The self reflection of a servant

This constant evolution can be exhausting business! I've been laying a bit low, musing, thinking, channeling, trying all the tools I have in order to know and believe and feel and think that which I must know and believe and feel and think in order to stear the ship that is my self on a course I desire. And I've been choosing the course I desire... and once I choose, such am I that whatever must be done in order to stay my course simply must, needs, to be done. This is me: I am single minded. Had I not been, the paths that lead me to all of you, which most of the people inportant to me discouraged me from, would not have been walked. But I knew, it was either we or a life in hell for me. (matt groening expresses the truth of many: "life is hell." Not my truth, my truth is: "extreme suffering is the condition of thinking the worst thought, extreme suffering is what is manefested from the worst thoughts.") I thought some doosies, I've known much more than my fair share of pain. My Mother's psychologist called our family a miracle, because we held the light in a truly bad situation, the kind that destroys people. And knowing that situation, knowing what extreme free will violation feels like, and what it does to people-- I'm untouchable, having survived what I did. My name is ironside, my free will is iron-clad. many are not so lucky. I admit it: I am still, even as I understand what I and the universe and we are, am still capable of such an emotion as disallowance, distate, even hatred-- never of people, only of ideas. Those which steal free will. And this has been my deepest meditation over the last few days, and doubtlessly it will continue, for I have felt from you all much disfavor about my opinions. Here's the thing: nothing has ever made me angry, ever, but intent-- , and this is always the case. Before it was possible to anger me if one focused evil (by evil, I mean that which violates free will) intent, but this is no longer so. For I know, that sort of anger is dangerous stuff. How much better it is to either turn the other cheek, or resolve the situation peacefully. I always chose the latter, for the point of turning the other cheek is simply to find a solution to evil intent that violates the free will of niether party, and is therefore free itself. And paradoxically, whatever energy, whatever resonance, that is not met with some like resonance more or less, as it must effect someone, seems to effect the origional resonator. Almost as if Gesus was right: "by your own judgements shall ye be judged." As in: the man who accuses another of being afriad attracts fear for himself, if the accused does not attract the fear that has been created. (I strongly suggest questioning as apposed to judgement. the question mark is a magical non-judgemental tool-- as in: it appears ever night you go out around three am, and when you come back, you have a number of car stereos to "give" to your friends who barely even speak the same language as you. Are you stealing?") This is a very honest post, and so I must address-- recently, while questioning someone, I flipped over to judging. I told that person they were not a guru. I did so because there was such... nastiness in his words. just horrible nastiness, not the words themselves, but the vibrations. and the words were inconsitant with anything remotely guru-like. And so, braving the risk to myself, I spoke my truth. I did so with full understading of the ramifications of judgement, and therefore, I did not do so for myself. My little immaterial friend agrees: I had with them the following exchange: Me: Ok, um, I’m uncertain. You surely all understand, and perhaps could say a word or two? Bigger-Than-Me:The thing you must remember is that there are all different walks of the path, and yours is not the only one. While some are dangerous, it is for the walkers to decide where they are going, and who they are. And perhaps your newness played a part in this. There were positive effects, hwoever, and his is why you were called to continue. Because in the end you were not acting out of self-interest. It is hard, what they were doing to the new, for many to overcome, and there is a degree to which this action is not beneficial. If I feel the unmistakable sting of evil intent, that which is designed to make me hurt, (I have always been empatic, please note. Now I am moreso.), I laugh. Laugh, and ask why, in some way-- And I always remain uncertain about the result, or try to, so as not to pigeonhole. And note, this is not necessarily a thing that has happened often, or even more than once, but I am making predictions on my usual actions based on my beliefs. But it usually has followed, in this life and my last, that the result seems more designed to make me feel a certain way-- angry, or sad, or afriad, or something negative-- than it is a logical discussion of belief. And so, always, I continue the logical discussion of what is happening in a conversation, in a dialouge style invented or at least named by Paulo Friere, called Praxis. I believe this Praxis is of the upmost importance, by the way. The book is called Pedagogy of The Oppressed. It is a model of universal social change through Dialouge. Or more accurately, a system of "education" that is in essense only dialouge, meant to give back free will and locus of control to the people. I would die for this praxis. Probably I won't need to. But my origional question: am I still capable of anger? The answer, apperantly, is yes. But not anger in defense of the self that is named Alan: defense in the self that is named Jules, or Wendy, or Christine. And if it seems clear that an attack on Alan is solely