A Wordy Rant and Emotional Revelations Within; Read at Your Own Risk

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An emotional pattern is rising to the surface. I’m not sure I can totally categorize what this complex pattern of thoughts and feelings looks like, but I will try my best.

 

I’ve been meaning to write this entry for almost a week now, while the feelings and happenings are still fresh on my mind. God willing, I will be able to take the pain and go from there.

 

Let us begin.

 

Part of my social anxiety- not all of it, but part of it- stems from my fear of confrontation with other people. Just thinking about having an argument or someone getting angry with me causes my adrenal to rush. I don’t want to do or say anything that will invoke someone else’s harshness to come down on me.

 

In my life, avoiding conflict has become almost an art. I can’t handle rejection- of any kind- very well.

 

Low self-esteem can do that.

 

But yes, arguments, fights, being attacked and feeling defenseless in that attack, is one of the sources of my social anxiety. This much I know.

 

This ties in, of course, with the fear of public humiliation.

 

The majority of confrontations in my life have resulted in my feeling guilty, with my being the one who is first to say that I am sorry, with my being the one to swallow my pride, no matter how right I was, and to give in to the other person so that they won’t be angry at me. I am also talented at bringing comfort to people by doing this, and it has been very rare that anyone has apologized to me.

 

For that reason, when someone sincerely apologizes to me, I appreciate their apology more than a starving man would appreciate bread. I appreciate that someone can see that they have hurt me or done me wrong.

 

The emotional pattern that happened recently was a miniature reflection of a much large, on-going process with one of my friends while also being the latest in my own series of emotional hits. It goes something like this:

 

I meet someone, and there are fond feelings there. Shallow or deep, this doesn’t matter; the feeling of comfort and the belief that the person is somehow and somewhere good is there.

 

A disagreement or misunderstand, whether large or small, occurs. The person in question goes on to not only disagree or misunderstand me, but then turns on me, becoming hateful, spiteful, and spinning his own web of lies and deceit in which I am then caught.

 

Before I can defend myself, before I can realize what’s happened, the person has taken up his stance as Judge, Jury, and Executioner; he strikes at me with false accusations that, when reason is applied, are obviously false, but in the heat of the moment bring up rejection after rejection in my life, and I am forever cast out of his life, no matter my relative level of importance to him.

 

At this point, while still believing his attacks on me, I break down, crying.

 

Then I go around, trying to make atonement for the sins I’ve committed- to other people. It’s as though part of me believes that my expressing my love and gratitude for other people, I will be able to garner a larger army, a larger defense on my side.

 

So, maybe a good does come out of it. After all, expressing appreciation and gratitude for others is good, and I mostly just assume that they understand by my actions that I care about them.

 

Then I start feeling guilty about hating the person in question, and I basically beat myself up for not being spiritually advanced enough.

 

This past time, I saw that all these feelings of self-doubt and lack of self-worth and such are preventing me from being close to anyone in a relationship type sense. I had previously not seen this, but the pain I felt when an almost perfect stranger and a completely perfect asshole attacked me, rejected me, and left me to shake with my own tears seemed to be there.

 

It is worse when the people you have known or thought you knew turn on you in this way, yet a perfect stranger reduced me to tears.

 

The night before this happened, a intriguing thought appeared, going back to my youth: why did I believe things people said about me? Why? Why would I automatically believe that if someone said something, good or bad, that it was true?

 

Why did it never occur to me that other people may actually do things that I don’t do- like say nasty things to hurt me, to harm me, because they are jealous of me? Because they really do see something in me that they don’t have, or they really do assume something’s happening in my life that isn’t in theirs?

And all this time, I believed people said mean things to me and attacked me because somewhere, I deserved it or really wasn’t good; I believed they were simply telling me the truth.

 

But what happened to me to keep me from thinking for myself about myself? Why is my self-esteem so low?

