We think we have time...

One of the greatest mistakes that we humans make in this world is to think that we have a lot of time here. When we are young and newly arrived into this reality, the minutes can seem to take an eternity to pass. Each day seems to last forever as we explore the majesty of the creation that surrounds us. As we grow older and more accustomed to operating in our surroundings, our perception of time begins to speed up. We stop paying attention to the little stuff and life becomes a routine. Once we reach middle age, we enter hyper-speed and each year passes faster and faster than the one that preceded it. Before we know it the ride is almost over. The years don't actually shorten of course, we are still on the same giant rock spinning around at over a thousand miles per hour, hurtling through space around a giant fireball at just under nineteen miles a second. That has not changed. What is changing is our perception of our days and our nights. The moments cease to have the same weight they used to.

We wake up each morning and live each day in many different ways, some days are good days and some days are bad; but we never consider that this might our last day. How many times a day do we wish time would go by faster? Trapped in some uncomfortable situation we yearn for the moments to slip by rapidly as we gaze toward an unknown future, never appreciating that we will not get these fleeting moments back. Once the grain of sand has slipped through the hourglass there is no returning. There is no guarantee that we will wake up tomorrow morning, no guarantee we will make it to watch today's sunset. We could depart this realm in five minutes, or live here another another fifty years. There are no guarantees, except that time stops for no one and Death catches everyone. It is the universal tax that we all must pay our creator.

We all know on some sort of intellectual level that one day we will die, but very few of us truly understand it in our bones that Death could come for us at any moment. There is no escaping it. Death finds both peasants and emperors, we are all equal when it comes to Death. For what good are riches and power when they can no longer buy you another breath of life? Full acceptance and understanding that one day the sun will rise without you is a difficult concept for the mind and heart to accept. So we push away the thought of Death as a curse that is always "out there" off in some far away future, instead of seeing it as an active participant in life. Some circumstances are impossible to change, yet our attitude towards those circumstances is easily changed.

When we cease viewing Death always as a far off curse, and instead began to accept its inevitable intrusion as our greatest challenge, one that can overcome us at any moment; our appreciation of time would increase. We would soon realize that all of our petty routines are not quite as important as we thought they were. Thus, our behavior begins to change, slowly at first and then faster and faster, our actions would become more authentic. As more and more people adopted an honorable way of life, our communities would improve, our cities would begin to heal, and our world would become more magical. Each action and decision would have increasingly more weight and meaning behind it, knowing full well that it could be your last on Earth. Losing sight of this understanding has been one of our great mistakes and has led to what has gone so wrong in our world. If people had a real understanding of the nature the reality and that any second their experience here will end, that we are all equal on a fundamental level; they would be more conscious of their personal actions. I don't mean personal safety or the legal dispensation of personal affairs. It is much more serious than that and impacts daily life on a much greater scale. When you are no longer guaranteed time to atone for your mistakes, you are more careful in your words and deeds. The stakes are raised, every minute we are playing for keeps, we cannot take anything back. Our decisions are seen as final and there is no way back.

Under such a way of being we would subtly become detached from the petty problems we all face each day, our thinking would become focused on what truly matters to each one of us. Honorable living would arise, secure in our knowing that repentance at a later date would be impossible, we would live each moment in the present. Even the bitter moments would become a joy to us, as we would come to understand that even these moments are precious and short lived. We should cherish each joy and heartache. Do not bemoan the challenges set before you. Whether of humble means or princely robes, at the moment of our death, the only thing of worth is the record of how we lived our life. That final knowledge that each moment of life was spent consciously and appreciated fully for its unique experience. Knowing that we learned from our mistakes and were the best that we possibly could be in any situation is all we can ask for. In such a way of living we would cease to view our life as a never ending series of blessings and curses, but see each day as a living challenge. A means of sharpening our will and our consciousness in the fiery crucible of life; as we prepare for the next great adventure in the galactic symphony of creation.

Vernal Snow

Vernal Snow

The snow is falling softly now,
The torrent of the night has passed.
The world now dreams in a dim twilight,
The sun has not yet risen.

I look out onto the sleeping world,
A restful peace holds sway.
Broken only by the falling snow,
And a lonely cry far away.

The sky begins to brighten now,
The sun struggles to pierce the clouds.
I am gripped by a sudden hunger,
My heart aches with past regrets.

I look out onto the sleeping world,
And cherish each moment of silence.
Everything is so peaceful now,
So different from the Darkness.

The new dawn has changed so much,
From the harshness of the night.
I wonder what this day will bring,
Shall I ask the Vernal snow?

A Matter of Choice

As we reach the end of November 2013, I look out my window and I see a crisp bed of brown pine needles patiently awaiting the first flakes of freshly falling snow that are now but a few weeks away. Not a very odd sight for this time of year, even in the unpredictable Sierras. It has been quite a long time since I last posted on this blog, almost four years if you are counting, but not much has changed for the better in this world of ours. Tyranny still stalks our every move, the totalitarian tip-toe has become a totalitarian sprint as whistle-blowers increasingly threaten to sound the alarm and expose the plan before it is fully ripe. The Control system rushes to tighten the noose around our collective throats before the mass of humanity awakens to their wicked scheme, will they succeed? A quick search across the internet paints a grim picture indeed. The charade that is the world economy is quickly floating down a river of fraud and debt towards oblivion and utter collapse, the sound of the falls may be faint, but can be dimly heard above the corporate corruption. The stock market goes up and up like a yo-yo on a one way string, bereft of gravity's laws, but cannot avoid truth forever. Gold is on the lips of many, but they are not all kind words, and some prefer the thralldom of the Alchemists to the discipline and freedom of honest money. We can but watch helplessly as Fukushima's crippled reactor endlessly spews the contents of Pandora's Box into the Pacific Ocean threatening all life, save that of the lowly cockroach and perhaps a few of the seedier politicians.

