Thursday, December 28, 2017

SKEPTICISM REVISITED



American columnist Russell Baker has a theory that most people do not really know how to respond to good news. They can tolerate a certain amount of bad news - which gives them a sense of relief that it did not happen to them - but GOOD NEWS is too hard to take without a measure of disbelief.

It is a bit like meeting a beautiful person and feeling that this could turn out to be the greatest love story of all time - but suddenly a shrill voice inside says, “Be careful, don’t get swept away. It might only last a week and then… POOF!”

Having had our hopes dashed against the rocks over and over again, we have acquired a sort of psychological armor against disappointment. In effect we have become victims of our own protective skepticism.

But there is healthy skepticism and there is unhealthy skepticism. If a huge banking corporation advertises that it has streamlined its operations “to serve you better,” it is healthy to wonder whether that really means it has just retrenched 15 per cent of its counter staff and installed more automated tellers to serve itself, and not necessarily you, better. In such a situation the exercise of healthy skepticism helps immunize us against exploitative propaganda.

Now if someone announces that his Uncle Harry, who was dying of cancer, was miraculously cured after a vision, the unhealthy skeptic might react in one of several possible ways: he might say it was pure coincidence, a freak event, a chance in a million; or maybe Uncle Harry never really had cancer, he just imagined he did; or so what if he is cured, Uncle Harry is already 68 and does not have that much time left anyway.


So when the Berlin Wall crumbled on 9 November 1989, the unhealthy skeptic could only shake his head like an expert and say: “Don’t be naive, things will never change.” And he blames ‘human nature’ - which he sees as basically deceitful, even treacherous.

Therein lies the problem. Perhaps human nature should not be given such a bad name. After all, it is not a concrete substance - it is just a whole set of beliefs and prejudices and fears. Yes, it is all ‘software’: alter the programming and the entire game changes.

The Wall divided Berlin for 28 years. It was the symbol of the conflict between ‘yin’ and ‘yang,’ between our left brain and our right, between East and West. It was the wall that proclaimed: “Never the twain shall meet!”

Every time a wall is erected we feel a sense of oppression. Every time we see a bridge being built we feel a sense of anticipation. Walls represent our fear, our hate, our sense of isolation. And this has little to do with our need for privacy: for that a friendly hedge or bamboo screen is enough. But the Wall of Walls went, setting free the tears of incredulous joy and a tidal wave of HOPE.

January 1990

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

THE BEGINNING NEVER ENDS (revisited)



It was definitely worth the wait.

26,000 years... was that how long it took? Then... ZAP! Nightmare over. The Dream Come True. Dripping wet.

Got to get rid of the old skepticism. Survival mechanism. No need for that anymore. Well, maybe a hint of irony now and again won't hurt. Call me a sentimental old fool. I still have a calendar from the Old Reality. It's in a rusty filing cabinet along with ancient letters, photographs, yellowed newspaper articles from the 1980s; personal memorabilia from the days when I was still a "person."

There it is: the last United World College Global Concerns Calendar, marked 2023. Whew, what a year THAT was...

Noia, ink'ala ne hav'la vo ki'a. Vek'ila ya nei'a, a'vo?

Aion gazed at his young wife and smiled.

She looked up from the VR monitor and winked at him. Fascinating stuff, the early history of the Pleiades. I was just starting on Merope.

Aion had been wedded to Noia long enough to receive her thought signals with almost full resolution. She'd never really been into speech all that much though when she felt particularly cheerful she was known to babble like a mountain brook.

Watch out! You've inspired another poem, Aion flashed back at his mate. He kissed her smooth brown shoulder and rested his hand on her belly. "I'm hungry, how about you?" he asked, vocally.

Noia cocked her head and then nodded enthusiastically, hitting the pause control on her Virtual Reality console. They strolled out into the palace gardens, hand in hand, clucking to the cockatoos who were, as usual, clowning around with Saint Peter the pangolin.

"Eh Pedro, getting more than a little cocky, aren't you?" Aion quipped, bending to tickle the scaly anteater under his furry snout. The gentle creature licked Aion's hand with lazy flicks of its sticky tongue and gazed affectionately at the humans. Noia giggled and flung off her pareo, enjoying the perfect sunshine on this truest of blue-sky days.

"And to think you used to keep your sarong on in the shower," Aion laughed and followed suit - only he wasn't wearing a pareo but his favorite Chinese silk loon pants.

Aion and Noia had met and married back in the mid-Nineties, just before the Old Reality phased itself out. She had been a mere 22 Earth years and he already a well-preserved 44. Age was a major concern in the Age of Death, Disease, and Decay.

Incredible, really, to have witnessed and participated in the Transition. Never before in the entire history of Creation had such a phenomenon been experienced. Linear Time quantum-jumping the Spiral of Galactic Synchronization and bursting forth into Spherical Time. Science fantasy, sword and sorcery, fairy tale and News of the World all rolled into one. Real estate, insurance, politics, banks, and bureaucracy all a thing of the so-called Past... ha, remember when there were lawyers all over this planet? There were even humans who played the role of Judges. They sometimes sentenced other humans to death. Unbelievable... but it wasn't all that long ago, to use an old-fashioned and now totally meaningless phrase.

"Let's see... what shall we eat?" Aion said, more to himself than to Noia, who was already keying in her order at the dining pavilion. He scanned the day's menu on the smoky quartz screen built into the oval table of polished stone. Broccoli with cheese sauce? Chee cheong fun with cordyceps? Ghee rice with pumpkin curry? Macaroni soup and asparagus spears? Wild honey on buttered toast? How about some good old yong tow foo?

Noia was grinning impishly when Aion glanced up at her. On the grail table sat two tempting plates of Hainanese chicken rice, two steaming bowls of leek soup, and a side serving of juicy bean sprouts. Feeling a touch nostalgic for the vanished ways, after all that history! "What's your drink? Preserved kumquat and honey?"

Aion had to smile. "Why not?" Back in the old 3-dimensional reality, humans ate a fantastic amount of chicken. Billions of birds were slaughtered each day to feed the "dominant species." Incubator-hatched from eggs and raised in "scientifically designed” batteries, the poor fowls never once got to peck at real dirt in a farmyard. The same foul treatment was meted out to pigs, goats, cattle, fish, sheep, and even plant species.

And if you consider that inhuman, you won't believe some of the ways humans treated other humans - especially those deemed inferior or a potential threat to their excessive lifestyles.

