The E V O L U T I O N of Consciousness

gillfinn

gillfinn: gillfinn: I am that I am. Сontinue on Pocketnet: https://pocketnet.app/gillfinn?report=followers&ref=PQEqYgrRMUeuenuAFdpeStfJYvuYLVgBdi

Daria’s Revenge and the Legend of Freezer Man

He lives in a freezer. The freezer is located within a deli, “Zurie’s” on Hudson Street in Manhattan, not so far south from Hell’s Kitchen.

He is a strange tiny man and those that know him or knew of him simply call him, ‘freezer man.’ 

That bad man.

-Tash Zurie-

Then

In toward the center of a perfect afternoon a man named, Pike, stopped within the Hudson Deli for his usual lunch, two thick slices of Danish Dill Havarti, slightly warmed under the broiler and a cool glass of Piesporter Goldtropfchen.

He shivered constantly. 

Tash Zurie, the Jamaican waitress who worked one day a week, offered a tattered orange Afghan. This was a day that may have squeezed itself in when no one was looking, a surplus of twenty-four hours when unusual types of lower fourth dimensional occurrences might take place. 

His shaking made Tash uneasy as she smoothed the brindled fringe of colored tassels.

Rumors ran rampant Tash Zurie had mastered, mojo. She spoke in a low type of canted utterance.

She was guided in movement by an unseen push, a presence in her person that made her seem noble, almost benevolent.

Tash Zurie also worked as a seamstress in a small Laundromat not far from the deli. She chalked sidewalk signs during the summer in front of local businesses along Hudson Street. She possessed an almost surreal talent and the lilt of her singing as she drew, haunted the stoops along Hudson with a personal type of charter.

She cleaned homes and delivered groceries as well. 

Tash was almost reptilian in her deliberate motion, always pausing before finishing a gesture, smooth and serene with no wasted effect.

Before

Pike had been a member of the Hellfire Club, a reputed lodge of the Freemasons of which he was Grand Master. He’d manipulated political elections for personal gain and ruined many careers of those that had crossed him. Pike never married, but years ago a woman had lived in his home for a period of time. 

She was an artist whom Pike had met one night at a lodge ball, her name was Daria. She’d been invited by lodge members to display her work, Pike had initially been attracted to her dialect. 

She was Jamaican and quite beautiful. 

He bought four of her paintings that very evening. 

Pike pursued her for months, but Daria felt a strange energy about him, an aura of seething, an occulted type spirit or negative energy, he kept it barely hidden she felt, as though he wanted it on the ‘edge’, or displayed. As time and days went along, so did her apprehension, it seemed unwarranted or mistaken. Pike became a facet, a path for her to explore with alacrity, she was young and there were many ports of opportunity. 

Eventually, after numerous attempts to attract her, she relented and in a few months found him a pleasurable enigma. Daria abandoned her tiny apartment and moved into Pike’s lavish townhouse. He built her a studio in a corner room with sky lights that opened to the roof. She painted for hours in the loft listening to the city below, thankful for her nest above it all.

Things seemed to be better than Daria could have imagined. Pike was attentive to her needs and for a long while she'd forgotten ever doubting him. He would ask her to read aloud to him while reclining in a massive chair with his eyes closed. He wore a strange smile about his face, as though a game, or a surprise was on the way. Her voice seemed outside of her own body, as though some kind of delay had been employed and they were both being read to by another. It was unsettling to her, but at the same time mesmerizing, an orchestration of the ‘moment’ by unseen forces. She read from books that had escaped the razing of Carthage by the Romans, words that by themselves carried spells of ages and created an entire atmosphere within the universe of her own mind.

Today

Pike sat at that tiny table within the windowed alcove of the deli. The table he’d wait for indefinitely if it weren’t available. 

He never spoke much. 

It was known by now what he’d eat and drink. His needs were minimal, but he drew attention, as watching a dark sky, waiting for that first peal of thunder.

