The Forest for the trees.

So I wait. I feel like I'm awaiting a verdict. The trial is taking place inside of her.

She turned off her phone. She wants uninterrupted time with him.

She said she sobbed last night after we talked. It was because she doesn't want me to hurt. Not wanting me to hurt wouldn't cause her to sob, but the guilt of knowing that I will soon be in pain because of her actions might.

Am I assuming too much? Am I jumping to too many conclusions?

I can do 1 of 2 things. Attempt to analyze what little information I have and come to some conclusions, or try not to think about it. Analyzing without real information leads to a tremendous amount of conjecture, and amplifies my anxiety.

I've been doing it without recognizing that I am. It's been automatic and restless. The consequences of doing that have been to make her not want to speak to me - or at least that's the optimistic conclusion.

I want to resist analyzing what's happening over there. It doesn't do me any good and it can't lead to the truth. All I can do is analyze my emotions and actions to learn from them, to illuminate a larger portion of my inner world.

I have to remind myself that I am the being initiating the thought process, I am not the thought process itself. I am the being to whom the emotions are communicating, I am not the emotions nor their communication.

I can choose to focus the attention of my thoughts on whatever I please. They'll analyze what I tell them to if I can remember to direct them and not identify with them. What would I have them analyze? What would benefit my journey? Through experience and logic it's obvious that directing the thoughts to K's actions isn't getting me anywhere.

As I was outside smoking the image of a forest came into my mind. In the image I was hovering above the trees, analyzing the landscape. I could flap my wings, or open them and soar on the wind.

All of those trees combined to form a being called the forest. Each tree was a part of that whole, but seen from the ground this wasn't apparent. All that is apparent from that perspective is the individual vegetation: trees, shrubs, grass. Wandering through the brush and towering trees is frightening; it's a labyrinth.

On the forest floor the trees control me, but above them I control me.

That winged being is my attention. I wish for him to soar and see the landscape for what it really is.

Twisting, Wrenching...

My stomach is in knots. All the anxiety and uncertainty, foreboding and worry I feel has nowhere to manifest it's nervous energy except in the pit of my stomach. I'm warm and out of breath. I can hardy focus my attention on anything, my mind being occupied with keeping this tension from pulling my muscles and organs apart inside this body.

I had almost forgotten how this feels, how it chases away all other sensation away like a tortured, rabid dog, starved for affection and comfort, willing to maim and devour anything nearby. I can feel my heart, not so much beating as it is striking against my ribcage in a seeming attempt to break out through the bars of it's cage.

She sounded nervous on the phone. She's been there for a couple of hours. He's been eyeing her body hungrily for at least that long. I can only imagine the depth of his desire for her flesh - she likes to play with fire. Getting burned has happened often enough to her that it's become an identifyable pattern. I can only Will, hope and pray that she comes back unscorched.

My emotions are mine. I have to seek to change how it feels. I can't expect "the outside" to avoid hurting me in this way, that's foolish. Running will only strengthen the anguish. God, I had forgotten how debilitating this is.

I can't overwhelm myself by thinking that's it's just begun - the first of 4 days (or worse, 3 nights). Stop it!

She told me weeks ago that this trip will not affect our relationship. I never asked her to make specific promises. If I had she would have told me what I wanted to hear regardless of what the actual plan may be. Even assuming she was truthful, plans change. That is something I've learned to expect with her - her word is based only on present emotions, when they shift (or reveal their true character) the plan may easily change.

I can only trust. I can't trust that she won't do something with him. I can't trust that she won't give him the opportunity to do something to her. I can't trust that he won't manufacture an opportunity to do something to her. I can only trust that this is the way it has to be, that this is the way Nature intended for it to be.

All experience is an opportunity to grow, learn and evolve. I have to seize my opportunities here, I must not only cope, but learn to redirect the incoming energy to my benefit. So easily said, yet so immensely daunting.

Something I've learned from art: Deep, nuanced blacks and lower grays provide the image with an enormous potential for contrast. A contrast that lends itself to a stark beauty, full of hues and values pregnant with depth and meaning.

When I set down to draw, I start with the darks. They define the composition and allow for the mental sensation of slowly and carefully "pulling" the image out of the bleakness and chaos. It's only dawned on me recently how symbolically important that process is to me.

Maybe I can understand more if I force myself to perform that symbolic action. Maybe that is my Magick. Perhaps that is my ritual incantation. All of this power and energy MUST go somewhere and if I don't use it for insight and spiritual evolution, it will fester and seep out through the cracks in the walls of my soul, the cracks which are my weaknesses; my drives to self-destruction and torment, self-pity and despair.

