Once apon a time, there were two youths who longed to become warriors, Alex and Beil. 

Both persued this dream in different ways, although they lived in the same hut (their parents had passed, and they were on their own.)  Alex said: I'm going to find the greatest warrior I can and learn from him. 

Beil said: I am going to enter the world, and learn from everyone. 

So, alex embarked on the student's journey, and beil embarked on the hero's journey. 

Every day, when they returned home (alex from his teacher's dojo, beil from trying to be positive force in the world,) they would spar...

And alex would win every time.  After a few months of this, he began mocking his brother, beil.  beil would not respond. 

More months passed, and Alex became one of the best students of his teacher.  He continued to beat beil in every spar.  beil remained unconcerned. 

After 2 years, alex was the top student, perhaps on his way to becoming a master swordsman.  beil was still not his match. 

One day, alex pushed his mockery too far.  "You fool!" he said.  "On your masterless journey, you will never be able to match me, and yet you continue?"

"On the contrary," beil said, "you think that because you have no understanding of time.  It is you who are the fool."

The argument continued until beil moved out, to become a roving journeyman. 

He journeyed many places.  He had a plan that alex had never understood. 

They met again ten years later.  Alex resumed his mockery, sure that he was the best swordsman for hundreds of miles, the veteran of many, many challenges, easily the master of his brother. 

"let's spar," was beil's response. 

They sparred.  it lasted 2 seconds.  Alex lost. 

When his shock was over, he demanded a rematch, then another and another.  he quickly saw that his brother beil was beyond a master-class swordsman.  He was water and iron.  He was fire and water.  He was infinately pliable. 

"how... how is this possible?"  said alex.

"You learned from a mortal teacher," said beil, "And I learned from an immortal one.  I sparred many people out in the world, and I let each be my teacher.  I incorporated their styles into my own.  This was my only goal."

"which is why for a time, you were my better.  Your focus on one style lead to a faster learning curve on the onset.  however, my curve is limitless, and yours depends on how much your sensei knew." 

"In your own mind and heart, if you had slain your master and continued on YOUR journey, following the invincible teacher, perhaps you'd be my better now.  But you are not.  As it is, upon the first meeting of our blades, I knew everything you knew about swordplay, because I have learned to absorb.  Because I have learned to rechannel, I then had a myriad of possible counterstrikes, most of which, presumably, your master did not know.  This is why you lost."
---
For a version of the same story based in the hindu-buddhist spiritual tradition (but executed by a westerner, a pliable one at that) please read Herman Hesse's Siddhartha.

"Hello alan. the thing we wish you to understand is that as soon as, in your mind, there exists a dichotomy between you, the knower and the ignorant masses, you are making a very serious mistake, and one which we believe, should you think about it, will become clear."

My response:

"Yes, I understand now.  Thank you."


...do YOU understand?   How this very dynamic is the reason it is said "The way to hell is paved with good intentions?"

Imbalance.

balance.

If you want to be a student, be a teacher.

If you want to be a teacher, be a student.

If you are unwilling to be a student, please leave the planet, we're ascending shortly. 

Thank you!

: )

A

how fast 'my' goals must be achieved.

(soul  laughing)

Hi everyone!

We'd wake the fuck up, that's what

old friends...  (Your the ones joining me in a wave of nostalgia.   Tell me it doesn't feel  right... : )

... is this story

someone recently asked me to tell my story, someone I love and respect, in a number of pleas.  I want to accommodate...

but strangely, I barely know how!

The problem is that I believe her and that I am blue.  Fundamentally, I am blue.  I don't mean: "sad," I mean indigo.  The name of my first stuffed animal-- the first thing I ever named-- was blue.  It's color fit it's name.  I loved blue.  

My favorite color is blue.  I would get lost looking at blue christmas lights.  I could feel love from them.  

Blue protects and serves.  Blue isn't quite interested in itself-- more in the safety and harmony of other vibrations.  That's what my instincts say, and my life matches.  