 

Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee says that the Teacher can see what these things really mean. However, I do not formally have a guru or teacher, and therefore, I can’t say that my low self-esteem has ever done anything except make me suffer.

 

People are often surprised that I’m not always passive. I am passive a good bit of the time, not making waves, being a good little boy from a culture long since dead and faraway, but when has this benefited anyone? I do have my opinions, but when out in public, when around other people, when people do and say things with which I disagree, I simply smile and nod, not agreeing internally but politely just hearing them out.

 

Please don’t be mistaken, dear reader; I’m not saying that I think less of or look down on the people who have differing opinions. My concern is not what people opine but how they go about it. I have had some of the most fascinating conversations with people who don’t have antagonistic opinions or experiences, just different ones, and that, that is the stuff with which this life is spiced.

 

People say things about me that are misunderstandings of me. I have been accused more than once in my life of being “stuck-up.” The latest rendition is someone using the exact word “snotty” and telling me that I was trying with all my effort to make myself feel better than he.

 

But I’m not stuck-up, or at least I don’t think I am; being polite and reserved in social situations doesn’t mean I think I’m better than anyone. What it does mean is that I respect everyone enough to act in a way that shows I care about them, even if just a little. Being able to conduct one’s self does not mean one thinks one is better.

 

Yes, I may be, in some ways, more educated and more cultured than other people, but those other people are still people, still my fellow humans, and even if they don’t have opinions or perspectives that are as well-reasoned as mine, they still have their own thoughts, feelings, and experiences to share, and many times, it’s simply a matter of giving a person a chance to share herself.

 

Or maybe there is a Shadow side to all this where I really do believe that I’m better than other people, and I simply have been too stupid to see it.

I do think other people give me more credit for intelligence than I deserve. I hear person after person say that I’m intelligent, yet I can see exactly how much I don’t know, I fear that I haven’t learned nearly enough in any field or subject or begun to climb to the ranks of mastering anything, and I’m almost 27 years old- an age that, as a teenager, I believed would see me involved in the world in a professional manner, doing the things I wanted to do, and so on.

 

But here I sit, in my childhood home, with the issues that have plagued me from my childhood.

 

Part of me understands what has to happen- the taking of revenge was the cracking open, the knocking down the wall between my ego and my shadow, the dichotomy no longer a clear dichotomy. I have avoided sinning, I have avoided doing things I believed unethical for fear of what might happen to me.

 

But then, if you see the problem with that, that’s the only reason I haven’t done these things in the past- the fear that karma or God or something would punish me for revenging myself.

 

However, if the same Principle of our world allows a person to hurt me in the first place, I think that the Principle should all me to defend myself. I don’t care anymore- I’m not going to sit down and take things.

 

If that requires me to sin, so be it. The reality is that society counts me as a sinner anyway, and I wonder if the concept that being gay may indeed be a sin may have kept me from actually being intimate in my lifetime to the extent that it has.

 

But no more. Down with that world, down with that world view; down with the world view that I’ve had for so long.

 

This view includes this feeling I’ve had that “other people seem to have this idea of what’s going on, and I’m totally lost; it’s like this big joke that I’m not in on.”

 

But that, my friends, my dear, dear readers, is incorrect; there are far, far too many people I have met during my short life that actually don’t get it whatsoever; they aren’t “in” in something that I’m not, I’m just seeing the idiocy that runs rampant, seeing things too clearly, and I’m confused about why other people are not seeing it.

 

Maybe I was not born with a strong will and the ability to not have my feelings hurt and the power to just blaze through whatever troubles come my way as some people seem to have been. (We’ve all met such people.) But I wish it were that way.

In the argument last Friday, I was told point-blank that I was not worth knowing, that the person in question had no desire to know me. But that was also a misunderstanding; he doesn’t know me, so his desire is ill-placed.

 

Today, I prayed for something that I dare not pray for. I whispered a prayer for something that seems to be like a cheating of everything I’ve ever done, something that seems to be the utmost of selfishness: I prayed for happiness, to be happy.