As they tucked into the totally delicious, molecularly reconstituted meal, Aion slipped briefly into a meditative retroscan of the amazing breakthrough in +2018 O.R. (Old Reality) when a critical mass of humans, determined to stop exploiting other lifeforms, began expressing their collective will. This resulted in a switch to the trinary code (IAO) which made it possible to obtain holographically perfect digital samples of all bio-matter on the planet and store it permanently in the crystalline hard memory of the Earth - dubbed the Diamond Sutra - and retrieve the information at will for high-speed organic reconstitution and 3D printing.

For instance, we were able to extract a complete hologram sample of the healthiest, happiest hen that ever ranged freely on a well-kept farm - and use the basic data to generate an infinite supply of chicken to every finger-lickin' chicken-lover in the universe - without ever having to catch a live specimen and kill it and boil the feathers off and so on. The same technique was applied to pigs, goats, cattle, fish, sheep, and every edible plant species on the planet.

This was how we ushered in the Age of Abundance, which instantly rendered all previous notions of strategic survival behavior irrelevant and obsolete. The Quest for the Grail was finally over: the sacred vessel that sustained all life, the proverbial cornucopia, the fountain of eternal renewal had been discovered - and her name was Gaia-Sophia, also known as planet Earth.

People still planted vegetables and flowers and kept poultry and other animals around their yards; and sheep and cattle continued to graze on green pastures. And fish continued to swim in streams and lakes and oceans. Everything carried on more or less as before. But now no lifeform existed merely to play a part in the endless food chain. Now they existed for the sheer pleasure of it.

And when that wore thin, each could seek out a Transmutation Vortex where its vital force could release itself into new adventures, while the organic structures were destructured and recycled into the energy-matter continuum ad infinitum.

It wasn't till +2033 that humans embarked on the process of translating themselves into pure trinary encodings and immersing themselves wholly in the Diamond Sutra, thus freeing themselves of their dense hydrocarbon-protein spacesuits - which could be swiftly reconstituted and worn anytime they felt like an excursion into the lower frequency zones.

Just for "old time's sake," Aion lit a reconstituted cigarette and leaned back contentedly. Noia cleared the grail table with a few deft movements of her right index finger on the recessed keyboard. DELETE LUNCH? OK. Done. Then she burst into an expression of radiant joy. "Oy, tengok siapa datang!" she broke out in her ancient mother tongue. Look who's here!

"Chuen!" Aion leapt to his feet and hugged his 29-year-old son, who had reconstituted his physical form in the garden. Noia lost no time joining the embrace: One again! Divine bliss rippled through the dimensions, causing some single-celled organisms somewhere in a different universe to divide and reproduce prolifically.

Chuen had just returned from his latest mission in some remote Hypoallergenic Zone of the galaxy where diehard divisionists with chronic dystopia were insistent on living by the deadly laws of Duality. Even the Corpus Christi had to endure the occasional breakout of moral scabies.

At 29 Chuen was the youngest Star Commander of the ICYF (Intergalactic Confederation Youth Fleet). He grinned, impish just like his mother, and wrinkled his nose at his father's tobacco smoke. "Long time since I indulged," he said in English (one of 17 languages at his command) and accepted a nicotine stick from his never-aging Old Man. Chuen took a long drag and exhaled like some retro French movie star. "Hey, how about a nice cup of tea to go with this?"

"Susu mau?" Aion looked up from the grail keyboard. Milky tea for everyone? Noia and Chuen nodded, and plonked themselves into a giant hammock under the mango trees.

Knew I'd find you both frolicking in your favorite paradise program. Chuen generally communicated telepathically with his mother. Noia kissed her son on his nose. You know we're comfortable here, but it would be great to have you with us more often.

Aion came over with three mugs of tea and placed two on the mossy turf below the hammock. "Room for one more?"

Noia gave Chuen a wet kiss and wriggled out of the hammock. "You can take my place, darling. I promised to meet Sembo, Hani, Maye, Halus and Titit at the waterfall. Women's splashabout, but you two are most welcome. I'm sure the girls would be surprised and delighted to see Chuen."

"Give me a few moments with Daddy," Chuen said. "I have information for him to download. Metaphysical stuff, Mum. Hey, don't tell the girls I'm here. I want to play a little trick on them."

You were well named, Chuen the monkey!
Noia tweaked both their noses affectionately and danced off towards the river, singing.

Aion snuggled into the hammock beside Chuen, sipped his tea, and sighed. "Okay, I'm ready." Chuen put down his mug of tea and placed his right hand on Aion's upturned left palm. He waited till his father's breathing rhythm was in perfect synchronization with his own, and then began downloading.

Soon Aion could feel a tingle in his forebrain as Chuen locked frequencies with him. A huge videoscreen lit up in Aion's mind's eye. Chuen was in his Sananda aspect, the one he favored when transmitting factual information. It was a sort of pharaonic face: gentle, wise, and bearded like the archaic Jesus icons. Chuen chose his Sananda image because he knew Aion's deep memory would be more receptive to inputs from an archetypally recognizable source.

The dreamtime documentary was in 5th dimensional hypertext and cybernetically compressed. Only certain fragments of it can be stepped down into linear language.

All that pain and suffering and seemingly endless horror was necessary, though not inevitable. The experiment could have taken a very different turn. Which it did, in another time track, now flowing concurrently with the present.

What people called "the stony path" - the pilgrimage through the Valley of Death - provided valuable tactile experience which has enriched all realities everywhere. Especially now that it is accessible in mesonic code and no longer virulent to nascent intelligence.

In the separation of inner from outer lies the origins of the self-exploratory game of Us vs Them. Each camp locked in perpetual conflict with its illusory opposite, its Nemesis, each struggling for dominance over the other, the outcome always doomed from the outset - since each would transform into the other at the height of its hostility or fear.

However, the bi-polar combustion was the engine for the Earth's emotional evolution. As she awoke to her true nature, she was able to transmute the fission energy into fusion force, and project her inner crystalline form outward into the heliocosm.

Thus did the Earth attain radiant illumination and initiation into the stellar community via the higher intelligence network within her mineral core and upon the semi-elastic surface of her Dream Body. As she emerged from the Density Beam that marked "recorded history" (i.e., the period from -3113 to +2023 O.R.) the Cosmic Context was reinstated in her consciousness.