He sat, hovering over the melted Havarti and treasuring each sip of his sweet German wine. It was late this afternoon and sun slivered through the window just below his eyes. A ceiling fan turned slowly with a creak at each revolution and tiny specks of dust rode invisible waves of its creation.

The deli would close in half an hour. The odors of cooking were receding into the passing of this rare day. His shiver seemed to increase, and the tremor toppled the jelling Havarti from its fork perch. 

Tash Zurie raised her arms, the Afghan hanging between her hands. 

“Would ya need a cover deer ta keep deem shivers away?” she asked, and the sun cut the two in drastic contrast while those pins of dust hung in orbit eddies, pushed by the off kilter fan. 

Pike's eyes drilled the stark window as all took place in a continuous whir.

Cheese crept then plunged past the back of his tongue and beyond his throat, bulging the esophagus and causing Pike to wince in an almost smile. The bulb of wine, rose, its stem pinched between thumb and forefinger in a pulsing tremble. It waited there, until command drove it toward his mouth. He gulped the tepid wine as the small blanket and Tash Zurie splashed their presence within his periphery. His lips parted slight as a crack, the lump sliding its way down in a slurry toward the stomach.

He swallowed and placed the glass neatly near his fork.

“If it makes you feel better,” he rattled, cleared his throat, then began to shiver again.

Before

After the passing of a few months, Daria found herself pregnant. It seemed a natural progression, a passage, a time that had been pre-determined just as the changing of the seasons, but now and then she seemed outside her self, separate at times from her own mind and body. Surely she was being drawn to a dark place and all roads lead back to him, but she told herself she was wrong and truly believed it. She forced ‘good days’ on herself, despite the negative underpinnings. She painted and escaped to the edges of imagination, sometimes feeling most of her inspiration coming from this bursting evolution within her belly. Daria floated through these days, oblivious to the passing of time and enveloped in her colors passing along the face of canvas.

And on an afternoon that found her sliding between consciousness and creativity, voices, below her, rose as unwelcome energy. All at once the sudden pound of the city below mixed with the urgency of this muted conversation.

 That was the day Pike sent her to a hospital in upstate New York. She’d been drugged for weeks with subtle opioid teas consumed regularly. Months went by and whenever she attempted to ask questions she was met with kind smiles and powerful drugs. She felt the baby kick at times even when unconscious and in different worlds within her mind. Occasionally she would wake long enough to gauge her predicament, but her body seemed not to be her own. Pike was there at times behind different faces, his, but evil replicas.  Daria held to a rock in a corner of her soul during mindless storms, days were grey pictures in their rumpled passing. 

She woke suddenly in the middle of a day, an empty afternoon, lucid and warm, she reached for the familiar mound of her belly and found a collapse. Gone. And somewhere within her mind and body, drugs or mercy enveloped Daria, she howled in that room and never left. Outside the brick walls, a tiny blue wren bound her anguish within its own imparting lilt.  

Pike sold her paintings at auction and sold the baby to a human trafficker.

Today

The Afghan was lowered across his trembling scapulas and he cringed. The Havarti slowed to a clog in his throat and he muffled a scream.

Pike shrunk beneath the orange knit blanket. Tash Zurie spoke to them both in a low murmur, she undulated in a tacit pattern. He coughed, his eyes peeled along her body and over went his wine glass, just a thunk, the remaining gulp a ragged half-moon across the beige cloth.

“Der, deer now, ya get smaller, and Tash put yaway.” She smiled a sweet bright smile.

Pike froze and got smaller. 

There was nothing he could do, his days of twisting fates had come to this, a malevolent finish scribed by an overworked Jamaican waitress. 

Pike could no more see over the former tiny table, the seat of the chair splayed out in front of him, shockingly expansive. He was grabbing his throat, croaking like a baby bird and out popped a minuscule point of Havarti cheese. He reeled back on his hands, his little red face gulping in utter awe. 