 

Everything in my life has been oriented in such a way that I think I must have something to be happy- I must be in love, I must feel love, I must suffer first, I must earn my happiness, I must accomplish x, y, and z to be happy, and so on.

 

But to pray directly for my own happiness had never occurred to me. I felt happiness in my heart, that glowing brightness in the upper part of my chest, the sense that everything is going to be okay, that sense that all the arguments and all the ideas and all the problems don’t matter when you’re already happy. Being with someone, not being with someone, being religious, not being religious; none of this matters when you yourself are happy.

 

The happiness wasn’t laced with the poisoned clouds on the horizon of “happy medication,” where one’s problems and darkness still loom, where they’re only held off by medicine that will eventually fade and hurl you into the storm again. The happiness instead was the bright sword of Christ, born happily, a claiming of the birthright of each and every human being.

 

But I have been taught that for me to be happy while another suffers is actually selfish. That doesn’t make sense, though, because it would be almost impossible (save for a miracle) for everyone to become happy at the same time.

 

So instead, I would say that happiness of one’s self must be filled, filled, and filled again until it spills over and helps everyone that you know.

 

I also realized that praying for my own happiness was a change in me, a signal that I wanted to show love to myself. This is a brave, new world, a world in which I will know what it means to love myself.

 

And really, what sense does it make to care what other people think, especially strangers? They don’t know me like I know me; I won’t apologize for the virtues I have, I will not allow my vices to hurt anyone else, so what the bloody Barbara Streisand tampon fuck has the problem been all this time?

More reflections coming soon!

 

Beaux

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Christ as Sacrifice and More Mystic Journeys

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As usual, I’m not sure where to begin this entry.

I spoke with my friend Drew last night, briefly. We discussed our differences in outlooks concerning sinfulness- he has a more Islamic/Buddhist (and, according to Michael, Jewish) view- that humans are essentially good and that we can do evil things, but that the evil things are not evidence of a particular state of being.

My perspective, at this point, is different; everyone may already understand that I think we do have a sinful nature, that we are essentially rotten to the core.

Perhaps I should edit this, and say that it’s more accurate to say that is my fear- my fear is that, in this darkness, there is no God, there is only a Devil, and that we live in a chaotic world where it is the Lord and nothing will stop it from causing us to create destruction and evil, that good is simply an attempt for us to struggle against what’s real- namely, evil.

The intensity of the evil has sense faded but remains with me in a kind of ghostly manner- the smoke after the fire, if you will.

If we humans truly exist in a state where our innate nature is to hurt God (if indeed there is a God that is not Satan), then I am at a loss of what to say about reality, about life, about what the hell’s going on.

On the practical level, when arrested by these situations, the best thing to do is continue spiritual practice. So I’ve continued the dhikr/Hesychasm to the best of my ability, continued the Devotion to the Sacred Heart, and so on.

Then, yesterday, I took a daring turn. I said Mass again, the private Mass that I’ve been saying. I took the risk, knowing that it could potentially kill me, as I would be receiving in unworthily.

Yet, isn’t that part of the nature of Mass? We receive the Eucharist unworthily; we cannot make ourselves worthy. We rely on God’s grace.

And after the Mass, I felt alright, and I obviously did not die.

Later, when I readied myself for meditation, I was praying on my chotki. My chotki is actually a Tibetan Buddhist mala to which I’ve affixed a glitzy cross. It reminds me of Erik’s tree ornament and Jordan’s reference to how crosses of the ancient world were huge, jewel encrusted things. Very gorgeous, very ethereal in its own way.

So there I was, walking around, repeating the name of Christ, naked. I stared at the crucifix, asking all kinds of questions, wondering how these things fit together, what’s really going on. I’m at a loss at this point, because there’s never been anything in the mystical literature that explained what’s been happening to me.

