The Sound of Love.

About “we each must remember that in this life we are all bound together and grow through the force called love”. Sigh. Maybe I’m not completely sure what that means. Maybe what I think it means is another point / source of conflict and adds further fuel to my feelings of contempt towards Joan’s book. What I think it means involves people, human beings, and the relationships between them, feelings of respect, understanding, trust, all sorts of nice stuff. It’s all about people, it’s all about how we treat each other. One of the things that make me sick to my stomach living on this planet involves how much we emphasize our entitlement above the entitlement of everything else that also happens to be here.

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As long as WE live, as long as WE can breed, as long as WE can survive, as long as WE can drag our miserable lives out, as long as WE can thwart death at every twist and at every turn then everything is hunky-dory. Few people seem to realize the tremendous cost to the rest of the planet having this outlook. The irony is I’m not convinced it’s an authentic outlook. It’s not an outlook we’d normally have if life was left to live it’s course. This outlook is fed to us to suit the agenda of something else I think. It’s an outlook that suspiciously suits the interests of big business – money. You ever wonder what the figures are involving the economy and the amount of revenue being generated by the human-being machine?

So yes; I do feel a little skeptical about any divinely inspired experiences that reinforce this pro-people perspective and continues to put the life of everything else a feint second, or at least any divinely inspired experiences that get interpreted that way. And with these chips on my shoulder I soldier on with the read; And when Joan thought her farts had anything to do with someone getting a shamanic healing it became an issue, when she admitted to being a cosmetics whore it was an issue, when she thought an owl made an appearance at a venue of a place she was going under the influence at had something to do with her it was an issue. When she refused a second dose of a plant she had made a point of wanting to work with during her Ayahuasca retreat in the Amazon that became an issue. And when her husband is taught an icaro and she interprets his experience as having something to do with her it too became an issue.

And so I get to a point where I’m thinking I should never touch another psychedelic in my life again if this is what it does to you. If this is what it sounds like when people get into this stuff then ouch. Okay hang on, there’s a bit of a disconnect going on here. On the one hand it’s a what you think is going on thing versus a wishful thinking thing, on the other hand there’s a thing going on about what bullshit we feed ourselves, what we gravitate towards in our experiences that we use to prop ourselves up with, or use to justify a continued course of action. Or something. I don’t know. Complicated I guess.

Maybe what’s going on with this experience involving this book is me relating to what I’m criticizing about it. I see in Joan’s writing the stuff I write? I wonder if people would see in my writing what I see in Joan’s. It’s not good. What is good is that reading Joan’s book made me think about this stuff. It brought an interesting possibility to mind. It made me think. Going forward I’d like to be a little weary of this, a little weary of doing what it looks like Joan is doing. And if I think about it, it’s not just Joan, it’s not just me. I guess it’s possible a couple of people do it. I think quite a lot of people do it that are into new age type stuff, I think quite a lot of people do it that are into taking psychedelics.

If I do decide to take psychedelics again at some point I think I need to pay a lot of attention to what I turn it into, what I make of the experiences I have before, during and after. I need to figure out how to keep a level head and some kind of semblance of objectivity. And then there’s all this stuff I wrote recently. I’m thinking now about the times I said this or that and what I thought it meant. Did the timing involving N****, J****, the ‘shroom lady in Cape Town have anything to do with anything? That road trip turned out to be quite uneventful as well, am I reading too much into stuff that’s not there, is it possible that it’s there all the time anyway? Does it need to be more than taking a breath, than having a shit for it to mean something?

So in the end I think the question is just what the hell am I expecting..?

At some point I’ve gone to bed, and slept for a bit and then I wake up. I’d left the window open because it had gotten pretty damn hot during the day. I’d woken up because there was a racket going on outside and I could hear it through the open window. There’s an open field pretty close to us, there are birds nesting out there, plovers I think. They make a racket whenever they feel threatened, when people walk past them that kind of thing. But they were making an even bigger racket than usual, it sounded quite traumatic. I remembered passing a couple of them earlier when I walked the dog. I noticed one of them sitting in the field as though they were sitting on an egg. I think what I was hearing was them being visited by something that wanted that egg, maybe a badger, something that didn’t have any good intentions.

I remembered the warm and fuzzy statement Joan had made in her book that I wrote about recently, after she’d had her cigarette dream experience; that thing about a force called love. What was going on outside seemed to be a good parallel to what I felt involving that statement. My own version of it floated to the surface ~ it felt very poetic; “I’ve heard the Sound of Love, and it’s terrible”. The image I had in mind involved the kind of love that we share on this planet, one that helps each thing survive, helps each thing evolve. In some way you could say that, well in this case, the birds had laid an egg and in so doing made an offering to the badger. How much must these birds love the badger for them to offer it their own flesh and blood. Their own offspring?

It must be an incredible amount of love.

Whale Fishing Woodcut.And yet as much as they might love the badger, their offering, their sacrifice was served with a very large dose of protesting, wailing. The image sort of fleshed itself out a bit. To the point that it was the world making an offering to us, the human race, in order that we might survive, that we might prosper, except of course, it too was being served with a great deal of anguish and dread. There’s something going on in here that fits in with the Ouroboros theme (a future entry). Our recent trip to Hermanus came to mind, and what I saw on one of the information boards set up out there; how in the late 1700’s the whales that came here to give birth and to breed were wiped out. In a matter of thirty years about twelve thousand whales had been killed, something like one a day for that whole period. It’s how they got their name – the Southern Right – from the fact that they were the right whale to hunt – they were slow enough to be caught by a rowing boat, and once you killed them they floated so were easy to tow to shore.

How much love must this planet have for us? Something like how much God loved us?

Disclaimer: this and the previous entry involving Joan and her book are meant to be less a review or critique and more just something I’m trying to use as a soundboard to explore what’s in my head. Joan has a website / blog @ Q’enti Wasi – House of the Hummingbird ~ Andean Cosmovision and Sacred Arts for Conscious Evolution (linked) if anyone is interested in who she is or what she does. Ultimately everyone is responsible for their own opinions.

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