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“Any’thing’ that comes & goes, is born or dies, has a beginning or an end is created by spellcraft. Pay attention! You’ll find the keys to being present are in the very words you speak, read, and share in thoughts & feelings.”
“Be vigilant in your awareness. Understand that all things, distinctions, words, and separations exist only for your convenience. The programming is strong, so the ego can use it to reinforce itself. ”
A captive audience of spellcraft and suggestion
After a deluge, those who survive must contend with polluted floodwaters, hypothermia, electrocution and snakebites from serpents escaping the rising waters. This great flood would grate away lives and homes, jobs and businesses. No, not a single soul would be concerned about collecting insurance or emergency funds. For not only were those in charge of such programs washed away, but there were no landmarks to indicate where their buildings might have been.
Gazing outside, I no longer saw anybody at all. Brow furled and tongue pushed against lower lip, my reflection was perfectly ridiculous.
“Reminds you of an old myth?”The Chumba reflection asked.
Trailershad floated past, water-borne serials, their actors engaged in plots and dramas.
The deluge had no boundaries. It moved with the smooth force of flowing water, battering vessels in angry upheavals.
The fermentation of reason was too aromatic. Realizations occurred in moments and faded. I hesitated, envisioning a spirit wispier than wind blown cotton candy, brilliant in its bright pink acrobatics. My soul groped where eternity and death appeared to be the only alternatives. Grayness stretched into the infinite flood I alone created.
“You’re an intelligent burro, so wipe that Velveeta off your face,” Chumba’s chided. “Do you actually believe if you take half the width of a midget and multiply it by his height, it’ll equal costume size? Or, that the explosive force of a funnel cake with an M80 in it equals dough times a trapeze flyer high on light speed? Mira Xavier, look, creativity thinks it creates its creator.”
I thought about that, agreed, adding, “Like a sticker stuck on a banana, nothing’s ever explained, only labeled. Those who have attached prosthetic arms and legs at our request are about to realize they never needed them. This is dangerous. And ya know what else? Most donkeys don’t know who or what they are. Tell you what… we’ll lobotomize them by stating, ‘If you can do anything, then you can create a burrito full of all the fixings… one so heavy it can’t be lifted.’ Once we see their eyes glaze over, we’ll insist, ‘If there’s a burrito you can’t lift, there’s something you can’t do.’ Yes, they’ll remain blind jackasses, standing in the middle of the road, unaware that they’re seeing their own growing reflection in the bumper of the Peterbilt that’s about to run their dumb ass over!”
Locking eyes with my reflection, now blended with Chumba’s reflection, I couldn’t believe what I said next, “We’ll create non-existent climatic aberrations, new diseases by re-labeling existing ones, and claim humanity’s obesity will sink the continents. You see Chumba… I get it now. If we get enough of their attention, a few hundred million or so, we might even manifest the reality to warm the planet, melt an icecap or two, and cause a great flood! This is why we’ll insist that contorted mirrors aren’t purposely installed… as if there wasn’t a plan for gutter science, junk thought and poverty logic. Number one and two are found in the toilet, and math is a reflection in the mirror. What’s important is that the apes, donkeys, and goats never see themselves as the ones who ordained it.”
“Should we create fake distinctions and call them the building blocks of earth, wind and sea?” Chumba asked.
“Si! Absolutely.” I announced. “Though our spellcraft, it’s obvious that the batter and the calories of a corn dog are two ways of looking at the same thing, they must always have different labels… as in… Uncle Hanks’ Franks vs. Buddy’s Hot Dogs. As people consider how yummy a batter dipped all beef-dog can be, and the reason why a 100% all filler frank can have the exact delicious carnival taste, we’ll insist they’re different because the eater has a deep-fried imagination!”
As if we were one and the same, Chumbas voice lodged in my head as I opined, “People must never understand that consciousness is the constant. That, compadre, is the venom of my Will, our Will. And did you know Chumba, that when the fairgoers cry out ‘Why is this happening to me?’… the word ‘why’ flicks theforked tongue of time,keeping the reflection bouncing, back and forth, never reaching its root – the imagination. The banter we create that asks who or what is observing are symptoms of a Luchadors soul strutting around the ring, asking the audience to feel the ropes to test their sturdiness.”
I cackled. “There’s no stopping a fruit fly’s short lived ego’s attempt to buzz around rotten tomatoes, mate, and ‘live’ forever.”
Suddenly, my body tensed. In the background, ‘Click, click. Caw! Scratch…’
Dammit! Why was there always something clawing away?
The static of thought grew silent. I froze, vexed by the reflection. There was something scratching about. Was it above my head? In that moment, my sense of self disappeared. The light flickered on, off, on… off… on again. The lights went black. Reaching, I found nothing to steady myself.
Full of the sensation of having unwanted dreams and devoid of deep sleep, a profound moment sloshed.
How long I don’t know.
I waited, barren of thought, accompanied by the sound of rain, with slowly appearing visions of overalls and baseball caps, bar stools and neon booze advertisements, and then…
I literally, completely faded.
“Understand the ‘source’ of ‘sorcery’ and you’ll become extraordinarily present. Creation occurs in the here & now. Isn’t that where you want to be?”