I have looked into Jung’s explanations; he’s my first reference point to the Shadow. Jung posited two equally disturbing ideas that oddly make more sense than I would like for them to: in Jungian terms, the Trinity is, in a manner of speaking, incomplete. The Trinity seeks a Fourth, from the perspective of Masculinity that of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and from the perspective of the Good that of Evil, namely Satan.

Now, this is a terrifying concept; the idea of deifying Satan or that the Devil could in any way complete the Trinity is totally foreign to theology, but at the same time, there is an intuitive appeal to this notion. We see the idea of Good and Evil complementing one another and the destruction that they cause in such cases as The Dark Crystal.

 

But likewise, we see the opposite notion presented in the film Legend, in which the Devil-like entity is eventually destroyed and thrown into a vortex and whatnot.

The Blessed Virgin Mary has, in many cases, all but been lifted into the Trinity; theologically, the Church may officially not recognize her as Divine, but it’s still a reality- Mary is often regarded as being almost as important as Jesus, and, for the Christians that maintain God is exclusively in the masculine, she adds the important missing feminine element.

Personally, I have no problem with Mary’s deification; in fact, I encourage it.

Gnostics have a bit of a different route with this: the Holy Spirit is regarded as God the Mother, and God the Father is entirely beyond anything we can imagine, so “Father” especially becomes a relative term.

 

Anyway, the basic idea here is that somehow, the opposing forces have to have an alchemical fusion.

Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee, the Sufi teacher I’ve followed for so long, has said that we must accept our Shadow. He also says that our darkness becomes our own inner divinity.

That’s terrifying. So terrifying. The notion that somehow there is salvation for the Devil, who then becomes our own personal God.

At the same time, another idea I’ve kicked around is that perhaps the purification of the darkness IS the point- perhaps we are not all sent here to express the Light; perhaps we are sent here with darkness inside of us which we must purify and turn into Light, to redeem it. In other words, the Gnostic myth of Sophia’s fall is precisely what happens to us- except we are both Christ and Sophia, falling and being sent, to capture the darkness in ourselves and redeem it.

Thus, we participate in the act of salvation, being saviors of the universe, even as Christ is often said to be our savior.

Feeling alone doesn’t begin to describe what was going on last night. I just can’t figure out what’s happening, and I avoid thinking excessively about it- instead, I try to ask the important questions, the difficult ones, to face the things that others won’t, can’t, and aren’t.

I began trying to meditate and found it almost impossible to stop any thoughts; my mind was simply too far oriented towards figuring out this puzzle. Again, I’ve not seen anything in the literature I’ve read that explains WHAT TO DO at this point.

 

While trying to meditate, I prayed for the Holy Spirit to help me to pray; She is, after all, the means by which we learn to pray, are taught to pray. I heard a voice call my name, and part of the block in my heart chakra was removed.

Then an epiphany came.

I recalled last year when I was reading Pagan and Christian Creeds the parts about sacrifice and the evolution of sacrifice. I then remembered being at my friend’s birthday party in October of 2010 and standing near the campfire that was outside; I chanted, silently, the Hindu mantra “HUM” which is used for sacrifices, offering the burning fire as a ritual to God.

The feeling, the desire, to offer a sacrifice to a God is extremely primal, and then I realized something else: offering the Sacrifice of the Mass is synonymous with this. I realized that part of the ritual that is so important is that we’re programmed to sacrifice, to give up, to atone.

The longing returned to my heart. I realized that Christ is the Sacrifice, the Sacrifice to continually and eternally be offered to God. The importance of this realization is that Christ can at any time and any place be offered in our hearts to God.

So in all my beliefs about my wretchedness, in all my self-hatred, I came to a similar conclusion of Luther, in that I had to also accept God’s grace. That doesn’t mean that my penance has been for nothing; that doesn’t mean that my actions have not led me to where I am. Rather, it means that I affirm that the Mystery of Salvation takes place by the cooperation of Man and God, through Man’s Free Will and God’s Grace.