focused on Alan, as I have always done, I will seek the course of water, the least turbulent solution. "Perhaps I did something you didn't appreciate?" I might say. But if while happily on my way, I am the subject of attempted free will violation in any way, and through praxis I discover that the root ideas behind this violation are not in any way specific to Alan-- if anything leads me to believe this-- than in my thoughts, it is logical to assume that this violation is happening by no other impetus of the person who is acting. And if this can be assumed, it can be assumed that there's likelihood of a pattern of behavior, and if evidence is found of a pattern of behavior, I feel... no, anger is not the word. I feel the warrior. The warrior is me, a part of me I partially separate because there are only specific situations in which a pattern of behavior exists that is non-existant without the conditions which insite it. The Warrior is far stronger than I am and will KICK MY ASS if I try to get in his way; no, I said that wrong. The warrior WILL kick the ass of little ego Alan, he's done so many times (ocassionally disturbingly gleefully), but I am the only ass who the warrior feels justified kicking. With all who are but are not Alan, the only tool he will use is Deweaponized Praxis. Disagreement of ideas, done while holding love. But his eyes will burn, and he's a very intense fellow, which is why I could only describe what I feel when I am in that vibrational state as anger-- this is not it, the word doesn't fit. When I went to the Holocaust Museum in DC, while taking an incredible class by a very courageous survivor-- a guy who stole enough bread from the SS regularly to feed everybody, while in the ghettoes-- I was so horrified, I wanted to go back in time, find hitler, and... well, anything at the time seemed ok if it would have meant stopping hitler, so it's good I had no time machine. Such gross violations of the universe's beauty, in me they have always instantly created a state of action. Action without even processing that I am acting. High school: someone sprays some aresol in my eyes, the biggest kid around who really wanted to cow me at the time: before I knew it, literally, I'd hit him in the back where it was garunteed to do nothing but sting and get his attention, and I'd taken two steps away from where he was still seated, so that if he got up (because he was a bully and had already beaten up or humiliated a small number of our freinds on school property, I knew if he were to stand up it'd be to hit me.) He did not stand up. I was grateful to him for not standing up, and we of course remained friends. He never sprayed aresol in my eyes again. Damn it all, I'm such a peaceful man! In 29 blind years, accept from a situation in first grade in which I fought a kid every day until he finally decided to stop trying to hit me (after which we became friends), I've thrown(that is, with the intent to land) exactly two punches. You've heard one case. The other was a basketball game, 7th grade, and a kid who'd recently been encouraged to try to kick my ass kept fouling me very hard, gratuitously. I asked him to stop. it continued. I asked again. it continued. I told him one more forearm to my face and we would be fighting, as in: I was aware the change was coming, I couldn't hold it in, one more punch and without thought I'd be punching back. We kept playing, and then before I knew what was wat I was turning around because I'd taken a forarm to the head, again, and my fist was before me. After I punched him he tried to kick me, but even before his foot was moving forward I knew his kick was wildly misplaced. So I stood there, and he missed, and fell on his back, rather comically, probably, but I knew no humor. With rather burning eyes I imagined, I stared at him until I thought he understood: "I could do anything to you right now," I was thinking. "I'd done absolutely nothing to you: now look, I could step on your face. Ugly feeling, isn't it?" When I saw it reflected in his eyes that indeed I could do anything to him, and I saw in his eyes both fear and the knowledge that I was choosing peace, I turned and walked away, left the game, didn't go back. We were friends again later, and next time he was encouraged to try to kick my ass, he said he would not. The only truly hateful thought I ever experienced in my old life? I was listening to the radio, and there was a story about a village in which all the male villagers raped a thirteen year old girl from some crime her brother had committed. Rage tears in my eyes, I wanted every man who had done that dead. I was horrified, absolutely, at this thought. I thought it, and think it still, a dangerous and evil thought, which now I would never think. It was the only time I'd ever wished serious harm on anyone. But I don't like these stories. Here's a better one, from the same period of my life: Eigiht grade, some kids were throwing fruit at me. (to give some background, at an elitist pretty much all white school, in boston in the 80s which was NOT well integrated, a rigid social hierarchy existed. I was african-american. This didn't matter at first, they liked me, and I liked everyone. When I befriended one of the lowest kids on the social totem pole, I committed social suicide, I sealed my fate. I remember the FEELING of their minds changing when they saw me and my new friend together. O. and I were sitting on a rug, and there were three students: C, M, and J, sitting in chairs. The popular kids, who'd been courting me: vultures have looked at me with more empathy. Literally. I remember not understanding it, only getting it later, when it became clear. it was as if I'd