Every sentient being on the planet that was receptive to the surge of expanded frequencies was able to ride the crest of that electromagnetic tidal wave into the subtle dimensions beyond the third. The rigid structures upholding economic and political systems rapidly buckled as the electromagnetic grid realigned itself with the Galactic Core and sociocultural control mechanisms immediately broke down. Artificial barriers evaporated like mirages and ancient taboos turned on their heels and died of shock.

You have a question: what became of the tinpot despots, the trigger-happy generalissimos, the secret policemen, and the brigand chiefs? Yes... just a moment. Well, the ones working consciously as anchor points were easily debriefed and transferred to the harmonic heavens on Level Eleven. The ones operating in total unconsciousness are still shadow-boxing in their sleep, safe in their own Quarantine Area, along with others unwilling to let go of their predator programming.

What was the casualty rate? As far as we know, only one-seventh of the human population chose to remain in the Old Reality. For them nothing has happened. The illusion of linear time and history continues to bind them in oscillating melodrama for another 26,000-year Evolutionary Cycle. Or at least till they realize what the Game Plan is all about and release their fearful deathgrip on their inner beings.

Incredible revelations had been accumulating since the final years of the 19th century and by +2018 there was no longer any excuse for any human being anywhere on Earth to plead ignorance. News of clandestine genetic experiments conducted on human and animal specimens by deluded aliens and sanctioned by a secret government had broken. The fantastic origins of the Sphinx and the Great Pyramid Complex at Giza had been disclosed and discussed with excitement around the planet. The mysterious designs on the Nazca plains, the magical calibrations on Mayan monuments, the universal resonance of aboriginal myths and legends had been pointed out and publicly disseminated.

T'he last of the media moguls had converted to the truth - and had committed themselves wholeheartedly to alerting the entire human population to the gigantic electromagnetic tidal wave rippling out from the Alpha and Omega points of the Galactic Core, as our Sun began to merge with its etheric double to form a Greater Central Sun.

Rainbow warrior tribes which had been gathering for two generations were already anchored in their various bioregions, awaiting the signal to take over responsibility as members of the Earth Council for Solar-Planetary Affairs. Over many decades their concerted campaign for the Earth had successfully cushioned the impact of ecocidal destruction, keeping it to a survivable limit.

The Masters had coordinated one final mass illumination exercise in December +2022 when millions of incarnate stellar emissaries ascended amidst celestial displays of unimaginable beauty. Their missions accomplished, they were home free at last. You have only partial recall of that initiation because of your addiction to physical sensory data, but I am helping you to transmute gradually.


Remember when the Temples of Mammon were converted to Community Arts Centers wherein the aesthetically handicapped were able to rehabilitate their perceptions in a colossal celebration of the Creative Spirit? Well, all of this seemingly happened overnight, over a 23-hour period between one Frequency Zone and the next. There will be much deep memory diving to be performed for those of you who were caught in the thick of the action and experienced the Dimensional Shift in semi-trance states.

The final segment of the session required Aion and Chuen to connect breaths and fuse their etheric bodies into a disc-shaped ball of Light. By this means Chuen piloted his beloved father to a Midway Station where a lively conference was in progress.

Aion had attended a few of these celestial powwows before, even in the Old Reality. But the impressions had usually faded like fax images by the time he regained "normal" consciousness on the physical plane. On this occasion Aion was thrilled to return with the energy imprints intact. He felt euphoric and supercharged.

Noia had sneaked up and squeezed herself between Aion and Chuen on the hammock. She giggled like the child she still was in particularly happy moments, hair wet from the waterfall. "Liars! I waited an hour for you two to show up! It was getting too cold."

"Eeesh! You're cold and wet!" Aion yelled, biting her on the nape of her elegant neck. Chuen laughed and laid his curly-haired head on his mother's bosom, sighing with pleasure.

After dinner Noia went off with Chuen to the Sanctuary for some deep healing on her leg. It had been slightly deformed by infantile poliomyelitis - a common disease in the Old Reality - but was now rapidly regaining its proper form and function under Chuen's loving ministrations.

Aion decided to treat himself to some virtual 3D loveplay on the Bionet. Life's a ball, as they used to say, and forever may it be so.


...THE BEGINNING...

[Originally published in JOURNAL ONE, May 1996 © Antares. First posted 2 May 2007]

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Doomsday or Bloomsday? It's Up To Us! (repost)


Just before Christmas in 2009 I was admitted to the intensive care unit of Sungai Buloh Hospital in a semi-delirious state. Blood tests indicated an extraordinary amount of plasmodia from two different strains of malaria. My body was on the verge of total shutdown, so the doctors induced a 5-day coma while they put me on life support.

I have no memory whatsoever of my artificial state of suspended animation. It was perhaps the closest to death I have ever been. Yet for me it was a truly valuable experience: a close encounter with my own mortality that left me with vivid intimations of immortality.

It took me at least two weeks to regain my strength after I was discharged from the hospital, but during my convalescence I became acutely aware of the poignant fragility of living things - and the ephemerality of the physical world. I saw how easily continents can rise and sink, along with cities, nations, entire species.

What brought me crashing down from my usual state of perfect health was a mere mosquito bite. On a planetary scale, that compares with an oil company's attempt to drill a hole seven miles deep below the sea. To Mother Earth, that's no more than a mosquito bite - but it could prove equally lethal to all life on earth.

Nobody really knows the size of the petroleum deposit beneath the Gulf of Mexico. Unless some ingenious method is devised to plug the undersea borehole, crude oil could be gushing into the Gulf Stream for months, even years. Right now Mother Earth appears to be hemorrhaging unstoppably. Alas, her mineralized blood is extremely toxic to all life-forms - except perhaps a few strains of oleaphagic microbes.

Already, doomsday prophets have made their appearance on YouTube, pointing at Revelation 16:3 ["The second angel poured out his bowl into the sea, and it became blood like that of a dead man; and every living thing in the sea died."]

No matter how you look at it, BP has screwed up big time. As usual, there are many who believe this colossal disaster wasn't just an unfortunate byproduct of insatiable corporate greed and hubris - but that it was deliberately engineered by a consortium of oil interests (read Halliburton and cronies) in a byzantine maneuver to secure some devious advantage. I find that really difficult to believe - that anybody could be so irredeemably evil and absolutely irresponsible. But we've already witnessed how some arrogant entities who enjoy playing god are perfectly capable of culling their livestock, and this is precisely how the ruling elite views the masses, as livestock.

Even as this potentially terminal eco-apocalypse unfolds, humans continue to be obsessed with their own petty games of ego-driven competition, oneupmanship and sibling rivalry.