Tash, bent at her waist and scooped the Afghan. He looked up at her as she cradled the diminutive bug of a man, his angry words spiked the silence, he tried to get to his feet and Tash pinned him to her palm with a smooth index finger. He thrashed and spewed. Again, came her spontaneous smile

Tash Zurie placed the little Pike into a darkened corner of the freezer within the Hudson Deli. He was completely aware of the moment, the quiet, the cold and the karma. He felt the dark and at the same time, the careful handling of the frail fraction of himself. In the moment before the door closed, Pike tasted the last of that wine and Havarti within a nervous burp, a puff in a cloud of frozen air. For a time he pushed his way around in the black cold, the interior fan rattled within its frame, matching the cadence of the outside ceiling fan. Of course Pike had no idea the universe in all its benevolent parity was simply maintaining balances within itself on behalf of its many soul children.

He braced himself, still in disbelief, stumbling in the dark, crunching the ice with his tiny feet, he began to repent sincerely as we all do when all seems lost as it now was. He felt his way back to where he’d been put, sure that mercy might reign from her sweet heart, that door would open, warm air would rush in and she’d not hear his laugh. But the universe knew, the creator of all balance, the mediator justified the moment and the cold found its way, slowly sure and complete.

Outside the Zurie deli, Hudson Street held its charm within the city, its secret was so small, but important to the variance of colors rendered there amongst the others. No bricks in walls more important than the others, no leaves with less purpose amongst the trees in the streets. She labored in love on her knees by the stoop, tips of soft chalk blended with the pores of the Belgian block. Those that passed by, stopped and stared as long as the sky allowed, temporary art outside his favorite flavors, the Zurie Deli, last home to him.

A chalk likeness of her Mother, near the deli in the summer, in the street, beneath where he’d walked on his way inside.

“Daria’s Revenge.”  These words below the art would relent, inevitable under rain and the traffic of feet, but Tash would return in moments she’d spared, by her box of chalk fingers, Mother would reappear, there, through the splendor of her daughter’s soul.

 And as days filled new years, Tash Zurie would repeat that quiet chant to herself.

“Come home now mama, come home. Bandulu Babylon gone to bloodfire, come home now mama come home.”

The End

GJH 10 

Prophecy Heard

Well, you can't say we weren't warned. 

cc8651b59cdfae70318c8be1094bc765e60e5cd5bd7ad34b67

“The Assembly of My Consciousness”

“The Assembly of My Consciousness”

In nature there are neither rewards nor punishment; there are consequences.Robert Ingersoll 

Im working on something that I consider extremely important for reasons known only to me. Because that’s when something like this popped up—- when I was born.

Yes, I’m using the past tenses, ‘popped’ and ‘born’, because I’ve been putting this puzzle of ‘me’ together for that long, and, things are just beginning to come into view.

For instance, after all those years of struggling through school, I’ve finally understood that my life’s meaning is entirely up to me. By that I mean, understanding all the stuff, all the supposedly unimportant things like what goes on outside of all forms of education. Because one of the most amazing things I’ve learned on my own is that official education gets your mind in synch with everything that the people who’ve designed the system of education want it to be in synch with.

For instance, it allows us to progress through a series of ‘grades’ or programs if we’re able to remember information and regurgitate it a satisfactory manner to garner a passing score.

Of course, again, these opinions are being manufactured by the mind of a ‘failed organism’ according to the ‘controlling mechanism’ called, education. I fully grasp the importance and theory of education, without it I’d not be able to so loosely take a ‘stab’ at it.

I’ve always seen myself as not ‘dumb’, meaning I’ve considered myself intelligent enough to live comfortably on the outskirts of the masquerade.

Living on the outside looking in is all I’ve ever known, and sometimes during my life so far, I’d actually joined the ‘masquerade’ according to its rules. I shoehorned my way in out of necessity according to my own dictates—which were wrong.

I’ve always gone back to my zone of comfort. I have at times lived vicariously in my own life, imagining myself a ‘success’ by the defining margins of the masquerade.

And, I understand that most who’ve made it this far will not understand what it is I’m writing about, but at some point everyone, in their own way, will. Because, after all, the most precious jewel of eternity is our life within it.

