarians believed in before we became Christianized and in turn she told me that we have never believed in anything else.

 

Let’s take a step to the right, find a comfortable spot which would be concentrated enough to analyze and just try to understand why many of us are concerned about such responses.

 

Mythology is said to play a very important role in one person’s upbringing and education. The tales are worth centuries of history that could not and has not been recorded, but has been passed down from generation to generation, so when a generation begins to lose that sense of history, magic and wonder and they turn to their parents (who are naturally supposed to be teachers, guides etc) but they have no idea about what their kid is asking… well I feel it is reason enough to panic! Where to without mythology, preservation of culture and history? Do we roll on with the times and become half-human, lost in the chase for fame and fortune without a care for anything else apart from the next pay cheque?

 

In 1422 the once powerful Bulgarian empire collapsed and was enslaved by the Ottoman Turks thereafter… many sources and historians confirm that the slavery was severe, women and children were raped and killed in attempt to diminish the Bulgarian bloodline. Men were burned alive and shot (amongst other things).

 

Everyone knows that no invading power has the knowledge of a territory better than the folk living on the land, and so brave and selfless women from each Balkan region in Bulgaria preserved the bloodline for over 500 years. This is not just mythology if you think about it. How else does a bloodline survive and remain pure for so long given the violent attempts to get rid of it?

 

I leave you with two thoughts for the day:

 

Think about the number 3 in terms of its use in so many cultures, beliefs and in mythology…

 

Bulgarian men are known to be some of the most abusive toward their women… they seem to always need to prove themselves as ‘men’… consider this; what could possibly have  happened to trigger this behavior that seems to be genetically imprinted on almost every man with Bulgarian blood in him?

 

Next up:

 

‘Of Wood Nymphs and Samodivas’