Just look at the knee-jerk reactions of those who have bought into UMNO's repugnant doctrine of Malay Supremacy (which, ironically, is almost identical with the Zionist notion that the God of Abraham hand-picked the Jews as the Chosen People who shall rule over all other tribes). In suffering electoral defeat, rather than concede that their political rivals have earned themselves a turn at the wheel, these modified primates have opted to stir up racial and religious tensions in a futile attempt to scare voters into returning them to power.

While two stags lock antlers over a doe in heat, a grinning hunter with a double-barreled shotgun creeps up stealthily through the bushes and begins to take aim. In the animal kingdom as in the human, hormones and pheromones continue to rule. However, there is one significant difference: we humans supposedly have the intellectual capacity to transcend our biological and psychological drives, thereby attaining transcendental awareness - and, ultimately, cosmic consciousness.

The thrust of evolution has taken Homo sapiens sapiens to the point where we must make a conscious choice: to carry on behaving like destructive caterpillars, devouring the leaves of the very plant that supports our existence... or to accept the temporary ego death of pupation, wherein we become willing pupals/pupils of the greatest teacher of them all, Mother Nature, who will lovingly guide us to glorious butterflyhood - and galactic citizenship as mature and sentient beings.
 
As one who has long taken counsel from the natural world, I have come to appreciate a pile of moss-covered rocks far more than a $15,000 designer couch or even a $15 million gilded throne studded with rubies, emeralds and sapphires. Simplicity is indeed the mark of true mastery. All spiritual guides say the same thing - and have done so for thousands of years - but we still don't seem to get it. With billions in research grants at the disposal of leading edge scientists, no human laboratory can claim to have created an edible replica of a humble banana - what more a living, breathing, thinking, feeling creature - and I'm not talking about cloning. And yet our arrogant anthropocentrism and pathological egomania have convinced us that some almighty deity has granted us dominion over the beasts of the field and fowls of the air - indeed all the domains of nature, right down to microbes and viruses. When an outcry was raised over an animal-testing laboratory to be constructed in Melaka, the chief minister told reporters in all seriousness that God gave men the right to do as we will with animals.

The benightedness of that monotheistic and tyrannical viewpoint struck me as the very epitome of what has gone so terribly wrong with the human experiment. This spiritually retarded chief minister was really just a victim of a crude and barbaric religious doctrine designed to minimize empathy and maximize antipathy - so that rigid boundaries could be drawn between a fictitious Us and an imaginary Them. A fanatical adherence to notions of Us versus Them inevitably leads to perpetual conflict and warfare. Which, of course, sits perfectly well with weapons manufacturers and their shareholders.

Some folks who have seen James Cameron's latest blockbuster, Avatar, take cynical pride in criticizing his unabashed didacticism. I've read straightfaced putdowns of the movie by Christian apologists who accuse Cameron of depicting Mother Nature as God and corporate adventurism as the Devil. These days, whenever I see talking-head PR execs on TV trying to excuse the inexcusable, they all remind me of the corporate creep Parker Selfridge and the gung-ho killer droid Colonel Quaritch in Avatar who end up destroying the Sacred Tree in their frenzied pursuit of Unobtanium. Only goes to show how beautifully James Cameron succeeded in his mission to alert humanity to what's ultimately at stake.
    While a part of me shares the acute anxiety of those in the US (particularly folks living around the Gulf Coast) as to the eventual outcome of BP's monstrously catastrophic blowout, another part actually welcomes the disaster as perhaps the gigantic kick-in-the-butt we need to finally wean ourselves off fossil fuels that poison our habitat. Nope, going nuclear is NOT the answer either! Most so-called energy experts parrot the erroneous belief that "we are currently in an energy crisis."

There is absolutely no energy crisis. If there appears to be one it's only because we have been way too prodigal in the way we misuse energy.

Like fish swimming around in a saltwater aquarium, we have forgotten the open sea. Our myopic get-rich-quick schemes benefit nobody - least of all ourselves - and yet we won't hesitate to kill anyone who attempts to stop us.

That's right, folks, we humans will defend our lavish lifestyles to the death - even if it's the last thing we ever do. Some distant day an Aldebaranian anthropologist will describe the demise of our species thus:

"The humanoid Earthians perished as a result of their obstinate addiction to MSG-flavored snacks, fizzy drinks, toxic fumes, and loud noises."

Saturday, December 16, 2017

An email to Tania (from my 2017 archive)...


Over the many decades I have been researching the esoteric (no less than 50 years) I have encountered and temporarily adopted many different stories - about how Existence came to be, how the Universe began, the age of our Solar System, whether life on earth spontaneously appeared as an anomaly, or we as a species evolved from the primates or were genetically modified by technologically advanced time or space traveling races. Interestingly, the more I learn, the less I know!

All I know for sure is that everything is a story. Our lives are stories and "history" has been a feeble attempt to document the briefest span of time (no more than 13,000 terrestrial years or so) from the male perspective - that's why it's called "his story" - which mostly revolves around invasion (penetration), domination (might-as-right) & colonization (impregnation), hence the supremacy of warlord bloodlines on this planet and the ridiculous amount of energy and resources squandered on unnecessary, mutually destructive conflict.


In effect, once we acknowledge that it's all just stories, we can begin to reclaim our inner authority as creators of our own stories - and our freedom to rewrite, edit and modify those stories. So as one who by nature prefers Happy Endings, I am in the process of rewriting my own story, and as I expand my sense of Self to include and incorporate the entire Cosmos, I am also rewriting the Story of Life.

And I can attest that I am 100% convinced that all religions and priesthoods serve only one purpose - that is to shock and awe the innocent, gullible human psyche into an inherited fear of invisible and almighty forces or powers, so humans will never gain enough self-mastery to rebel against established external authority, i.e., God, Government and Gurus.


In short, I totally reject all scriptures - especially the so-called Book Religions or Abrahamic Agenda - as puerile nonsense nobody in their right mind needs to waste their time taking seriously.

My personal credo can be summed up thus: the only true god/goddess is the one you see in the mirror. All other representations of "divinity" must be questioned - but you may take for granted that All Life Is Sacred, as it is generated from a Supersentient Galactic Matrix - or what some might call the Sacred Feminine or Aeonic Creator known to the Gnostics as Sophia - better known today as Gaia-Sophia.


My blessings & love to you all!