I think after enough time has gone by, I realize my life (because it’s the only one I can realize) has not gone by in a linear fashion, not as a story with a beginning, middle, and end. But it’s been more of a ‘transpiration’, and here is the definition of that same word:

“Transpiration is the process of water movement through a plant and its evaporation from aerial parts, such as from leaves but also from stems and flowers. Leaf surfaces are dotted with pores which are called stomata, and in most plants they are more numerous on the undersides of the foliage. The stomata are bordered by guard cells and their stomatal accessory cells (together known as stomatal complex) that open and close the pore. Transpiration occurs through the stomatal apertures, and can be thought of as a necessary "cost" associated with the opening of the stomata to allow the diffusion of carbon dioxide gas from the air for photosynthesis. Transpiration also cools plants, changes osmotic pressure of cells, and enables mass flow of mineral nutrients and water from roots to shoots.”

Okay, now the reason I’ve come to this conclusion (for myself) is simple. I’m of the firm belief that we’re all part of the hologram of the ‘whole’. That being said, it would seem obvious that none of this would fall under any category of general education within the mainstream structure/culture.

The ‘masquerade’ I refer to is simply the illusion (I believe) and I’m not nearly alone within it (this belief) exists for the sole/soul purpose of a defined mechanism of control. The control mechanism also by loose definition operates as a hologram of manmade proportions called compartmentalization. Every spoke within the ‘wheel’ of this structure is controlled in this very manner. Religion, banking/finance, medicine, government, education, legal system, media etc..

We’re ‘acquired’ by this mechanism/apparatus/procedure far before we can remember anything of consequence. Our parents, also products of the mask (masquerade takes too long) begin our indoctrinations from the very first day we arrive.

Just as a plant will become accustomed to its place of ‘birth’, pot or field, its growth life can be manipulated, both mechanically and naturally. It can thrive in either environment, but what potential has that plant been robbed of if it falls under any type of manmade/mechanical manipulation, would we ever know if we didn’t see both environs? 

Definition: ORIGIN Middle English (formerly also as inviron): from Old French environer, from environ ‘surroundings.

I know this may spur internal argument among some, but it’s meant to be a purposeful generalization.

For generations (I believe) we humans have been among the potted variety. Those with ‘degrees’ I would expect look at this type of thinking as completely insane at best. Thank you.

I’m seeing now, for myself, feeling my roots of ‘new growth’ just by writing about it and I understand through this medium, or many others, we can ‘explode/explore’ our horizons in any positive direction of our choice. We can see the limits of education as a ‘fence’, a limit after the attaining of a title, or the attaining of ‘degree’, it becomes an inflationary device for the ego, a self imposed (expensive) defensive position. I understand as well, I’d appear as a disgruntled cast off by the same system, an angry ‘system’ assassin.

There’s nothing I can do about that, to the reader I’d seem to be fighting a losing battle. I’m only writing about my own perception of this experience, for me. How else can it be written by me? And ultimately, it’s the system in which we live that hands down the dictates of ‘higher education’ for the expressed motivation of ‘service’. Service to what/whom? It would appear to me that it’s service to the corporation/compartmentalization of control. Why else would we make that decision based upon the same education to that end, to continue our education (expensive commitment) to attain some type of license/degree?

Whom are we serving? Are we serving the important growth of personal spirit, helping the less fortunate, assisting technology to serve as opposed to ‘sell’? I can’t speak for any others and unfortunately we’ve seemed to have given our direction/growth/spirit to the takers, those that have been taking for generations, while surrounding their compartmentalization with the bodies of ‘potted masks’, living day by day in a root bound existence.

Melodramatic? Maybe, but rolling out my inner process, is by itself a process, and with it comes a divination. How else can I forge a means of growth if I always look outside of my own discernment? It would seem nearly impossible. Formal, continuation of education (to me) has always seemed a ‘direction’ or road built by others as a ‘one size’ fits all dispensary of the applied technique of manipulation. Maybe, we’re not seeing, collectively, that certain forms of education are not unlike applying a bridle to a wild horse. Whom begins serving whom?

