I know you are all busy, and many may not have noticed even, but for those who have been waiting for more of the Manifesto, finally and finally… with one computer back on line, here’s the next instalment. Enjoy!
As I explain to them the rudiments of worship and its real purpose which at its core is always self-empowerment, I ask myself how much of what I teach I believe. But then, if you already know something to be true and real, you don’t have to believe in it. You never have to fear that you could be wrong about such a teaching. I have the experience of it and experience is the greatest of all teachers.
End blog post #67
Begin blog post #68
I know in my heart there are high-level entities who care about such as these oppressed people and will help them when they die if the connections have been made. I’ve been there too, a helpless mendicant, lost and afraid. I was taken care of then and that changed me forever.
I know we can “fly” without a body, go wherever our state of mind allows, I’ve done it. I remember Altaria now without even trancing. I remember how I manifested here in my pre-chosen form. It’s in the remembering that one can choose the direction of one’s empowerment.
As for the prayer, well I know it is a communal exercise that brings the powerless together and in it they find a power they otherwise cannot have. So it is good. I am not lying and I am not making false promises or giving them false hope. There is an immediate mutual benefit in this sharing of belief: they will be drawn closer to one-another and not see themselves so much as competitors.
The lesson is over for today and I motion to them to change places and resume exercising and practising the moves. There is a new spring in their step which I immediately notice. Is it the work of the Teaching? Well, hope does powerful things, especially to people who have absolutely nothing and face death every day of their short lives; people who know with certainty they will die young and in violence. People who know they will lose their friends and lovers to that self-same violence and, at least until now, know they are powerless to prevent it.
I move fast, push them hard to test them and release the tension I’ve created with such bold ideas. They seem to enjoy the challenge and respond in kind. I do not wish to hurt any of them and I parry their thrusts with blurring motions that remind me of Deirdre’s performance. At the thought of her I feel a sudden pang of the heart. I hold it and explore it.
‘Yes Deirdre, I remember you and I still love the memory of you. But I know now that if you came back here I would not “fall in love” with you, nor would I take our relationship back to where it was. I would set you free and you would have to set me free. I think that you know this by now, wherever you are. I thank you for the joy you gave me, but mostly for what you taught me. I grew up with you in my life. I became a better person because I’ve known you. May you have the same effect on everyone you meet and may you know the bliss you were made to live in. I release you – I release us from our bond of love. Be forever free.’
As the training session ends for the day, the weather changes. Dark clouds roll in and we hear distant thunder. The air is charged with electricity, thick with ozone. There is a flash and a discharge, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. Lightning strikes one of the tallest eastern towers and a stone is dislodged, tumbling down the wall and through a roof. We hear the distant yells of men.
The women look up and exchange startled glances. I know what they are thinking, hoping. They imagine it’s the work of their goddess beginning the destruction of the keep to set them free. If they were allowed to cheer, what a din there would be! I feel vindicated, somehow. That was a timely portent. A coincidence? If I have learned anything from my endless wanderings it’s that there are no coincidences. “Who” was behind that lightning bolt?
Let us just say it is the power of ‘the Teaching.’
We go to the water troughs, wash using the coarse home-made soap that feels more like the surface of a sharpening stone than a bar of soar, to scour the dust, sand and grime from ourselves. I use the soapy water to wash my hair, now in need of cutting again. It is matted and stiff. As usual, we sit at the long, dark tables and wait for our evening meal. Young trainees bring the food bowls and we eat hungrily.
Tiki brushes my back with a free hand as she walks by, still sulking from thinking of herself as condemned to gorok work. I smile, but not so she can see. The rain begins to pelt down but warm now in this world’s summer season. I want to stand in it and dance just as total darkness falls in the courtyard. That would be a sight indeed. The oldest crone in the compound dancing wildly in the rain. I know I could get away with it just this one time, but I cannot take the chance another woman would be punished for my actions. They do have a sense of justice here, however twisted! Somebody always has to pay or make up the difference.
End blog post #68