Antares
~^@^~

18 July 2017

Friday, December 15, 2017

Excerpts from a channeling of Adamus Saint-Germain by Geoffrey Hoppe

Geoffrey Hoppe of the Crimson Circle

There’s too much of a chasm between the ones who are conscious, the ones who know what a choice is, the ones who are allowing the integration of the Master and the human, so many that understand that, that it’s created a New Earth. It’s not what you’d think of as Nirvana, but it is the place to go to be the creative expression of your soul, with a lot of human attributes, but without ever getting stuck in the human attributes.

Then you have a whole group on the planet here who is still into their processes, into their evolution of the Self, but it’s not congruent with the ones who are really allowing their true consciousness. So, you have a lot who are still going through their human lifetime-after-lifetime experience.

Then you have a group, which I haven’t talked about yet, that is holding on so much to the old, to the past, primarily to the old masculine energy and it includes a lot of women. A lot of women who do not want the responsibility to be side by side with Adam, a lot of them that actually like wearing the prairie dress and making dinner all the time and that kind of stuff.

Saint-Germain of the Violet Flame
It’s actually right now creating what I’m going to call the Under Earth, which certainly is not the New Earth, and it’s really not this classic Earth, this physical Earth. It’s creating a whole new reality/dimension where those who are really holding on to the past and will not let go and don’t want to let go and want to continue to believe in a God who is judgmental and angry, that demands worship and all the rest of that. They will go there and it will not be on this physical planet, but it will appear to be. It will have more gravity than this physical planet, psychic and literal gravity. It will have more rules and regulations, more righteousness and a lot stricter. It would be like going from a liberal arts college to a highly religious college where you had to go to church every day, and they want to. Nobody’s making them go there after they come into their next lifetime. They want that, what they call, simplicity. They want that subservience to God. They want to believe in a higher power and a masculine higher power, and they don’t want to understand that you are God also, and that’s fine. We don’t go try to change their minds, nor would they listen to us. They would call us Satan. We don’t try to do anything other than absolutely honor them for the new stage at the new theater of the Under World where they’re going to go play.

......................

There is no mistake about this life. I know so many of you have wondered, “Well, how come I haven’t done more in this lifetime?” or “How come I haven’t accomplished more? How come I haven’t written bestselling books or started a big business?” You didn’t come here for that. I mean, you can also do that if you want, but most of you have chosen not to. You came here in this lifetime for one thing. It’s your last lifetime on Earth, on this Earth, and you came here to embody the Spirit, the Master. You came here to bring together the human and the Master in this lifetime.


It’s been a quiet journey, a lonely journey and a difficult one, because of the doubts, because once in a while you lose that inner compass, that inner knowingness of why you chose to be here. You didn’t come to try to save the planet. That does not work. But you know, because of what you’re doing within yourself, taking on things that aren’t even yours; you know what you’re doing by being here, being a presence. Not a lecturer, not doing sermons, not preaching, but being a presence on this planet and staying in the body and actually totally changing the dynamics of the body, the DNA.

The DNA is this amazing, hardly even understood, kind of what you would call a light thread, spirit thread, we sometimes call it the angel thread. It’s the life-giving force behind everything. It’s the programming. It’s the software of life. But even that’s changing right now. You’re changing in your body, and I do have to chuckle to myself when I hear: “Oh, my body. The aches and the pains and what I’m going through.” And I’m like, “Breathe it in. Accept it, because you asked for it. Don’t resist it,” and I know that sounds opposite of what you think you should do – run from it, fill yourself up with supplements and holy oils and everything else. No. You’re going through a phenomenal change. Can you let yourself experience it? So remember for a moment, why you’re here, why at this particular time. I’ve told all of you, you could have allowed your enlightenment last lifetime, a couple lifetimes ago. You’d have probably croaked right away and come to the other side. But you said, “No, I’m going to come in, in this time and I’m going to go through this change, in the body.”

.....................

What to do? Allow. Allow. As odd as it seems, what you’re going through right now is the greatest experience of any lifetime. You are going through in-bodied enlightenment and some days it really sucks. I mean, some days you just want to vomit on spirituality because it’s so difficult, and other days it’s like you feel, “Oh, yeah. It’s all coming together.” This is absolutely appropriate. There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong when your body hurts.

I’d love to show you what is happening at your cellular level, your DNA and within. You are totally bringing in a very different – I don’t like the term light body, because everybody thinks of this fuzzy, glowing thing, and it’s not that. You’re bringing in a true energy body that’s relatively independent, where you no longer have to be feeding off of other people or food or anything else. A true energy body. It’s a non-parasitic body. And every physical body, every human body is parasitic. First of all, you have parasites in your gut right now. They’re there. Listen... “Erggh! Let me out of here!” (squeaky voice). And your physical body is parasitic. It needs and feeds on energy, whether it’s other people, whether it’s food or anything else. You’re addicted. The true energy body that’s coming in doesn’t need that. It’s – I don’t want to say 100 percent – but it’s mostly independent. So, you’re going through this on the fly. You’re remaking yourself. It would have been easier to have died and start all over. But you’re stubborn. You insisted, “No, we’re going to stay. We’re going to do it right here while we’re living,” so take a deep breath. You’re right where you should be.


[Full transcript of channeling at Crimson Circle]

Thursday, December 7, 2017

GOODBYE, TONI! (Musings on the dreaded scourge called cancer)

Toni Kasim dedicated her life to speaking up for community issues

On the night of June 4th, 2008, around 10PM I suddenly had the urge to call Toni Kasim. But I figured I'd better call her in the day, as she might be already asleep. In the morning the first SMS I received informed me Toni Kasim died around dawn.

She had been battling duodenal cancer for several months. I only heard the news just before the March 8th elections, when she withdrew as a parliamentary candidate under PKR. Word got to me that her health wasn't all that good. I only learned it was cancer when Toni's buddy Shanon Shah posted an update on the Artisproactiv forum. I rang her mobile and had a brief chat with her, told her I would come visit her soon.

Well, that visit never happened. And I really ought to have tried calling her last night. If she was able to speak, I could have said a proper goodbye to her. But then, I wouldn't have known she was ready to check out. Toni Kasim was only 41.

Not too long ago, another friend I rarely bump into succumbed to cancer at the age of 44. Her name was Seha and I first met her when she was starting out as a singer with a group called Freedom. I remember her one visit to my bamboo hut back in 1996 or thereabouts when she had just married a fella named Chris Lund. I was shocked to read about Seha's passing in the New Straits Times in October 2006. Didn't even know she had two kids...