The Attainment of Position

Live all you can - it's a mistake not to. It doesn't so much matter what you do in particular, so long as you have your life. If you haven't had that, what have you had?-Henry James- 1903

Without question, there is the concept of ‘reward’ upon accomplishment. From the time we’re children until we retire from formal service, whether corporate or military, we are rewarded, or not.

In the military we receive a commendation, and sometimes, most importantly a change of rank along with decoration and command/salary.

In the corporate world/environment, praise is lavished followed (hopefully) with a position change, corporate officer, salary increase.

In religion, a priest/ mediatory agent between humans and one or more deities, would hope to move along through more powerful appointments within the church structure.

Doctors, lawyers, police, politicians, store clerk, etc…all working for the anointment of attainment.

Aspirations of position within that department/ company/ town/ city/ corporation inside that construct for some one, some other, somewhere. For at the end of a single day in the middle of all that we’re really seeking more freedom. Freedom from perception of ourselves, or how others perceive us, freedom from the very work we do?

Again, these are questions I have had for myself as I’ve looked from the outside in and briefly dabbled within the ‘greenhouse’ of oblivion as I see it. And I’ve often thought to myself, that when the time comes for me to die, will I perceive that my time is about to end or will I just experience it? Will I feel confident that I’ve wrangled my way through the maze/maize of external control much as a human pinball might? Or, will I be ready for this ‘experience’ to end, having ‘learned’ for myself, the things that were important to me, regardless of my self imposed deviation from ‘proper’ service?

I won’t know till then I suppose. I can only keep recording the process and sharing as I go, despite the warnings from our appointed leaders of our impending doom.

And if we all saw in ourselves, the built— in guidance we possess, then we’d probably be looking over the heads of the self proclaimed leaders if we even noticed them at all.

If we were left with minimal education, but given free reign/rain over our individual growth, then how could the sky not be our only limit?

The ‘attainment of position’ would be left only to our imaginations as opposed to the parameters of a description of duty/service within a construct of some other direction/motivation.

So, wouldn’t the assembly of consciousness be more of a realization, than an assembly? I’m questioning myself because I’m really not sure. Every day I’m divesting more of my attention from the usurpers and in-vesting it within my own awareness. It’s my belief, because it can only be mine, if this becomes a constant, then eventually the need for money will leave the equation of control/corpse/corporation and individuals will become aware of what ‘feels’ good and ‘right’ like the ‘combination’ of a locked door. It will remain opened for all as opposed to a few. The bridge of perceived necessity/money will be replaced by the instant value of the most supreme of four letter words, love.

Love in our mirror is multi-dimensional, endless, bottomless, all encompassing fulfillment with no need for extraneous control mechanisms. The evolution toward this is realization that value/money, or any perceived representation of it, is simply a means to a beginning, not an end. The controllers clearly saw the opportunity to ‘take’ the spirit of true freedom and wrap it within compartments of attainment, or small pieces of the ‘all’ but never allowing the real freedom of the ‘whole’. This is my admiration of my transpiration before my expiration.

That is ours from beginning to beginning, the control of our personal universe, our contribution to each other. Pure. There is no need for ‘them’ in any of this equation, according to my calculations for me. You’re welcome to see if any of this might apply to your production, after all, it is completely free and open sourced.

Only the innate true meaning of the pursuit of happiness.

Graham Hayward 14

O C E A N

Ocean

I tried to remember the day I was born. According to my certificate of birth, it was on a Monday at 2 pm in the afternoon. I imagine, to me, it was a traumatic experience, life or death still in the balance, no guarantees at that age, susceptible and barely able to breath on my own.

I don’t remember it.

I really don’t recall anything until around the age of five. knowing what I know now, I can see it’s been a series of instructions on how to survive properly after you’ve left the womb. I say, ‘survive properly’ because that means according to the rules laid down ahead of your ‘circle’ of life.