Another early story: when I was a toddler, my mother had my siblings all in a line, because they'd all been naughty.  She was balling out each of them individually.  She found me at the end of the line.  I'd done nothing wrong.  She thought I thought it was a game, as I stood there, bravely waiting to share their fate.  I don't think I would have thought it was a game.  I think I was bravely waiting to share their fate.  

So: have I suffered?  Yes.   But when I go to look at the story, to think of telling it, nothing is there.  That's what I hear in my brain: nothing is there.  

Something used to be there.  I spent years rebuilding myself after all that happened... regaining my innocence, and love of the world and such.  But I did it through stories-- through examining the issue for everyone, not for myself.  I cannot integrate it by dealing with it as 'myself,' I can't... go that direction. it's very odd, but I've always been that way.  

Someone I once wanted to date was freaked out to discover that at the time, I lived in a windowless room with one door.  I was in danger, she said, of fire.  My response was: 'well, if you come over, I'll make sure that I make arrangements that if there's a fire, we can get out."  she decided that meant that I didn't care enough about myself to do anything in case of fire to save myself.  She thought, I suppose, I had a death wish.  This isn't so.  I am blue.  

The danger to myself is never my concern, ultimately.  Any pain I've incurred, similarly, is beside the point-- besides, anything that happened to me already happened.  I'm far more interested in keeping such things and worse from happening to others.  That's why I've given everything, and will continue to.  I am blue.  

So what happened to me?  Another issue in writing this-- it's far too complicated.  Therapists have failed to understand, when faced with the story from any of the various perspectives (people) involved.  

Some things that happened in my childhood:

a school full of kids who really wanted to make me feel bad about myself...  fun with racial dynamics!  I won't say bullying, because I wasn't the bully-able type.  I was a fighter, and I fought, but that doesn't mean it didn't matter.  I learned not to need my classmates, I went off into my own world.

a family that had a very real cold war dynamic going on.  with occasional hot wars.  it's agreed in most people's heads, probably, but his, that my father likely has narcissitic personality disorder or whatever.  and I come from a family of psychologists.  he was also a psychologist, which paired with narcissistic personality disorder and a harvard degree made him a formidable abuser.  My mother was a formidable abuse-fighter, and perhaps this is the relationship at the core of their tragic relationship.  

a rape, when I was about 12.  a stranger who followed me home.  

occasional family hot wars.

I never told my mom about the rape.  I repressed it until I was an adult, and as an adult, I realize nothing would cause her more pain than realizing on her watch, even this had happened to me.  Why spare her this pain?  I am blue.  (please don't try to talk me out of it, if I feel like she'll need to know, she'll know.)  We're talking about a woman who freaks out if she finds out that I almost broke my leg or something when I was 8.  It's like that with all her children.  Even past dangers which were avoided are things she reacts strongly to when she hears them.  

The thing about it all is that it happened, but more that much worse happens all the time.  The thing that always, ever after really hurts isn't thinking about how I've been  hurt, but how other people continue to hurt.  I came here for a reason, and I did so willingly, and as soon as I remembered that, the lingering bad-dream life caused by such things faded away.  I'd already stripped it of it's... poisons, the inevitable reoccurring and fresh pains caused by old pain.  (The woman who, raped by her father, becomes a prostitute, and gets beaten by her pimp, familiarly).  I am blue: the other side to my childhood was a wonderful wealth of information and knowledge, a strong, strong family, that has always stood for beautiful, powerful things.  I wouldn't be as good at being me if I'd been born anywhere else, and as such, I have no regrets.

(My mother was instrumental in the phrase 'black power' becoming a 'household' phrase.  My grandfather was in SCLC, and the March on Washington that gave rise to the "I have a dream" speech was planned out of his church.)

In short, my blueness, I believe, sent me where I needed to go... and I went.  I really don't know what else to say.  Bad things happened.  That's how this world is.  Until we change it.

But, because of these and other traumas, for many years I aggressively probed my mind and my subconscious...  for one, I wanted to never, ever do to others what was done to me.  For another, I wanted to understand-- not why it happened to me, but why it happens.  I probed society as well... in short, my seeking started.  