Toni Kasim's funeral is today but I won't be there to send her off. A few years ago another very dear friend died of cancer after a valiant fight that dragged on for two years. He was only 42, married a couple of years, and his name was Jesse Hang - but we all called him Chief, after he had an epiphany and saw the profile of an Indian chief etched on a rock near his favorite spot in the river. Following that incident Jesse began to report amazing revelations and was undoubtedly the first of many visitors to experience satori at Magick River.

Chief first showed up back in 1992 soon after I relocated from KL to establish a small community called Magick River in the Pertak Forest Reserve. He quickly became a regular and used to come up every week with a few sarongs, a pair of shorts, and a couple of T-shirts in a rucksack stuffed with packets of instant noodles and other goodies. Chief and I enjoyed our ritual midnight supper of Maggi mee under a full moon, listening to the undines' silvery voices that sounded, by day, like the river's neverending song.

When Chief told us he had been diagnosed with Stage Three lymphatic cancer, we figured he had a good chance of transcending the disease, as he was among the most enlightened members of Magick River. Indeed, Chief was the closest thing we've had to a resident Zen master. Anyway, he tried a variety of therapies - beginning with chiqong and special diets, including shark's cartilage. After a year, when the cancer kept growing, Chief turned himself in for chemotherapy. However, the one therapy that might have helped him he resolutely avoided - and that was emotional clearing. He had always been a private person and found it hard to expose his innermost feelings, especially to strangers.

When we first met Chief had just quit a job as a remisier and was looking into the possibility of managing a mango orchard. After several visits to Magick River, he began to get excited about painting and storytelling - and he turned out to be very imaginative at both. Anyway, during the last few months of his life, Chief began to draw his entire extended family together, by uniting them in their efforts to help him fight the cancer. Gradually, he began to explain the process of life, death, and rebirth to his clan - and when they saw how calmly he faced the prospect of his own death, many of them were spontaneously elevated in their consciousness.

Chief came from a family in Pahang that had enriched itself with logging and sawmilling. It was as if he had taken on all the negative karma of their destructive business to save them from even more serious consequences. In any case, Chief's death on 6 May 2003 was the most uplifting and graceful exit I have ever witnessed. The night before he departed I went to see him with my family and we sat in silence with him for about 15 minutes. Then as we got up to leave and I held his hand for the last time, he smiled beatifically at all of us and quipped: "Hey, there go my rainbow warriors!"

In the final months before he left his body, the cancer had caused Chief's handsome features to become deformed and discolored. His face had puffed up and gone dark and it was quite a struggle for him to maintain a façade of cheerfulness. The cancer was like a demon trying to colonize Chief's physical body - and succeeding despite the expensive chemotherapy and whatnot. However, several hours after Chief let go of his body, the cancer died with him and released its grip on his physical form, which reverted to its original state. When I looked upon Chief's face for the last time as he lay in his coffin, nattily dressed like some Falun Gong leader, he looked serene and victorious - and his face was no longer deformed or discolored. Hordes of tiny white moths danced around the fluorescent tubes at his wake - and when we scattered his ashes in his beloved river, there were thousands of yellow butterflies everywhere we looked.


That evening after the ash-scattering ceremony at Magick River, a few of Chief's closest friends stayed on to celebrate the passing of a great soul - and all of us were in telepathic contact with him as he reveled in his newfound freedom as Universal Intelligence. All these years after his death, I only have to think of Chief and I will spot a butterfly or rainbow - for those were his favorite symbols of life's mysterious beauty.

This blog was inspired by news of Toni Kasim's passing early on the morning of 4 June 2008, and I was prompted to remember with profound affection several other friends who were taken by cancer in their prime. I have other friends who are in the midst of battling various forms of cancer. I wish I could take away their cancer with a wave of my magick wand. It's always easier to dispense advice than follow it, and I have long pondered on the significance of this dreaded disease - what are its origins and are there ways to avoid it?

I have heard of so many alternative therapies - including the famous case of Norman Cousins (right), who experienced a miraculous total remission simply by refusing to feel morose after getting diagnosed with a terminal disease. Instead he began to watch hour after hour of the Marx Brothers just to enjoy a therapeutic daily dose of bellylaughs.

Two of my early musical heroes - Frank Zappa and George Harrison - died of prostrate cancer in their late 50s. Somebody told me recently that prostate cancer only happens to those who don't ejaculate frequently. I guess I'm unlikely to succumb to this particular affliction!

Measuring an artificially induced tumor in a laboratory mouse

Anyway, thinking holistically about cancers and tumors inevitably brings me to a vision of the web of life that connects us all, from the subatomic to the supergalactic levels. I've always felt that the temporary ego membrane that separates each of us from every other thing in existence can be compared to a suit of armor. The armor is designed to protect us from injury in battle; however, if we begin to live inside our own character armoring without frequently stepping out of it and becoming vulnerable, the armor turns into a psychological prison within which we experience a sense of isolation from the ebb and flow of life. After a few decades our sense of individuality can become so accentuated that we no longer feel we are integral parts of a far bigger lifeform - or series of lifeforms. Perhaps that sense of individualized selfhood - when overemphasized - is the seed of what subsequently develops into a full-blown tumor.

What, after all, is a tumor? It's a cluster of cells that have disconnected themselves from the rest of the body. Just as in any overly large city, there will usually be a small colony of social misfits (often the economically disadvantaged) who will cluster together in ghettoes and turn the area into a Crime Zone where the first rule of survival is everyone for himself or herself.

This suggests that cancers and tumors are an aberrant side-effect of the powerful force of individuation underlying the process of cell division. When division and separation (centrifugal motion) is allowed to continue without being offset by conscious experience of unification and cohesiveness (centripetal motion), among the potential long-term effects are disintegrative diseases like cancer and leukemia.

Prevention, as most folks know, is far better than cure. So let's start practising Unity Consciousness RIGHT NOW!

[First posted 4 June 2008]

Sunday, December 3, 2017

Behold the faceless corporate fascism of Facebook!

21st Century Cyber-Emperor Marcus Zuckerbergus
Just as the calendar rolled into December 1st, 2017, I found myself locked out of Facebook (again!) for posting a link to a book review which happened to contain a slightly ribald but perfectly harmless image - actually very amusing and hardly as objectionable as the many hideously gory images I have seen on my newsfeed.