Across the world, immigration issues have been brewing for decades and and racial tensions threaten to ignite vicious race wars in many parts of the globe. Fascist laws imposed to combat this manufactured problem are reminiscent of old Nazi movies where stone faced, black uniformed officers sternly demand: "Papers please!" The Federal Government certainly is on the verge of implementing a shiny new police state that would make George Orwell cower in fear beneath an iron boot. Is the Utah Data center up and running yet I wonder? Meanwhile, Hollywood continues the corruption of our children with hidden messages of sex and violence that run subliminally across theaters, TV's and toy stores. Teen idols are built up as a moral choice only to be corrupted and defiled when they turn 18. Sports heroes are bronzed and idolized only to be revealed as cheats, adulterers, rapists and murderers. Each class of students leaves our dilapidated schools more disillusioned and hopeless than the one before it. A brutal Holy war of radicalization and terror rages across the middle east, it's flames stoked by clandestine instigators on both sides of the conflict. A conflict where fighters from all sides have kicked human decency into the gutter. There are no rules in love and war, and there is certainly too much of one and not enough of the other present in the world today. ON and ON it goes.

The world is indeed a perilous place. It would be very easy to sit in a dark room and bemoan the fate of the world for hours without end. I know that I have spent a few late nights contemplating the meaning of these times and wracked my brain thinking of vain solutions to problems that people won't acknowledge. These are dark times in the world, and we are so often conditioned to fear everything we see on the news about the world around us. Death lurks around every corner, and every news report is laced with fear. But in reality, I am more likely to meet my death upon an icy road in the dead of winter a mile from my house than I am meeting my doom at the hands of a Chinese soldier or a terrorist's bomb. I can see it now. For a split second the cold snowflakes shimmer in the headlights as they drift down from the frozen darkness above, I might lose focus for a split second as a detestable song comes across the radio, and just as I move to change channels; a person who is normally the safest driver in the world gets a text message and skids across the double yellow line, borne upon the wings of fate. Statistics, yet so much more.

Death could truly tap us at any moment, regardless of age, race, religion, class, intelligence, education, wealth or lifestyle there is no escape. There are no survivors left upon this earth. Death will find us no matter how many civil liberties we have relinquished or how much health insurance we have been mandated to buy. The tainted vaccines for diseases we can't pronounce peddled by snake oil salesmen won't save us either. Death will come at the appointed hour at the appointed place and force us to tackle the next leg of our cosmic journey. There is no telling when this time will be. On another day, on another road, perhaps the snow does not fall, maybe the song on the radio does not offend my taste and disrupt my focus, maybe the text message doesn't get through and the safe driver remains safe. Maybe both cars drive off in opposite directions,never to cross paths again on this earth. There is no foretelling when just another breath in and out will become the last breath we will ever take on this Earth.

We are unquestionably placed amidst a world mysterious beyond our ability to understand. The forces that surround us cannot possibly be comprehended, much less controlled by our feeble methods. We drift helplessly through a sea of icebergs. The choices we make are just as likely to lead us to our demise as our salvation. Flip a coin, because the only real choice we have in the end is in how we behave while making our choices. We can either behave Impeccably, seizing each moment as our last and doing much better than our very best at every task put to us. Or we can behave sloppily, as buffoons, carelessly casting each precious chance into the void as we "kill" time. How mournful is the poor man who has squandered his few pennies through foolishness and then complains that he has nothing?

Whenever I get sad or depressed about the current situation, I try to remember that I chose to be here on this rock surrounded by infinity. In this time, in this place, with these challenges. I choose to humbly accept the road ahead of me, meeting each obstacle not as a blessing or as a curse, but rather as a living challenge; met impeccably without applause or complaint. Since all roads eventually lead to death anyway in truth there is but one choice set before us. To either succumb to fear, or to meet that fear with Impeccability in the face of whatever is set before us. For the warrior-traveler who truly walks this daily path with dedication, there is really no choice at all, just Impeccability.

The Beautiful Storm

Close your eyes and listen for a moment, can you hear the fierce call of the wind as it whips across the jagged peaks? There is something hidden within the shrillness of its cold wail. It cannot be seen by the eagle, nor can it be heard by the fox, but its effects can be felt by the wise. Scientists cannot measure it, tax men cannot count it, poets cannot describe it; yet it is present within everything that they do. Mountains cannot stay high because of it, deserts do not stay barren because of it, and it is why no dynasty can last forever. It makes a habit of taking from those who have much, and giving to those who have little, filling canyons, toppling mountains and grinding the stones into dust. Completely formless and hidden, it drifts upon the breath of the wind, driving evolution and transforming generations as it renews the world. One must become keenly aware of the things that cannot be seen with the eyes, if one would understand this mysterious power.

A great storm approaches from the distant edges of creation. The frozen wind issues forth from the darkness beyond the void, stirring the silence of this sacred place, upon its heels follows an army of clouds. The crystal mirror is shattered upon the rocks and the trees sway wildly in the path of the irresistible power. As the clouds steadily advance over the western mountains, the hidden force of the wind drives them on. The herald of the approaching storm trumpets the great arrival upon massive horns of passion and fury. Its cold breath sweeps over the mountains and prepares the way for its violent master, and all things are thrown into chaos at his approach. Like swarming locusts, the gnashing teeth of the storm tear into the trees and claw upon the rocks as they make war upon land and sea, nothing is spared. The once calm waters now crash upon the shore in destructive angst, taking their vengeance out upon the sand.

The storm approaches without any regard to the actions of man; neither sage nor demon can stop it. It operates along its own agenda for its own mysterious purpose and no one can divert it. Sometimes the storm brings ice, other times it carries fire; the forms it takes are many. Wars, famines, economic depressions and even celestial collisions are all masks worn by the storms that intrude upon our world. Some will rage longer than others, but none can last forever, and the powerful winds that turn the world to madness will not perpetually blow. The scars left in the storm's wake will often be seen for generations afterwards, a constant reminder of the awesome power of creation. In the days after the storm, many crooked charlatans will seek to make an unfair profit off those injured by the tempest and the process is defiled by their misdeeds. A storm is a perilous time for the seeker of truth, for in the commotion, the minds of the weak are quickly turned towards insanity. In their panic they inevitably trample one another in a stampede of rats fleeing a sinking ship.