How can I avoid using the drawing process as a distraction? That is a question I have to give serious thought to. Right now I need fresh air, I'm starting to feel like I can't breathe again.

... ...waiting... ...

I was reading this thread just now entitled A feeling like you are waiting for something??? and I realized that there are other people who have this same feeling.

Ever since I really began a quest to understand myself through introspection and self-reflection around maybe 10 years ago I've noticed this feeling. In fact, it's become one of the most dominate, yet ubiquitous feelings I have on a constant basis throughout the day.

Just this morning it became so strong and almost overwhelming that I found myself silently chanting, "I'm waiting for something. I'm waiting for something. What am I waiting for?"

Is it 2012? Is it the introduction to a spiritual master? Whatever it is, my deeper self seems convinced that it is coming, and it will change things. It may a personal change, or it may be something bigger.

This feeling called "waiting" has lead to a tremendous amount of anxiety, discomfort, and foreboding for me. It seems to have something to do with culture or civilization because it seems connected to my sense of lack of purpose - a general apathy concerning my material life.

I'm constantly asking myself, "Why am I still here?" "Why do I pretend to care about stuff?" "Why don't I just stop trying?" "What am I supposed to be doing?" "Why do I act at all?"

I'm also waiting for the answers to those questions. I'm waiting for something to give me purpose, something that I can believe in and strive toward. Something I feel is important and worthwhile.

I hesitate to become too entrenched in the world because it feels like it doesn't matter. But I am here aren't I? There must be a reason I am here in the first place. In a way, I feel I do have a purpose for continuing - unfortunately it's unclear to me what that is.

I feel like I should be doing something with my time and energy, something that gets me closer to fulfilling the hidden purpose.

I have to go. My cousin wants to show me her new car. I will act, but I really don't give a shit.

Disgusting

I was working tonight, and in the background the tv was playing a program about the history of the mormon church.

There was a part which described how during the time of the industrial revolution in Britain, the church leaders in America decided to send missionaries to convert the poor, destitute, suffering masses of villagers who had been forced into the cities to live and work in truly horrible, dehumanising conditions.

I was struck by the audacity of such a decision. There are many ugly things that people can do to one another, none more deserving of the term "Evil" than those which prey upon and profit from the spiritual desperation of a suffering soul.

Organized religion has made it it's central focus to control and profit from man's natural longing to understand his god, to find communion with the mystical, and to feel himself a part of the beauty that's inherant in the creations of the universe.

There can be no darker evil, than to prey upon another's spiritual deficit. This is a crime for which there is no equal. This is a crime against The Great Spirit Himself, a criminal act set against the magical Beauty of the Mother Universe Herself.

The most sacred part of the human being is her longing to participate in the Love of her creator, that one true ecstacy of spiritual connection, the Truth that is in fact the only truth.

In God's infinite wisdom and love, all things are forgivable and understood in the light of suffering. But I believe that the Karmic effects of hideous acts like these must be the greatest tragedy that a soul can endure.

To set out to gain from that most mystical of all human suffering; the timeless spiritual longing that has created our wisest shaman, our greatest spiritual teachers, our most profound and beautiful works of art and music; makes me feel deeply angry and sick.

What action could possibly be more horrendous and evil than to take advantage of the very highest, most noble and sweetly innocent pursuit that a suffering soul can engage in?

In my opinion, none.

Here. Now.

I think I may have discovered something interesting and useful while at K's. It happened suddenly as we were driving to get fastfood. Out of the blue, I felt a sense of peace, relaxation and appreciation come over me. It was markedly different from how I was feeling only seconds before.

As this feeling washed over me (like a tide, as feelings normally do when I pay attention to them) I instantly tried to analyze the situation. Why was I feeling this way? I noticed something different about my thoughts. They weren't racing, swirling as they normally are - they were still, content to notice and appreciate the environment.

I was hearing the music playing on the CD player (it was The Birthday Massacre), I was seeing the colored lights of the city, I was feeling the night air. I wasn't searching or trying. Most importantly (I think) I wasn't referencing what I was experiencing to past experiences, nor was I thinking about possible future experiences. It was the simple peace of the present moment.

Is this what the Zen Buddists do when they meditate? As they say: Be Here, Now. Because I constantly reference the present moment to similar past or future moments, I tend to dismiss the present with thoughts like, "I've been down this street before," or "I've heard this song before." In doing so I convince myself that I don't need to pay too much attention to the exact moment I find myself in.