kissed an untouchable on the mouth and called him brother. So I became a social outcast, and spent many nights at home crying, having been perhap having had my pants pulled down in class (the teachers did nothing about any of this), or being laughed at by the whole class about something (add mild dyslexia and school to public hatred and ridicule, I was an easy target) and told I'd ammount to absolutely nothing. So, I thought, these kids are not my friends: but unlike the rest of the low social status, I never did a thing that was motivated by the desire to gain their favor. For a while, this made my treatment so much worse: they hated that I didn't suck up. But who did I need? I learned to be my own friend, a valuable lesson. I learned to be strong within myself, and eventually, most of the kids who on and off for about five years did QUITE alot to make my life miserable became my friends. I remember the first time, almost two years after I entered the school, I was invited to a classmate's house. I was joyful and equally worried this was some sort of vicious trap. And at the time inexplicably by the time I was in eight grade, I was absolutely beloved. But I was so used to being treated very poorly, and I couldn't understand sometimes.) So anyway kids are throwing fruit at me. I asked them to stop, they said they were throwing fruit at another kid, who was listening. I did nothing, so perhaps I deserved more fruit coming my way, which it did. When I finally figured out they had lied to me- due to food hitting my head and rawkus laughter, I walked back over to them. more food. right as I reached them. With something sliding down my shirt, I looked into all their eyes. No bad feeling this time, just being. No, reflecting. I looked at them to show them a boy who had done nothing to them, ever, covered in food they'd thrown. For what? They apologized more sincerely than I ever could have believed, and they really really wanted forgiveness. I had to forgive them over and over. : ) of all these stories, I do like this one the best. And so, a few days after I feel I had something of a flare up, in which weirdly I felt both the source stronger than ever and that controlled feeling that comes over me-- wait, can't finish that sentance, just hit the key. When "angry," I am guided by the deepest part of me. and I know this, because it's never hot anger. It's calm, almost dreamlike, and my heart... I speak from my heart, and I barely know what will come out of my mouth before it does, but it's always something that when the dust clears I respect. I've never ever escalated a fight but when I punched that guy in the face in seventh grade. Especially as an adult, I only diffused fights-- thought there was a case when really drunk I told a girl to kick a guy in the nuts because he was harrasing and scaring the shit out of her and her friends. She was a stranger, and she kneed him in the nuts. He demanded to know why she'd done that, she froze, so I said: 'what if I told her to?' he threatened to stab me, wanted to step outside. I said: "no: stab me here." He didn't, and later apologized, as he was bluffing about the knife. The guilt I felt apon sobriety was enormous. I've never once said anything just to hurt somebody, except for high school, and before those... two or three times I uttered words to someone in order to hurt them invariably filled me with shame and regret. And the person in the world who did the most to hurt me, who did everything to hurt me, my father-- when last we spoke, I told him I loved him, that if there's an afterlife, I'd be praying for his soul, which due to his actions was surely in danger, if there was some sort of judging afterlife, at least.(how he fears death, that one!) Obviously, this was before I learned true love. But also of course, a necessary step in me achieving true love. That one, he could warp reality, I swear. I grew up in such a sick world... how could I not understand the dreamlike nature of reality, and how can I not see violation of free will as an offense to everyone I love? So what is this feeling that comes over me when one tries to hurt another? I don't know... my old name for these forces was "The Mammoth." I used to say I had an elephant's heart, and when it was activated, I was completely at it's mercy. Apperantly, occasionally, so it is still. And so I must pray and have faith in a peaceful existance, where such stimuli don't exist, the kind that spur me to a hyper state of action based on protection of the individual's free will. (I used to be a revolutionary type, politics, but because of this hyper state, I was so careful eventually I discovered flaws in every single political ideology and strategy and organization. that was at the time disheartening) I have no words for the emotion which accompanies this state. everyone always feels it's anger, and I don't think it is. But if one violates my free will and is doing so in a pattern, if someone would violate the free will of many, this part of me, it makes me stand. it's goal is not to hurt, it's goal is not to win, it's goal is only to stand. I've gotten myself and my friends out of some crazy dangerous situations by standing this way. Really. In fact, it's been such a force of good in my life, so elemental to me, so perfect, I can do nothing but accept it, though perhaps I need to learn how to be a bit more considerate and calm if I hit that state. But then now it seems my heart just told me: "perhaps not. perhaps it's not up to you what happens then, brain." And my brain has never won an argument with my heart. So I guess that's just that. May it lead me to stay in the light! Heart, I urge you, be true. To all of us. Stay sober!