Therefore the wise traveler will take care to find refuge before the coming of the storm and escape the panic of the masses. An approaching storm can be felt by those able to achieve stillness in their hearts and minds. Its myriad signs are to be found in the air before the arrival of the gusting winds; and he is able to hide himself within the fastness of the Earth and ride out the assault of the wind in safety. While chaos reigns in the world above, he maintains peace and order within himself and thus remains unharmed until the sky is once again clear and the way safe.

But this is not always possible, and there are times when a storm will come upon a traveler when he is far from home; approaching so fast that he will not have the time to seek adequate shelter. The traveler may find himself caught in rough waters aboard an inadequate vessel. The unfortunate traveler is forced to weather it as best as he may, his small boat tossed about in the high waves, he must steady his course. Barely discernible amid the angry waters, he struggles to fight the powerful torrents that surround him on every side, but he does not waste his spirit by lamenting his fate. For despite the desperateness of his situation, he is enamored with the power that besets him and remains unafraid in the face of annihilation. He marvels at the brute strength of the waves and the harsh music of the wind, but he knows he is in danger. If he waits too long to find a safe port, his vessel will inevitably capsize and he will perish amid the tumults.

As the flow of the wind finally dissipates, a strange calmness will come upon the land in the midst of the storm. It will be possible for one whose curiosity burns brightly to venture out into the world for a time and experience the magic of the falling snow. Cautiously at first, he raises his head; the wonderland that greets his eyes is indeed stunning. The majesty of the storm's vanguard has given way to the endless flakes of snow that gently float down from heaven. A strange energy now fills this place and all sounds are muffled, not everyone is quite as adventurous, and the brave traveler has the world to himself for a time. By staying the chatter of his mind, he enjoys all of the mysteries that surround him, but remains ever vigilant of any change in the wind and does not stray too far from the warmth of his sanctuary.

The inevitable return of the wind eventually drives the adventurer back underground and it is not a time for exploring. The snow begins to fall horizontally, blinding those who remain above ground; they bitterly condemn the renewal of the wind as they struggle against the current of the storm. The cold begins to wear down the resolve of the traveler and the warm layers of accumulated knowledge are forgotten. Disoriented in the icy corridors of the labyrinth, many will be tempted to surrender to hopelessness and curl up into the frozen embrace of the snow; laying aside the burden of their journey. But this is the coward's way out, and one who is unwilling to give up his task, must reach deep down within himself and rekindle the secret fires that fuel his spirit; and press on through the blizzard. This inner flame will not only warm his body, it will be a shining light which will guide him through the turmoil of the times. The imperishable flame will have been made strong within him by his many years walking upon the inner path. It will serve him well in these times of churning snow and it is one of the most potent weapons in his arsenal. He must use everything at his disposal to survive the onslaught, and he will not waver until he sees the blooming of the first flowers of spring beneath his feet.

These are strange times we live in, the storm is approaching as we speak and it is very difficult to separate reality from illusion. Even those things that seem to be true, in the end are only reflections of the truth and it is hard to tell which way is up and which way is down. Trapped in a house of mirrors, many travelers will become enamored with the reality of the reflection and dive headlong into the illusion, only to find themselves drowning in falsehoods spewed forth from the abyss. It is in these times when the wise traveler will remain centered within himself and not become trapped in the illusion. He is able to notice the subtleties hidden within the reflection and cannot be fooled by their allure. And although he may appreciate their beauty, he looks past the flowery speech and empty promises offered by the false gods, and instead sees the purposes behind their hidden actions in full light of day. He is able to reject their cruel hoaxes and discover the truth of the matter in any situation. He sees the illusions for what they are, falsehoods concocted to deceive the unwary and draw them into oblivion. But the curtain will be lifted, and the false gods will be exposed as frauds and cast out. Nothing can last forever and the endless cycles of time will bring forth many unforeseen changes.

Creation utilizes the power of storms to bring about these changes and to shape the world for the children that are to come. One who has sensed the approaching storm and survived its fury, knows full well both the dangers and the opportunities concealed within the winds. He no longer fears the storm because he knows what weapons it will bring and what will come after its passing; he has taken the worst it has to offer and grown stronger and wiser through the ordeal. All the howling of the wind, the frozen rains, the driving snow, the economic crashes, the endless wars, the lonely road, even his own death; they are all nothing to him now. He has seen what the darkness brings, and he laughs at it within himself. It is quite comical to him. Laughing at the world is a medicine that cures many ails and brings both joy and wisdom to the spirit. There are so many who take the world too seriously these days, they spend their finite lives weeping at the injustices of the world without first seeking out its great beauty. They become sick and insane because they are so full of worry, and they unwittingly contribute to the misery and chaos of the world with their fears. Laughing cures this affliction and a good deal of pettiness is dropped when the world is not taken so seriously. The wise traveler knows that after every dark storm, the world renews itself in brilliance and his spirit will once again soar upon the gentle breezes and look down on the wonder that is creation.

The key to discovering the secret of the storm, is the understanding of collapse. Everything in the world will collapse when its time is done, it is the unbreakable law of creation. The pillars will break, the foundations will crumble and the roof will shatter into dust; but flowers will soon rise from the rubble. The law of collapse uses the violence of the storm as its agent of renewal. As the storm decimates the weak, foolhardy and unbending of the old order, it paves the way for the arrival of the flexible new generation. One day, a massive storm will cut the very legs from the Control System that currently keeps us locked into a closed mind frame and narrow vibrational frequency, enslaving us to its will. When the Control System crashes into ruin, it will be so utterly broken and defeated that even its memory will be obliterated from the pages of history. The storm that will accomplish this will be unlike any other in living memory; its winds will be deafening, its fires unquenchable and its force irresistible. But it will serve to bring about a brighter day than any we have ever known, therefore it should not be feared; only respected.