When my seeking ended, I understood....

And I am glad I had the strength to turn around and face all that is inside of me, and heal what needs to be healed from this life.  (I'm on to ancient karma now!  horraaaay, lol)

And I desire, mostly, to see these things stop happening to people.  We can do better.  We will do better.  But it starts with looking inside-- and looking at all our behaviors, and demanding that we do better, no matter the cost.  If I have my father to thank for anything, it's the moment when I realized I would die before being like him... I was 13, and I remember it because I meant it.

 And so, my friend(s)  in regards to me telling my story, this is the best I can do.  : )  at least for now.  I hope it helps!

(I'd rather, basically, make sure there are no more such stories happening than tell my story...  and so I am a vehicle for...)

It's very strange for me to be discussing these things in a way!  I'm going to talk about my family, my grandfather: everyone else always made  a huge deal about such things.  Which has always kept me quiet on the subject... but it's time I used this voice. 

I need to tell a story before I start, about it. 

When I was in first grade-- about the time school children are learning of the great Martin Luther King and all the lovely things he did, in a way that strikes many of us with some degree of personal connection as hero worship (instead of recognition of the heroic capacity in all of us), I decided I should go ahead and tell the class about how my family knew him.  "My mom helped plan the march on Washington," I said. 

This was not accurate.  My mom was a little girl when they were planning the march on Washington, and snuck into the room to overhear their planning session.  But I was close.  My grandfather helped plan the march on Washington.

My teacher was quite impressed, and asked my mom to come to the class to speak about it.  My mom, however, did not want to, and in the most subtle and  calm way possible convinced my teacher to drop the issue.  I learned a lot that day...

Later, in 5th or 6th grade, a girl in my class (in a different school) gave a whole presentation about how her grandfather marched with King and was his right hand man and such.   By then I'd learned of all the major players in SCLC through my grandfather's stories.  From my perspective, she was mistaken... but I didn't say a word, even though some of the things she said contradicted the history of the movement as I'd learned it from members of SCLC.

I want to start with this story because it's very important to me, and it always has been, not to be positively judged for things I had no part in, sacrifices others made... and yet, it's been difficult for me to talk about these things without feeling positively judged.  These childhood impressions stayed with me-- I almost never talk about such things.  But I suppose it's time to break the self-imposed silence...

The point of the movement in a sense, a real sense, was dialogue...

You can call it a conversation.  It recently came out to the public, for example, that Rosa Parks was far from an apolitical seamstress, but was an organizer and member of SCLC, who was specifically chosen to get arrested on a bus.  Why?  Because once she was arrested, the SCLC, who had already forged a relationship with the press, had a public-relations gold mine, the story you and I know to this day-- "tired seamstress refuses to give up her seat.  SCLC promises boycott."

In short, they designed their actions to be, in a real way, a dialogue with the country.  They knew without the eyes of the north on the actions of whites in the south, nothing would change peacefully.  It was a conversation about equality and peace... and it was a conversation about hatred and violence...

Dialogue

Dialogue is the energy that can and will change the world.  As Paulo Friere wrote, in one of the most respected books on education and revolution ever written-- "pedagogy of the oppressed."  The dialogue that frees is the dialogue that assumes the complete and total equality of all members of the community, and fosters open communication between students, with no teachers.  No gods, no masters.  But, perhaps, God herself... Where we all learn from each other, and in the process, learn to respect and love each other.

That takes listening.  That takes understanding that we are all in this together, and we need to respect ourselves and eachothers enough to listen. 

The love that can heal all the problems in todays world-- for love is a more powerful force than men and women have known, just ask dumbledore : )-- can only grow in open communication.  It must grow in understanding and sharing and dialogue between people... and indeed, love is the answer.  To love, we must listen.  But we have a responsibility to listen in a way that is harmonic, and holds our own free will and freedom of perception as sacred as that of others.

Love you all-

A