I’m not going into the ‘rules’ because we all know what they are and they differ somewhat according to our parent’s rules and upbringing. They’re imprinted by our parents, extending their own wealth of knowledge, or not, combined with the rules of ‘survival’ within society.
We make mistakes as all living things do, suffer corresponding punishments/adjustments in varying intensities, and life continues on.

We graduate from our training/school platforms with our degrees of study and matriculate out there in the main stream of life. But along with those accomplishments, have come more questions that almost always seem to lead back to that day in the hospital.

That day when I forced, or something forced me out into the shocking atmosphere of earth. You see, up until that time, all was provided for, nature was handling everything. I’m not taking anything away from my Mom, but let’s face it, she was hardwired to do what she did, and she played her part right until the ‘egg timer’ kicked me out on my own.
There is a circle, I thought. I lived within that circle, the circle of family, friends, school, daily occurrences etc…
That circle grew, but it always remained a circle because that’s what circles do, at least that’s what mine seemed to do. I knew my circle well and all that existed within it.

I pushed it as far as I needed to in order to give myself enough room to feel comfortable. There were many days when I’d feel it close up around me, or at least I ‘felt’ that way. Those were the times when I felt the need to ‘push’ further out and increase my ‘familiar’ area.
My circle, was my world on top of the much larger, ‘earth circle’ or world. Out there, outside of my circle of familiarity, was where all the crazy things occurred. The scary things that other people in different countries had to live or die through.

My parents told me some stories about their own experiences within their circles and I listened to friends tell me their own, until one day, I realized that all our circles intersected each others’ and you wouldn’t really be able to tell the beginning or end of anyone else’s circle. For some reason this gave me some kind of personal license to just enjoy the luxuries of multiple circles. It reminded me of waves in the ocean. I could single out one wave/circle, but it was part of the whole of the ocean and it mirrored the entire picture. I began to drive myself crazy because all this information was ‘contradicted’ within the world/circle in which I lived.

School taught me all about separation and borders, people and their differences. I was ‘graded’ on things I never cared to even think about and then reprimanded for ‘failing’ to comply with the correct regurgitation of that information.

I was confused within my circle and sometimes because of this I’d feel my circle begin to get smaller and close in around me. It made me too aware that I was only a tiny circle within the universe and all I gave my attention to was of no significance within the dictates of those that controlled the bigger circle/earth we all lived upon.

The only thing that kept me hopeful was that no matter how bad things got within my circle, no one could stop the bigger, more important circle/earth and remove me, or tell me to get off. I began prove to myself the only thing that could cause me any pain or discomfort was, me. The earth kept spinning around and I kept breathing regardless of how bad I was told things would get for me.

I know, as we all do, that one day my body will cease to operate just as a tree loses its ‘green’ essence and remains in its place but at the same time gone. Where? Back to the same place/ocean from where it came. As the sun’s light reflects back to its source and back again, so goes that circle from the inside out.
We came from that source to fill/activate a human existence/life upon this cell/circle/earth and will eventually return back and again. So knowing this, I began to understand that all the ‘drama/news’ and supposed consequence of life is only an experience of the individual amongst the whole of the ocean/wave and back again within the mirror.
It’s yours and yours alone.

If that sounds confusing than think of something as simple as rain. It falls, it evaporates back to where it came from, and falls again, to infinity. The drops, our essence/soul, comprises the whole/universe/ocean/hologram, It is, we are, infinite, and all as important to the whole, as the individual to their own circle containing their experience.

The moral of this overall essay then, would simply have to be just as Bill Hicks said: “Life is just a ride”. We can’t accept/deny anything within our own circles that we don’t invest our attention to. You do not have to invest/waste your time with anything you don’t care to. The controllers try to control your experience for that very reason.

They want our attention and energy separated from the whole of the ocean/power of the sun/light from where we came, and where we’ll return, regardless of any of the drama they try to inject within our individual circles. If one knows and believes all of this, then how can you fail within your own life? It’s impossible, because all that is connected to nature is in fact ‘possible,’ it brought you here didn’t it?

Peace.
Graham