This perpetual cycle is the way of nature, it is driven by the hidden power within all things, and we are part of it. Like the undulating ocean, the rising and falling of creation is endless in its melodies. Another storm always lurks just beyond the distant horizon, biding its time until it is called forth; its power a threat to our fragile bodies. But those things that bring harm to the body should not be feared, they are but trifles and should not be troubled over, easily overcome by one who has come to understand the purpose of the storm. By stilling his heart and emulating the water, he rises and falls with the waves, and he is never injured, no matter how many times his body is dashed against the rocks. We are not these frail bodies of sinew and bone, our spirits are as water; fluid, formless and powerful.

It is time we understood our true nature and stopped behaving as though we were victims. The Control System strives to keep us weak and afraid, and it does everything in its power to delay the day of its inevitable demise. Do not be troubled by the New World Order and its sinister illuminist minions. They may well have complex conspiracies and classified agendas, but creation has its own plans and cares nothing for the schemes of foolish men who seek only the domination of others; while they remain uncontrolled within themselves. Dark suits such as these will have no place in the world of tomorrow nor any share of its riches.

This time is fast approaching and you must understand the power within the wind and know both its purposes and its ends if you wish to survive the coming storm. No matter how dark the times may seem or how hopeless the situation, it is essential to focus not on the dark clouds that crowd the horizon; but rather appreciate the beauty that sits before you. For if the world has lost its beauty, what is the point of saving it? And although it may be impossible to prevent calamity from striking, you can control yourself and remain unconcerned about it when it arrives. Remember that hidden within the ominous clouds of the storm, the driving winds of creation carry the seeds of a new tomorrow and the promise of renewed vigor for all things that can weather its fury.



The Storm approaches, just listen to the wind...

The Road to Infinity

When we are born into this world, there are many paths that we may choose to tread throughout the course of our lives as we march along the Road to Infinity. Like a transcendental river, the great road of creation will carry us through many wondrous lands as we are irresistibly swept into eternity. The smaller paths we travel each day are naught but its tributaries, they meander across the face of time, twisting and turning; eventually sweeping us all into the ocean of oneness. People are inclined to choose one path or another and continue upon its course seeking that which gives them the greatest satisfaction. Some seek fame and fortune, others seek comfort and shelter, and fewer still seek knowledge, a seeker of truth walks alone.

Those who seek fame and fortune go upon their way in haste, jumping from goal to deadline, they near the end of the journey much quicker than they had intended. Never realizing that the journey is life and life is the journey. Those who seek shelter and comfort tarry upon the way, enjoying rest and relaxation wherever they may find it. But this can leave one lazy and undisciplined, unfit for the challenges ahead. Those seeking knowledge make the most of the journey, by examining the road they learn the lay of the land, by examining the stars they are able to know the seasons. Many things they accomplish before they are inevitably drawn forward, never to return to the days of their youth. The seeker of truth walks another road, one within himself. He has explored the darkness between the stars, and so controls the seasons. He has returned to the source of all things thus all times are one to him. His spirit glides upon the wind and his heart flows within all rivers.

Many and diverse are the paths tread by the seeker of truth, and by no means is the way fixed and solid, rather it bends and turns with the fortunes of heaven and the timing of the earth. It is a matter of choice whether or not one enjoys the path beneath one's feet. For some the journey is a never ending burden as they languish upon the smallest obstacle set before them; for others it is a never ending joy and they find peace and beauty in the smallest of things. At times the path one walks in search of truth and understanding is wide and easy to follow, as the way surges through his being, it carries him through the meadows of his youth and into the sunlit aspens of his noontide where he may bask in the glory of the summer sun.

But progress will not always be this easy, and the path will be narrow at times. Like a cunning serpent it slithers through the long grasses of confusion on its way through the marshes of the forgotten. Although it appears easy to follow, care must now be taken to ensure that one does not become entangled in the underbrush or wander too far from his path and become lost. One who loses his way in this manner may spend years wandering in the marshlands before he is once again able to take up the long road of truth.

Often are the times that one will begin upon a path only to discover that what was once taken as an oasis shining on the horizon is in truth only a mirage, a city in the sand. Bitter may be the disappointment of one who discovers this error. But the seeker of truth will not overly lament his mistake of traveling upon these forsaken paths. For how else can he learn the difference between a good path and a bad one; if he has never taken the chance? Realizing that there are lessons to be learned, the seeker of truth takes the knowledge acquired on these diversions and puts it to good use. By understanding how all things can be both beneficial in some way and harmful in some way, he knows which part of the fruit should be eaten and which part discarded. By examining the root he can know the flower, and it is not long before he can separate the true way from the false.

There are other times when the seeker of truth will be forced to travel a path that seems cold and desolate, its track barely discernable amid the blowing snow. As the cold bite of the wind steals the warmth of his soul, he must remain strong in his quest, for it is easy to become snow-blind amidst the sea of white. It is when traversing these frozen paths when it is most important to faithfully carry on, gaze squarely focused on the warmth of the house that lies beyond the snow on the very edge of sight. He must not despair, for no winter storm can last forever, and the warmth and comforts of home will be the happy reward received from those who greet him on the doorstep of understanding.

Many surprises await the traveler upon the paths of truth and many fellow travelers will cross his path. Who the traveler meets upon the sacred path is a matter of the Fates, and who among those that walk upon two legs can understand their fickle ways? Some will indeed offend the seeker of truth, and from these acquaintances lessons should be learned, but care must be taken that he remain true within himself, and not become corrupted by their uncouth ways. A wise traveler will take counsel with those who wander paths similar to his own, and he will share the road for a time with these fellow souls, in sunshine and in shadows. He may share the goodness of himself and partake of the gifts of his companions, and when they part, it will be with the full understanding that they will meet again on the day when all paths become one.

As he continues on the road to self understanding he will eventually come to the sparse trees that mark the outer edge of the woods of his inner forest. The way is rocky and the trees are rugged, but for those who are able continue upon the journey with a light heart, a clear way to truth will always be found and the trees will yield their secrets. The eternal light of understanding will guide him along the winding trail and past all obstacles. In time he will come to understand the mystery of the trees and the purposes of the rocks and he will see the circle of death and rebirth in everything encountered upon the journey.