When I allow myself to pay close attention, not to the parts that make up a moment (the separate senses), but to the whole that is the mixture of the pieces, I can feel the novelty of the particular mixture. It's the difference between tasting bread and tasting butter, compared to tasting buttered bread.

I continue to experiment with this conscious perceiving. To varying degrees, I always feel a sense of appreciation and peace.

Alchemy and Hermeticism

Hermeticism is something I've always been very interested in. The conclusions that humans have come to and the rituals that they have employed to enlighten themselves throughout the centuries fascinates me. I continue to study the works of the hermeticists, theosophists, and alchemists in an attempt to realize the truth about the nature of the self (selves) and reality.

Last weekend I read Theurgy and The Secret Fire, both written by E. J. Langford Gartsin, which I found at hermetics.org.

A major theme of Alchemical writing is the separation of the soul/mind from the physical body. Having read about this before, I tried it again (I've been experimenting with OBE or Astral Projection for years now). The results were subtle, but important:

I lied in bed, K by my side, asleep. I allowed my body to relax, as I consciously kept my mind awake (the "mind awake, body asleep" technique). I focused on nothingness, and listened to the sounds of my ears. As has happened before, my limbs stiffened, my heart-rate decreased, and I felt myself "drifting". I could feel my subtle body attempting to separate, but the "pull" or "magnetism" of my physical body kept it from it's goal.

After a little while K stirred, half woke up and began rubbing her face with her hands. I couldn't resist and opened my eyes, thinking to myself that she was distracting me from my practice. I said, "Are you ok?" She replied, "I'm washing my face..."

I began thinking about what that meant to me, given The Universe's symbolic language. I came to the conclusion that it was not a distraction, but a communication. In the Alchemical/Hermetic texts, it is stressed that the Adept must "purify" or "cleanse" himself before attempting The Art/Practice. The washing of the face was symbolic of this very cleansing.

I am now faced with the question: What exactly must one do to purify or cleanse one's self? I've taken it as an ethical/spiritual cleansing, i.e., the student must live a life of compassion, humility and suffering before Nature will grant him the privilege of separation (The First Matter).

I must take Her advice and be aware of any opportunities to be compassionate and loving, empathetic and gentle.

I am going on a trip for the holidays, which includes a long plane flight. I intend to find a book to read on the flight. I pray that The Universe puts into my hands the appropriate text.

Thank you Mother for your care and attention. I promise you, it will not be in vain.

Childhood memories, color-corrected.

I don't remember a whole lot from my childhood. Bits and pieces pop up here and there now and then. It's my opinion that if these transient, fleeting half-memories surface, it's my subconscious trying to relay an important message to me - I make it my duty to, at the very least, listen. A long neglected memory sought attention by bubbling up from the depths tonight.

I work as a self-employed (a.k.a. freelance) video editor (among other things grafix, web and video related). One of my current responsibilities is color correction. At some point I was thrust back into my childhood for a split second, the event was accompanied by waves of numbness washing over my head; not unpleasant nor unfamiliar.

I was sitting on the carpet in front of the television in my childhood living room. It was dark except for the flashes of color coming from the screen in front of me. My dad was sitting on the couch behind me, growing ever impatient as I fucked with the color and contrast settings on the tv. I wanted to get it just right; a little less brightness, more contrast, more color... whoops, the red is bleeding, need to bring it down a bit...

I remember my dad asking me what I was doing.

"Fixing the color," I said.

"No your not," he said, frustrated, "Your just experimenting with it. Give me that..."

I handed him the remote control. In my head I thought to myself, "I am not experimenting. I know what I'm doing."

The truth was that, I was in fact experimenting. I didn't want to tell him that, but that is exactly what I was doing. I was interested in how I could change the tint, contrast, etc., to make the picture look more brilliant or dull and subtle at my will, and how those small changes could effect how I felt about what I was seeing.

Now I do that for a living. I still experiment and fuck with the settings. But now I've learned how each of the controls can effect the mind of the viewer. Deep contrast evokes mystery and curiosity; while bright, oversaturated colors goes mostly unnoticed by the conscious, but effects the subconscious deeply, like cartoon images invoking primal instincts that the evolutionary psychologist would link to our ancient past.

It's not often that I experience memories associated with my father. Why would I even choose to file such a seemingly insignificant memory away in my mind at all? A matter for more serious contemplation I'm sure. Either way, it's nice to be reminded that I do have a past, sometimes. It's nice to be reminded that introspection is necessary, that I'm not wasting my time exploring myself, there are genuine personal mysteries in here. Self-analysis is not just mental masturbation after all.