This, too, is exemplified in Christ- Christ is both God and Man, together, joining the natures. How perfect a Sacrifice!

God became man that man might become God.

I can’t begin to emphasize the importance of the Sacrificial nature of the Mass. This whole “let’s just remember Jesus” bullshit isn’t going to get us anywhere.

The epiphany had a greater character last night and has left and impression on me, though I’m waiting to see what happens next, because no one knows.

The oddness is how I’m still convinced that Christ can be offered to anything; it’s so strange to go from fearing that there is only an evil god ruling the world to somehow knowing that Christ can be given to God Most High.

Incidentally, that name is “El Elyon,” which can be easily read as “Alien.” If God turns out to be a grey alien, well, He can go ahead and delete me.

Beaux 

Meditation and a Grey Alien: Everyone’s Wondering About This

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On Facebook, I wrote recently of my encounter with a Grey Alien.

Now, naturally, this may sound like I’m rehashing a story of a typical UFO abductee, but I am not, as I was not an abductee or even a contact-ee or anything along those lines. This experience simply occurred in the context of meditation, a fairly deep meditation at that.

Most of my friends and family know that the Grey Aliens have terrified me since around age 5. If you want to see the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen, Google Whitley Strieber’s book Communion, and that face on the front has never been matched in the world in terms of fear.

Some would immediately interpret this to mean that I’ve been abducted, but I find that to be a dubious notion. The image is archetypically frightening, as someone once pointed out- the enormous, slanted eyes with no iris and no apparent soul in them, the pale, withered skin, not unlike a corpse. But that wouldn’t explain exactly why the image traumatized me and why later on I would burst into tears at the mere sight of it.

During the contemplation, the deep mulling over my feelings and just outright feeling them, I had the impression of being in a room with a Grey Alien. She didn’t move her mouth; instead, I heard a definitive female voice all around me. She appeared to wear a cloak of some sort and explained things to me. Having been terrified of Greys all my life, I found it strange that I wasn’t afraid here- in fact, quite the opposite; I found myself completely at peace and relaxed.

Later on, I continued the meditation, and discovered a few things. First, the alien had a name: she called herself “Saiya,” or my mind gave her that name or some along those lines. Second, her skin wasn’t grey- it was white, pure white, like light. Third, her eyes weren’t black voids- they were sky blue, beautiful, pure, and clear.

She had the quality and feel of something quite natural and vital, much like one would imagine a butterfly, a rain drop, or a flower. Something about her was Holy and Beautiful, almost Angelic.

I also want to note that this happened at quite a deep level of meditation and relaxation; at this point, I kept fading in and out, my thoughts stopping and my simply existing, probably quite closed to the so-called “Dhyana” of the Hindu tradition. No time was lost, though; I could account for everything for the most part. Again, there was no fear of “Saiya.”

So to Van Tilden, I must say that I wish you could experience that kind of peace and motherly feminine nature, as that would rather solve the fear of the aliens for you, I think. I can’t say that the fear is completely gone, but I do know that it substantially decreased, because there’s a new understanding or perspective that I haven’t had before.

As to whether or not aliens actually exist or what this experience really means, I can’t give a definitive answer; what I do know is that I would trust the part of myself appearing as “Saiya” because that kind of peace isn’t given to us every day.

Beaux

UPDATE: Okay, I wasn’t sure when this happened how the name was spelled; the first impression was “Saya,” which sounds like “Sah-Yah.” “Saiya” just sounds more like Americans would say it, but I looked up the meaning of the word “Saya,” and talk about freaky: in Hindi, it means “Shadow.” Thus, I would say that “Saya” and the Greys have been my own psychological Shadow- and it’s long been thought on my part that the Grey Aliens are a kind of modern-day space-age analogy to the Devil and Demons and so on.

So Saya is then likely my own Shadow, my own Carnal or Animal nature in Jungian terms.

That’s an INTERESTING coincidence, to say the least. She’s beautiful.