There are times when the road will lead into shadow and the traveler will be forced to enter the realm of darkness and travel beneath the edge of reason. And as the walls of the Control System close in on his being, he must always focus on the light at the end of the tunnel and not succumb to fear of the dark. For darkness in and of itself is not evil, but in the absence of light there are many who will be turned aside from the true path and follow the phantoms of the night into madness. These phantoms will seek to kill spiritual gnosis and lead only to desolation. Stern rules and rigid laws will beset the traveler at every turn and attempt to stay his progress. It will be tempting to tarry here when in truth it is a time when he should hurry, and the weak of mind will lose their essential nature upon the path and go no further. Run swiftly past these cruel restrictions, for our true nature is broad and formless, not rigid and narrow.

For the wise traveler who is able to escape the labyrinthine corridors of the Control System's many faces, a rocky road lies ahead. Having beaten back the phantoms of the night, the traveler must climb the stone paths of the mountains of solitude. Upon these arduous paths a seeker of truth will come to know the meaning of the word patience. As he picks his way upon the narrow steps of the mountain, he comes to understand the true beauty of his road. And even though his steps are heavy, he has never felt more rested or alive.

One day, if he has continued steadfastly upon his path, the seeker of truth will at long last come to a single stairway leading to the pinnacle of understanding. Its steps are so broken and ancient that they are hardly discernable amidst the rubble. This is the final obstacle and he is nearing the end of his journey. As he looks up at the stairs before him, the seeker of truth must be united within himself, having walked upon all paths, he knows the way of wise men and fools alike. The many miles behind him seem to be both an eternity and a mere instant; for despite its many struggles the journey has passed altogether too quickly for him. And some may wish to rest at the foot of the final staircase, dreading the end of their quest. This is the greatest danger.

Upon closer inspection he realizes that what he first took as broken stones and stumps, are indeed the shrunken shells of other travelers. Those who tarry overlong at the steps of tomorrow will lose heart before the end of their road. The journey is all that they have ever known and in their foolishness they seek to delay its end, falsely believing it to be the end of all learning. These unfortunate travelers become shriveled and bent as the rocks and gnarled trees that litter the mountainside and their spirits become frail wraiths that haunt the night in regret.

If the traveler loses himself in the winds and remains unafraid, forcing life into his trembling legs, he does not tarry long at the foot of the staircase, but will finish his journey as he began it. He will begin to climb the stairs in joy and expectation, in fear and respect. He is fighting his last battle on Earth and as he releases his spirit into the void he becomes one with the infinite. He stands upon the peak of truth and sees all of creation within his grasp. As he looks down from the eschaton he can see the winding road he has just traversed laid out before him like a river shining in the sun. All things are at his fingertips and he can harness the power of infinity to accomplish anything. From the understanding he has gained upon his long road, he knows both how and when to use this power, and he will not involve himself in useless endeavors nor answer the prayers of fools.




The Road to Infinity begins beneath our feet. Travel well.

To Thirst in the Desert

Water is the most miraculous substance in all of creation, its life giving properties are essential to all living things. It cleanses our souls, smoothing away their rough edges; and the Eagle's wings take flight because of it. The most fertile gardens in existence would soon fall to dust and ashes if denied its sweet melody. Whether a drop or an ocean, water moves in unison and harmony, filling whatever vessel seeks to contain it. Soft and supple, it carves its circuitous route across the land; bestowing life upon all without thought or discrimination as it continues along on its never ending journey. In time it can even bring down the mountains, truly nothing can stop it forever. By emulating the properties of water, a leader can bring peace and harmony to the land, enriching all regardless of status. To seek water is to seek life.



Leaders are judged by the gifts they give their people. If the people are given unity and freedom the leaders are loved and the nation is one. If the people are given just laws and honest ministers the leaders are trusted and the nation is wise. If the people are given corrupt laws and heavy taxes the leaders are despised and the nation is in chaos. When the people are slain and imprisoned for little cause, their only gifts misery and pain, the leaders are hated and the nation a blasphemy upon the earth.

A Heavy Burden

Paracletis looked down from the heavens and beheld the mortal realm far below, and in that moment, the lord of the city and surrounding countryside envied those peasants as they danced in the sun. Free from all care and responsibility, they laughed and sang amongst one another in joyous camaraderie; their peace and security guaranteed by his reign. Paracletis was alone, never would he share the company of a peer, for he was peerless. The absolute ruler of a realm that stretched across time and space into eternity. He was wise in all the ways of cosmic harmony, there was no sickness nor hunger in his land, no grieving nor loss, only joy, love and understanding. His divine rule stretched back into antiquity, his powers were truly legendary; but he had also grown weary. The weight of the stars upon his mighty shoulders was an inconceivable burden from which he could not escape. In those times when he observed the people below, he longed to be relieved of his burden. Even if only for just one hour, he wished to descend and dance with the carefree peasants in the lower realms and feel not the weight of his mighty crown upon his brow any longer.

But alas, he could not leave his lofty throne and relieve his hefty burden; only his ministers would sit in his presence, forever groveling as they catered to the wishes of the omnipotent king. While each held power and responsibility according to his nature and ability, one servant exceeded all of his peers in power and majesty, this was Yal-de-Boath. He was a quite a dark fellow, a powerful necromancer, who delighted in using his cunning and guile to sabotage his brethren in the eyes of the master. If Paracletis had one weakness it was that he could not comprehend evil, in the same way that the sun knows not the darkness of the night. Being always illuminated he remains blissfully unaware of the dark shadows that congregate upon his passing as he continues steadfastly upon his celestial path. Thus, it was not long before Yal, by the use of his arcane knowledge, had become the Special Councillor to the king. Closer to the heart, mind and soul of the king than any other servant had ever yet become. And it was he who first noticed the longing in the king's gaze as he watched him from atop the walls of the castle.
And as Yal studied the king from afar, he guessed his secret desire, and ambition rose up in his heart, that black shadow which has lain waste to kingdoms and set countrysides ablaze with it's unquenchable fury. He laughed aloud, finally seeing his chance and watched as the seeds of his plot sprung into life within the dark corridors of his mind. Like black smoke rising from the smouldering embers of a forsaken fire, the plan grew before his eyes, it's smothering cloud blotted out the brightness of the sun as it manifested from the shadow of his midnight dreams.

