BIRTHDAY THANX
‘FOR EVERY OUNCE OF LOVE, A POUND OF FLESH’.
First of all, while I’m at it, Have A Merry St. Patrick’s Day, the patron God of remembering your heritage & getting shit faced. For those drawn to it, a remedy as good as any.
I wanted to address the DUALITY OF FREEDOM & the heavy price our PASTS exacts for those of us who’ve managed to find the Courage & Will to escape its possessive clutches. As an Artist, I’m in constant interaction with a community that finds many of us bearing the cross of similar stories.
And there are More Than A Few of us who find that the pasts that we by grace crawled out from under, can be cruel, unforgiving, jealous, meanspirited, & deeply resentful of the very idea that ONE CAN REINVENT ONE’s LIFE, that ONE CAN find the inner strength to see beyond the false facade of ‘having been bestowed PRIVILEGES’, & instead understanding that ONE HAS RIGHTS, & not only the favor of the fortunate, the nefarious & the fickle nature of felicity’s fellowship.
More than a few of us speak to one another about how we all have those in our pasts with whom we can no longer converse, lest we be ‘Reminded’ of all that we’ve purposely chosen to have forgotten, so as to survive the scars & wounds triggered by past associations, who can ill afford trips down a memory lane where rapists & bullies await to punish us for having found the ‘nerve’ & resolve to face down our demons as we whistle past the graveyards where our former faces fade.
More than a few have come to recognize the fundamental law that FREEDOM ISN’T FREE, nor is it cheap, & that whatever its true value to us, IT’s AN ALL OR NOTHING PROPOSITION because a bargained & negotiated freedom contradicts its own imperative. Nor can LIBERATION be properly assessed by the Half Hearted. And IF I SAY THAT I AM NOT WHO I WAS, by what metric would YOU know better than the Me Myself ? What May be more ‘convenient’ for you cannot be allowed to cut my cloth to measure your fashion.
And what makes YOUR FEELINGS more important to MY LIVING than my RIGHT TO EXIST AS I IMAGINE THE DREAM I CREATE AS I DRAW Forth EACH NEW BREATH, with each New Sunrise ?
Who The Hell Are You ?
Indeed every single time ANYTHING OF VALUE & Substance ever reaches out to me to praise or compliment my worthy efforts towards my heart’s desire, A BACKLASH OCCURS, DRAGONS from the PAST rear up their ugly heads & extracts from the richness of my blood it’s weight in static remorse. And there are those who bear witness to my journey who can attest to the verity of this.
I PAY IN BLOOD FOR EACH ADVANCE, for each new step UP the Mountain,
as the Creeping Vine of Vengeance comes a-calling, scratching my skin for the toll it takes, while extorting my next of kin.
Psychic Attacks, Nightmares, Electronic Disturbances, the Appearance of ‘Phantom’ Pains, Suddenly Missing Items, Tempestuous Outbursts, Depressions, Near Miss ‘Accidents’ (Though highly anticipated, as my travails have made me nothing if not much more hyper aware & alert to the possible lurking interludes of imminent disasters to be avoided with an even greater emphasis on focused Conscious Attention. SLEEPWALKING through life is not a luxury that I can pour loose coins into as were it the pocket of a bottomless pit. Eternal Vigilance is the maintenance cost of the Exercise of Free Will), not to mention ruptured Mojo.
We all have our issues, our resentments, the bitter reminiscences of our defeats, but YOURS are not MY problem, nor are mine yours. AND WHO I MAY THINK I AM, IS why I’m here, to find this out for myself, while unraveling the knots that this thorny question gifts to my patience.
And what you may hold against me stirs me not a whit, I’m too consumed still with what I still hold against myself to be whittled down over the time granted us to work through the baggage that bloodlines bestow, & often times bless.
I’ve got no time for your admonitions or judgments.
On rare occasion I may still come upon those who DO KNOW my name, but resent my story, & will feign as if they remain unaware of the intervening intervals of the last several decades (& Yes Virginia, one CAN tell when others are ‘pretending’, for the observed themselves become astute OBSERVERS of this strange anomaly called ‘Human Nature’, & can read quite vividly between the lines, & mischief almost always betrays the gleam in the eye of its own vanity).
write this strangely enough, out of gratitude.
Gratitude for the Love that I’m given by so many of you.
That I revive because I hold close the notion that my intention to add to the beauty of the world’s existence assures me of a certain degree of payment rewarding my faith in the the wheel that governs the laws of time. And what wisdom I may by experience & instincts share, is the same ripening fruits that I receive. And yet, since I was raised in an entire culture of reprimand that surrounded me, retribution is a rival whose ghost is never far away, but as close as a virus to a host.
Many in the community to which I identify as a proud compadre are ‘sensitives’ or rather, people who carry an incredible amount of psychic sensitivity & multidimensional vision. And so, those who by force of their determination to upend my peace, send their negativity towards me, are naive enough to believe that somehow, THEY CANNOT BE SEEN. AS IF ENERGY BEARS NO FOOTPRINTS LEFT IN THE SANDS identifying who they are.