The censorship happened INSTANTLY (within two seconds of my clicking 'POST') and the psychological effect was akin to a heavily-armed balaclava-clad inquisitorial SWAT team breaking down your front door in the middle of the night (remember that classic Terry Gilliams movie Brazil?). It was a vivid reminder on so many levels of the crazy sci-fi timelines we are all navigating and have been, especially since the end of 2012, some transcendentally numinous and others starkly ominous.

In any case, for a few moments I contemplated the option of simply turning my back on Facebook and using this as an excuse to finally detach from this artificial sense of community we have grown so attached to over the years (it's true there are so many positive features of digital interconnectivity and being part of special-focus Facebook groups, not to mention the comforting sense of being virtually in touch with everyone even if close encounters have become more difficult to manifest).

Then I realized that in actual fact nothing at all had happened. I could simply take a badly needed 4-week vacation from the Facebook Universe or I could get back in with my wife Anoora's account (which I manage, so what if she doesn't have the massive network I enjoy as Antares). As my initial sense of outrage and intense annoyance subsided I became aware that I was in a very strange place - between nowhere and everywhere, between being fully immersed in the hurly-burly world and feeling completely indifferent to any or all outcomes. Sort of like watching a football game on the screen and not bothering which team wins because I have no loyalty to any football club.

This can be placed in the general context of my current perspective on everything: I'm tracking developments on many different levels - from energetically supporting the anchoring of the Totally New and Unknown (as is occurring in countless spiritually conscious communities and networks everywhere) to keeping a close eye on the factional warfare that has broken out among the old-school control freaks (whether you call them the Khazarian banksters or Yahwehists or the virus-infected Zombie Apocalypse and the covert agents that have hitherto served as foot-soldiers of the so-called Military-Industrial-Financial-Academic-Religious Complex).

Although essentially an eternal optimist - and all the positive signs are to be found in the growing number of rapidly awakening, self-governing humans I have become increasingly aware of since the advent of the internet - I realize at the same time that the rot may be already too deep for the gentle transition all of us have worked towards; that the sheer inertia of our entrenched habits could be setting up too much resistance for radical transmutation to happen smoothly and painlessly.

And we have witnessed in just the last 6 months how unpredictably aggressive the elements can be when unleashed upon puny human aspirations. Fire, Water, Air or Earth can so easily erase all our fondest dreams built upon countless lifetimes - within hours, even minutes. So as we begin the final month of 2017, all I can say is: "Phew! ... we made it through all the bumpy patches so far ... and each time we successfully navigate the wild weather and scary waves and emerge intact, we gain so much more experience, expertise and maturity as individuals and as a species. It's a good time to relax and not feel so driven, perhaps? Maybe it's true that getting there is what it's actually about, not arriving?

Friday, December 1, 2017

Kiss My Arse ~ In the Name of Common Humanity (by Salleh Ben Joned)

Holey Man performs arse-kissing ritual to help the faithful find true love

I had a dream last night. Most of my dreams are quite weird, but this one was weirder than any I’ve ever dreamt. I think it was inspired by something that happened at the United Malay National Organisation (UMNO) General Assembly last Friday. At this gathering, this “Assembly” of the dominant party in the governing coalition, a Kelantan delegate, thoroughly disgusted with the dirty tactics (note “dirty”) used by ambitious Umno desperadoes in their premature campaign for the next year’s party elections, told an old filthy joke that brought the house down. The joke is about the quarrel among the various parts of the body as to which one is really powerful and therefore should be the boss. The brain says it is and should be in control of the rest because … Then the mouth, the nose and so on; each with its own irrefutable reason for making the claim. The anus, naturally, has the last say. It triumphantly declares that it is more powerful than any of the rest, including the brain: if one morning it decides to close up for good the body is finished, man. Kaput!

Related to such an august gathering as the Umno General Assembly, the joke was truly edifying; so edifying that it inspired my weird dream. I dreamt I was invulnerable (kebal in Malay). Neither the keris nor the parang could penetrate my skin; even the notorious Kelantanese kapak kecik that flies in the night at the bidding of its frantic owner couldn’t harm me. It seemed that I had finally attained (in the dream, that is) the much sought-after ilmu kepala tahi.[1] Ilmu what? Kepala tahiKepala what? Tahi. This is no ordinary ilmu, man; this is esoteric ilmu. But tahiTahi??? I think you’re just being your usual vulgar self again … Of course I’m being my “vulgar” self. I’m always “vulgar” – vulgar in more than one sense you know: not only “coarse or “filthy” (your meaning), but also “common” as in “common people” (i.e., ordinary people, unashamedly close to the earth, and reveling in it).

But back to the IKT (less offensive thus abbreviated?). I tell you it’s not something I dreamt up, though its “reality” and efficacy were confirmed for me only in my dream. IKT is a form of magic power which the Malays used to believe in; some in the remote kampungs (villages) probably still do. (No, you won’t find it in Skeat’s Malay Magic; it’s apparently too vulgar even for that huge tome) IKT can be acquired (so my uncle told me) by snatching the sausage-like T (it has to be a “sausage”; watery stuff’s no good) as it emerges out of somebody’s anus. This might be done on a Thursday night (Friday night to the Malays). I won’t strain your tolerance of the “vulgar” by going into the lurid details of the messy business. It’s sufficient to tell you that it must be done in a certain way, and that after you have acquired the precious substance you must wipe your body thoroughly with it, the wiping accompanied by the recital of certain mantras. Then you must avoid water for the next three days. If you observe all this, you’ll be kebalInsya-Allah. (And please don’t listen to envious cynics who say that you’re kebal because nobody would come near you anyway.) With IKT, you don’t need your brain anymore; or rather your brain has come down and joined forces with your anus. What you’ve got now is a sort of “thinking anus.” The unity of the body, of the highest and the lowest, the refined and the filthy is now truly yours. Hang on to it for dear life. Now, what has all this stinking business to do with literature? Literature… yes.

Well, the dream, the old joke dredged up at the Umno General Assembly, the mysteries of IKT – all this reminded me of a curious novel I read earlier this year. And with it, the thought I have been thinking about on and off quite sometime on the subject of the vulgar, the filthy, the taboo, the “last frontier” of the body, physical-spiritual, sensual-mystical body, in both literature and folk imagination. The novel is by a Tongan anthropologist-writer Epeli Hau’ofa and titled Kisses in the Nederends (Penguin, New Zealand). This comic satirical novel is literally and symbolically about an arsehole. As far as I know, Epeli Hau’ofa is the first writer to devote a whole novel to the hole. And in a way it is a perfect illustration and proof of the anus’s claim in the Umno General Assembly joke that it is the most powerful part of the human body; it can abuse its power to become the most tyrannical dictator and capable of subjecting man to the worst humiliation imaginable. 