So it was that soon after Yal's vision, the stars in their turnings had become right for his purpose and the time had come to spring the jaws of his trap upon the unsuspecting king. Yal approached his prey one hot afternoon, the king had desired to escape the heat of the summer sun and was resting in one of his private gardens. Yal sat slightly behind the king and to his left, leaning close to the king's ear so that no one else might hear him, he whispered dark, soothing words in the forgotten tongue of the Old Ones. As the king listened to this hypnotic lullaby sung from the lips of Yal-de-Boath; he slipped deep under the spell of its shimmering promise. A promise of safety, of questions answered and curiosity satisfied; but most of all it promised the removal of the terrible weight of responsibility.
Since the words of Yal strangely coincided with his own secret desires, the king had a moment of weakness and relaxed his spirit for a single breath of the wind. As he fell under the spell of Yal-de-Boath, he felt his grasp slip from his silken chair and he slid helplessly into the abyss. Falling through time and space, his sight was a kaleidoscope of spinning colors, strange shapes and symbols flashed across his mind and he swooned under the heat of the midday sun.

The City in The Sand

A layer of thick haze hangs upon the horizon, distorting the energy of this barren place. The desolation is complete as the heat of the blistering sun plays tricks on the eyes. In the desert of the Spirit, water is scarce, and there arose a city of sand before his eyes. It's glittering gates grew from the wind swept meadows amidst a never ending sandstorm. As the shifting sands of time whirled about, the walls of this mirage never stood still nor remained solid for long. The lay of this land had been transformed a thousand times, rising up and falling down, only to rise again in more splendor than ever before. Yet it was always a desert. A thirsty wanderer stumbles through the gates of the phantom city, his cracked lips quiver as he searches in vain for a trickle of water. He is immediately beset by the phantom wraiths that inhabit the city, and he nearly goes mad as he tears at their ghostly forms.
He struggles onward into the city, stopping at one well after another, dipping his hands into the hot sand. Delirious from the heat of the desert, he mistakes it for water and drinks deeply; only to realize that what he is drinking is as bitter as ashes. He chokes on the dust, the water here will not quench his thirst. As he coughs, he sees yet another phantom of the merciless sun, the scorpions claw at the vile sand and the man throws his hands blindly into the cloudless sky and asks why he cannot find true water. The harsh, pitiless wind kicks up again in answer as if to punish the insolence of his inquiry. The man stumbles through the barren desert, forever searching, forever failing until one day the rain began to fall.

The sweet droplets that now fell from heaven had come to challenge the harsh supremacy of the tyrannical wind and the brutal lordship of the sun. They had come just as the last rays of hope departed his weary heart. The sand became still for a moment and the power of the wind was silenced. The man kneels to drink from the swift channels of water that now run through the barren desert. It enters his blood and expands into his being, enriching his soul. For the first time in his memory he no longer thirsts, and his spirit rejoices at the arrival of the of this heavenly shower. The desert phantoms recede into the shadows like dry leaves caught in a gust of wind, they are scattered into nothingness; forced to abide in the dark spaces between the stars until a time when their lord has returned. The exiled wind flees to the mountains for a time, leaving a peaceful serenity amid the sound of the falling water. The water, so sorely missed during the reign of spiritual fire, now holds sway over this land of sand and stone. And the desert became a garden for a time in the soul of the traveler, but the wisdom of the rain would not last forever, and the exiled lord of the desert awaited the time of his imminent return.

The sobering rain had momentarily silenced the madness that had once clouded the judgement of the lonely wanderer; and feeling refreshed, the wanderer begins to gather water into pools and he dug wells to collect it. For the return of the demiurgus was inevitable, and he must be prepared for that fateful time when he would once again be forced to look upon the keen face of Death. He works throughout the night, never resting until the completion of his task, and by the time the sun lifted its fiery head above the horizon, he had made many deep pools from which to quench his insatiable thirst. Just as he finished his chore, he begins to thirst once more, and as the heat of the midday sun waxed to its full power, the memory of the rain had been vanquished and its wisdom absorbed and assimilated into the desert's shifting sands. The man had anticipated this loss of faith and in his deepest pools he still had confidence. But the cunning of the desert serpent is unfathomable, and the searching fingers of the wind probed the secret vaults of his wisdom, and soon most of them had become infiltrated by the sand and their knowledge was lost and corrupted. If only he could find within himself, the sweet waters of the divine source and never thirst again.



The Creatures of the Marketplace

The king awoke amidst the many sounds of the market, the savage cries of traders rang out all around him. He saw tapestries of a thousand colors hanging on display and fish from far off lands sold as delicacies. Gold and silver there was in abundance and also many beautiful women arrayed in the finest silks from across the world. He pulled himself from the ground and noticed that he was no longer wearing his rich kingly garments, but was rather dressed as a shabby peasant. He began to explore this strange new place, knowing not by what means of travel he had arrived, never before had he seen a place like this while he watched from his lofty tower. A fight broke out to his left as a buyer and seller haggled, they crashed into one of the booths, spilling fresh fruit everywhere, gold coins rained upon the ground as each man strove for control. Paracletis picked up one of the strange coins that had rolled to his feet, the face of Yal-de-boath was emblazoned on it's front. Strange he thought, such a thing had not existed before, an image graven in gold, used for the purchase of goods and controlling of men. The two men, suddenly aware of the keen stares of the onlookers, separated from one another and tried to recover their lost treasure. The crowd began to scramble for the coins that now littered the ground, and Paracletis was knocked to the ground in the mad rush.