Energy doesn’t lie.
And even if they appear ‘only just’ in the ‘imagination’, the imagination is still within the purview of THE MIND’s EYE.
And what we may dismissively label ‘just imagination’ is still composed of energy whose backdrop is but the flat surface where shadows fail to hide. WE KNOW WHO THE BITCHES ARE, the backstabbers, the Administrators of Vexations,
WE KNOW THE SHAPE OF OUR ENEMIES & know that those who LOVE, fully, completely & wholeheartedly will ALWAYS find nemesis arousing its disposition to opposition.
For PLAYER HATERS HATE BOTH THE PLAYERS AND THE GAME.
But hate themselves most of all for ultimately having backed the wrong horses in the race, THE HUMAN RACE. THE PRICE OF LOVE IS PAIN, & the COST OF LOVE
includes the commitment to overcoming it & to mutate this pain into even GREATER LOVE, PRIDE, HONOR, & the dignity bestowed upon those willing to withstand the misshapen judgments of our imperfect humanity, so as to lift our brothers & sisters up just high enough to see the horizons expanding slightly beyond our view.
I’m used to taking beatings, IT IS WHAT I KNOW.
And a Long Slow Tumultuous Ass Kicking is how I came to recognize my shape as my own, & more than just a chalk line that the rain erased from the sidewalk that reenergized & re-emerged as electric light that walks in the darkness, to illuminate the night.
I know Trauma, I know Suffering, & have shed enough tears to replenish the seashore. I’ve played the Martyr, tasted the Malted Milk of the Masochist, & have looked death in the mirror of its madness until it grew crosseyed & blinded by its own begging & pleading for attention it hadn’t yet earned.
I KNOW DEMONS, & their master, I Know him WELL, & while I DO RESPECT HIM, & his impressive mastery of his many games of fear based illusions (& have even at times admired him), I DO NOT FEAR HIM, because HE IS NEITHER MY GOD, MY MASTER, NOR MY FATHER, nor has any of my blood been bequeathed or promised to his hand, so there be no REASON why I NEED to fear him. My Soul is of much Higher Value to me than Temporal Trade for shit I have no need of.
BECAUSE WHAT I NEED, I HAVE.
And despite the battles ever raging, I continue as I must because I was created for this. THIS IS WHO I AM. And like the great Abraham Lincoln (who suffered the burden of his humanity just like the rest of us slouches) was reputed to have said, “I MAY BE A SLOW WALKER, BUT I NEVER WALK BACKWARDS.”
And once I’m done turning my other cheek, those who advantage themselves of my flesh will have not only hell to pay, but will discover that there is NOWHERE TO RUN & NO PLACE TO HIDE, when the Brimstone has Cooled & the Fires have Died.
Sananda Maitreya !
Friday St. Patrick’s Day
17 March 2023
Milano, Italia.
#SanandaMaitreya
ST. PATRICK’s DAY JOKE :
Thanx for your responsive understanding.
We live in the Age of the ‘Theater Of Outrage’, where nothing isn’t teetering on the edges of the boundaries of what someone might take offense to, whether earnestly sincere or for the attention & mischief it generates. And we now go LOOKING FOR IT, like angry hunters pursuing precious prey. Too much ‘Concern’ for others, out of context, can turn into its own form of oppression. The Pendulum Of Intolerance swinging wildly from one extreme to the other.
It always fascinates me that there are those who live to pounce like frisky feral kittens on whatever you might say, yet can’t keep away from what you write as if the Adrenaline Of Admonition gets them high or grants a needed buzz, a Sugar Rush,
as if THEY couldn’t equally be torn apart for the ridiculousness of their self righteous rigidity, as if their own farts are perfumed & comes out in colorful bubbles with closed captions for the hard of hearing.
IF IT OFFENDS YOU SO, THEN WHY DO YOU KEEP GOING BACK TO IT & READING OR LISTENING ? Just unplug it if it doesn’t ‘vibrate’ to your level of perfection & superiority.
Easy Solution ! Right ? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ? Then what will I judge myself superior to ?
In any event, thanx for having allowed me to vent the cost of the love & regard you so generously give. The ‘ATTACK BRIGADE’ are very real, but they can all go & fuck themselves, or even better, somebody. And so, without further ado, here’s my own contribution to the plethora of St. Paddy’s Day Bacchanalia of Jokes:
AN IRISHMAN WALKS INTO A BAR & SAYS TO THE BARTENDER,
“PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF A SCOTSMAN & AN ENGLISHMAN COMES
INTO THE BAR.” Curious, the Bartender asks why this might be necessary.
The Irishman replies “BECAUSE, DO I LOOK LIKE A FECKING JOKE TO YOU ?”
© TreeHouse Publishing, 17th March 2023
photo credit: Sananda photographed by Manuel Scrima for THP.