He crawled out of the chaos, escaping into a nearby alley. He dusted himself off and watched as the battle raged on for several more minutes. Such madness! His anger grew as he observed the irrational behavior of the creatures in the marketplace. They fought and haggled over trifles. Their spiritual essence polluted by the pointless acquisition of material trinkets. They had forgotten their essential natures and been sold into bondage. Nowhere did he see love and compassion, only greed and cunning. His people were suddenly no longer at one with each other, everyone was separate and disconnected from everyone else. Each man was an island. What a strange place this was. Where had gone the peaceful harmony of his reign?

He began to shout at the people of the market place, condemning their savage behavior, urging them to remember the true nature of oneness. The crowd of astonished onlookers scorned his wise words and began to throw stones and dung at him; yet despite their resistance, Paracletis continued all the more passionately to awaken them from their stupor. Suddenly, these words were dashed from his lips as the cold grip of soldiers seized his arms from behind and bound him with cord. The soldiers led him, with the aid of several shoves and well aimed kicks, into the center square. There were several other bound men in a line leading up to an auctioning block. He was being sold into slavery! What an outrage! He called aloud at his injustice, denouncing the brutality of this savage place. For his continued insolence, a filthy rag was stuffed into his mouth to silence his cries. To his dismay, money changed hands and he was delivered into the hands of a carpenter named Jeshua. Led through the streets like a dog, Paracletis finally came to the doorstep of his new home.


A Simple Life

Jeshua was an honest man who did not delight in the exhibition of flashy clothing nor in the accumulation of precious metals. He sought rather to better understand his brethren, and his heart was moved more sooner towards pity than to scorn towards those less fortunate than himself. His passion was in the making of things with his hands and many beautiful and wondrous things did he assemble in his workshop for the betterment of all. It was into this workshop that Paracletis was now thrust to begin anew. The life Paracletis now found himself living was not completely miserable, although he spent his days as a slave, his responsibilities were small and his owner was kind. The carpenter treated him well, he had lost his own son in one of the many wars that robbed many parents of their vibrant children; and Jeshua saw in this new slave a fragment of his own lost son. Paracletis spent his days assisting Jeshua in his craft and learning the laws of the kingdom, which were many and complex. Soon after his arrival, Jeshua had grown quite fond of Paracletis and since it was not in his nature to "own" another human being, he named Paracletis his apprentice, and released him from bondage.

It felt good for Paracletis to work with his hands, to create something beautiful out of bare materials was a never ending joy for him in a world gone mad with greed. As the days stretched into weeks and the weeks into months, this new reality began to solidify in his mind and he accepted as fact that his days as king had only been the fantasy of an orphan slave and soon he forgot his life in the palace altogether. He would often accompany Jeshua to the market and sell the work of his hands, and despite Jeshua's honest dealings, the everyday sale of person and property soon grew to become the norm.
The world had always been like this, a world of buying and selling, where gold was king and blind Yal-de-Boath a god.


Paracletis took sanctuary in his work and lost himself within the intricate designs of his creation. Yet the world outside of his workshop continued to deteriorate and the kingdom teetered on the edge of oblivion. The never-ending arrogance of the merchants seemed to know no bounds, with money as the supreme power and true wisdom forgotten, they devised complex schemes to extract an unjust profit from naive traders. It was not long before they began to rise up in arms against one another in an attempt to gain more wealth and the power it promised. The wealth of the common man was redistributed daily to the coffers of the wealthy, but even they were not immune to Yal-de-Boath. One by one the people succumbed under the burden of his heavy taxes. Soon the law of cause and effect took over and a surge of crime spread across the land as people strove to be feed their starving families or become the most finely adorned in jewelry and silks and so gain the envy of their peers. It was not long before people were being murdered in the streets for the shoes on their feet. The country was in a state of chaos never before known in the world of men. Yal-de-Boath ruled with an iron fist and executions were held daily in the town square as the ever growing list of complex laws meant there were fewer and fewer honest men in the land. The populous cheered as the streets ran red with the blood of their peers and Yal rejoiced in his tower, for he enjoyed the spilling of blood upon the sand.

So it happened that one day upon returning home from market, Paracletis found the workshop empty. The remnants of the door, reduced to jagged splinters by savage blows, lay next to the dark frame and the sounds of Jeshua could not to be heard from within. The marks left at the scene showed the vile stain of Yal's soldiers and the invisible vapors of death drifted out from the darkness, reluctantly he stepped inside.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light of the workshop, he found the signs of a brutal struggle. Jeshua's chair was blood-stained and cast to the floor, tools and lumber were strewn about haphazardly as if vomited up from the shelves. He noticed that the scant sawdust on the floor had been disturbed by the dragging of some heavy object through the doorway behind him. Nowhere was Jeshua to be found, most likely he was already slain, another drop of blood in the crimson sea of endless agony. In a hurried panic Perecletis gathered some provisions, a few tools and a small sack of gold coins hidden under a loose stone behind the fireplace. Ducking to avoid being seen, he made his way behind the stone wall that marked the edge of the property and jumped the wall into a neighboring yard. There was no sign of military in the immediate vincinity, and for the moment he was safe, though quite shaken and breathing heavily. He sought to regain his wits, but he could not stop the tears that fell as he wept beneath the shadows of his former home.

The Exiled Wanderer

After saying a short prayer in honor of Jeshua, Perecletis began to formulate a plan of action. He could not stay within the city walls, it was well known he was apprentice to the carpenter, and the soldiers might be hunting him as well. While the main ways out of the city were always well guarded and the towers kept a close watch on the surrounding plains, a doorway is not the only exit from a locked house. He had learned many sublties of the city in his days assisting Jeshua and from his dealings at market, and although he had forgotten his true identity; he found that he still possessed a certain power over the other inhabitants of this city and could exert his subtle influence on all but the strongest of wills. Thus it was not long before he had persuaded a smuggler to show him entry to the hidden tunnels that ran beneath the city's impregnable walls.


Originally built long ago, these tunnels once served as ancient sewers in the days of the city's glory. Having recently fallen into disuse, these tunnels were renovated and expanded by master masons in an attempt to escape the brutal taxes of Yal. They also served an essential purpose as a lifeline to the outside world beyond the city walls, a final escape from insanity. With enough gold or influence, a travler could purchase entry and once again bask in the freedom of the breezes that swept the plains beyond the stagnation of the decaying city. It was rumored that the undiscovered tunnels could even shield a traveler from the roving eyes of Yal-de-boath that pierced all shadows as he ceaselessly watched over his enslaved realm. In the world above, the prying eyes of Yal-de-Boath's henchmen were indeed confounded as they searched the streets in vain and Paracletis was able to escape the city unmolested.

The tunnel itself was exquisitely made, the stone floor was smooth and straight and Paracletis found he could walk upright with arms outstretched in most places. Paracletis marveled at the fine craftsmanship of the tunnel for which he knew there was no equal. Long and straight it ran, cut into the bedrock with surprising efficiency, the tunnel turned neither right nor left in its course and he met no one else upon his journey. After an hour of steady walking through the dimly lit corridor, Paracletis finally emerged from the subterannean realm through a copper gate cunningly hidden between two large stones on the opposite side of a small hill. In the distance on the very edge of mortal sight, he could just barely make out the gates of the city standing black beneath the sun.

His entire world lost, Paracletis turned his back on the city that had forsaken him and he began to wander the trackless paths of the outer wilderness. For many days and nights he stumbled upon the broken stones of confusion, cursing his fate, yet not without all hope. Deep down he had a feeling, an itch under his skin that would not let him rest and a single thought became lodged in his mind, "This was not the way the world was supposed to be". The itch drove him steadily onward, giving him strength in times of weakness and courage in the times of blind terror. After several weeks of wandering, Paracletis at last came upon the shores of a great lake, clearer and bluer than anything he had ever imagined. It's crystal waters held the key to his salvation, if only he would heed its call.



The Road to Anamnesis

Bereft of his legacy, Paracletis took refuge on a small rocky island in the midst of a bay shielded on three sides by granite cliffs. Located on the western shores of this great inland sea, this bay provided needed privacy, and Paracletis lived the life of a solitary hermit. Abiding in a small castle built in forgotten ages by an unknown people, he passed his days and nights in dilligent study and prayer. Patiently awaiting the days of his enlightenment and the day when he might one day come to understand the inner workings of this cruel world.

So it has remained these long ages, while the true king abides in the solitude of his island sanctuary, we are forever led astray by the dark phantoms of Yal-de-Boath, unable to find our true purpose. With the influence of Paracletis cut off from greater humanity, Yal-de-Boath rules all from atop his mighty throne of broken skulls. The chaos he brought into our world so many long years ago has not departed. Our souls are enslaved to him, that tyrannical lord who drains the spirit and whose only gifts are misery and pain. Like sheep, we are led to slaughter, distracted with trinkets and trifles, we are blind to the truth. Cut off from our own true being, we have yet to taste the sweet waters of the divine source from which we will never thirst again. There will be brief moments of wisdom and enlightenment, but they will be short lived and always extinguished before the time of their ripening, corrupted by the will of Yal-de-Boath.

Until that fateful day when Paracletis awakens from the deep slumber of amnesia and realizes his true identity and it's power, the world will forever remain shrouded in darkness and division; and we will continue to blindly drink the sand from the dormant wells of our barren souls. It is whispered among those who are considered wise, that the true king is nearing the end of his dreamless slumber and the day of our salvation is at hand. But who, even among the wisest of us, has ever explored the innermost workings of Yal-de-Boath's black heart or fully understood the subtle power of forbidden words whispered in the ears of a king so many long ages ago?

To find the answers, we must seek within ourselves and follow Paracletis into the wilderness. For how can one truly apreciate the warmth of the dawn's slender rays, unless he has first tread the moonlit paths of the desert night and endured the bitter sting of the cold winds of desolation? Nothing will remain concealed from One who has continued faithfully upon these solitary paths. By seeking illumination without deviating from his purpose, and remaining unfettered by the shackles of fear and corruption that haunt his every step; he has probed the darkest secrets of his own heart, and he fully comprehends the meaning of the night. He has purified his own purposes upon the Earth and tempered his spirt in the fires of darkness. One who has undergone this rite of passage will one day come to a sudden realization and a keen understanding. He will finally see that the divine water, for which he has so dilligently sought these many years, lies not in the world outside, but rather it bursts forth from a spring hidden deep within himself. Amid the endless miles of barren desert, a faint trickel of water will be heard by his keen ears and following this sound, he will have found his inner spring. One who drinks deeply from this divine water will never again know thirst, and whether the world is in day or night, stormy weather or clear, his spirit will no longer be a desert, but a fertile garden; forever.

Happy Anniversary Philip K. Dick

Today is February 3rd, a very important date in the life of author Philip K. Dick. On 2-3-74, he had a very powerful religious experience when what he described as a "pink laser beam" entered into his head and basically blew his mind. It showed him an incredible amount of knowledge about physical reality and the way we perceive the world, knowledge which he would struggle to understand for the rest of his life. It even provided him with information of a medical condition which ended up saving his son's life. Dick termed this force VALIS: Vast Active Living Intelligence System.
"It denied the reality, and power, and authenticity of the world. Saying 'This cannot exist, It cannot exist.'"

He wrote about this experience almost constantly in his 8000 page "Exegesis" and tried to bring it to the world in his semi-autobiographical novel VALIS; in which he was both the main character and the narrator "Horselover Fat", an ancient Greek translation of his name. The Divine Invasion and The Transmigration of Timothy Archer soon followed as he attempted to come to grips with the magnitude of his experience. His books and short stories have come to prominence since his passing in 1982; most notably Blade Runner, Total Recall, and Minority Report. But none dug as deeply as VALIS.


R.I.P Philip K. Dick 1928-1982, on this, the 36th anniversary of your experience we are still trying to understand why "The Empire Never Ended."