Kisses is a tall tale, one of the “tallest” I’ve read. Written in a style that is clearly influenced by a grotesque realism of Francois Rabelais, it is about a Tongan who suffers from an incurable “pain in the arse,” an ulcerous fistulated anus. The book opens with a bang, a stinking assault of farting, followed by a duet between the mouth (snoring) and the anus (farting), and the hero’s waking up in excruciating pain in his bottom. Then the rest of the book takes the hero on a mock-epic search for a cure, from the bizarre treatments of traditional medicine to an organ transplant in an ultra-modern New Zealand surgery. (Yes, the hero ends up with somebody else’s anus, a white woman’s down there.) This disgustingly hilarious Tongan tall tale ends happily with the cured hero triumphantly proclaiming a new religion of true brotherhood (and sisterhood) of man. Its slogan? “Kiss my arse!”

Epeli Hau'ofa, author of Kisses in the Nederends

You need to have a strong stomach to read and enjoy this book to the end. My wife doesn’t; after a few pages she threw the little Penguin out of the window in utter disgust. The writing of Kisses was actually inspired by the author’s own experience. Poor Mr Hau’ofa actually suffered from a terrible pain in the arse much like his hero’s, a sort of piles which the Tongans call kahi (k not t). True to the South Pacific philosophy that laughter is the best medicine, the novel proved to be the best therapy for the author, who suffered from a psychological malady even after the successful operation on his anus. But the novel is not only a therapy in the form of a tall tale; it’s also an allegory that carries a serious social and spiritual message for the Tongans and other island peoples of the South Pacific, and by the implication for modern man in general.

Francois Rabelais  (1494-1553)
Kisses in the Nederends is to me a triumphant demonstration of my belief that there are many varieties of vulgarity – from the childishly obsessive to the soberly purposeful. In the hands of a comic of satirical writer with a talent and fundamentally weighty intention, the vulgar and the flighty can be redeemed by art in the cause of a vision. Francois Rabelais in his Gargantua and Panatagruel, Jonathan Swift in Gulliver’s Travels and James Joyce in his Ulysses and love letters to his Nora are among the world’s greatest “filthy writers” in this sense. Epeli Hau’ofa is part of a long tradition, and Kisses shows he has the makings of a mini Swift of the South Seas. Swift is probably the most familiar of the three, thanks to his Gulliver’s Travels, a book which every reasonably well-read kid knows. Kids reading filthy stuff? Not quite, because the Gulliver’s Travels that kids read has been cleansed of all mind-polluting filth. Children’s editions of the classic work are either simplified (for young kids) or published (for older kids) without the third and fourth books: A Voyage to Laputa and A Voyage to the Country of the Houyhnhnms.
           
The third book, a sort of proto-science fiction, recounts Gulliver’s experience on the flying island of Laputa when he visited the School of Political Projectors at the Academy of Lagado; there he meets weird professors or projectors who are distinguished by their ingenuities in the service of the state. They have, for example, developed a special technique for discovering plots and conspiracies against the government. The technique involves examining the diet of all suspected persons; finding out “times of eating; upon which side they lay in bed; which hand they wiped their posteriors”; then to take “strict view of their excrements, and from the colour, the odour, the taste, the consistence, the crudeness or maturity of digestion, form a judgement of their thoughts and designs.” The whole business is based on the belief that “men are never so serious as when they are at stool,” and because of that their stool can tell us all kinds of things; for example “if the ordure has a tincture of green” that means when the suspect was having his stool he was “straining to think of the best way of murdering the king, but quite different when he thought only of raising an insurrection or burning the metropoles.”
           
Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)
The fourth book of Gulliver’s Travels, the one generally considered the most important of the four, narrates Gulliver’s encounter with the tribe of super-rational horses, the Houyhnhnms, and their opposites, the filthy Yahoos, whose resemblance to himself Gulliver tries to deny. He is so seduced by Houyhnhnms, creatures which embody for him the ideal of civilized being, and so disgusted by stinking Yahoos (who warmly welcome his arrival on the island by defecating on him from a tree), that he goes mad in the end; back home in England he tries to live with horses, behaves and neighs like one, spurning the company of his fellow human beings who are all Yahoos to him. 

There has been much debate among scholars and critics about the meaning of Gulliver’s Travels, especially Book Four. The debate has to do with Swift’s real attitude to the Houyhnhnms: does he share Gulliver’s admiration for the cold-blooded super-rational horses or doesn’t he? Related to this is the question of Swift’s scatology, what its very pronounced presence in his writing means when we try to determine his attitude to man and to human nature.
           
Distinguished modern writers Aldous Huxley and John Middleton Murry were apparently the first to confront the blatant fact of Swiftian scatology which earlier writers on Swift had ignored or pretended didn’t really exist. Huxley especially recognized the central importance of the scatological theme in both Gulliver’s Travels and three of his later poems (The Lady’s Dressing Room, Strephon and Chloe and Cassinus and Peter). But Huxley and Murry’s conclusion, that Swift’s scatological obsession (in Murry’s highly suggestive phrase, “excremental vision”) reflects a fundamental neurosis in the writer, a neurosis that made him a misanthrope or hater of human nature – this conclusion, I believe, is based on a misreading of Swift. 

I am with the American writer Norman O. Brown here. Brown, whose breakthrough book Life Against Death (1959) first offered a balanced reading of Swift argues convincingly that Gulliver’s misanthropy is his, not his creator’s. Similarly, Cassinus, in the poem Cassinus and Peter, who “lost (his) wits” on discovering that “Caelia, Caelia, Caelia sh_t”, shouldn’t be confused with Swift. (Swift did go mad in the end, but not because he couldn’t stand the fact that women “sh_t“, as critics like Murry seem to suggest.) Cassinus is obviously a projection of the universal neurosis of civilized man who cannot accept and revel in the fact of nature that the body is a wondrous unity – of the higher and the lower, the spiritual and the bestial. Civilized man (or rather over-civilized man) is haunted by that reality of our human nature immortalized in the famous words of St Augustine: “inter urinas et faeces nascimur” (the seat of love is the foulest place in our body – implying that our most exalted, most spiritual aspirations are bound to our soiled flesh). Over-civilized man represses and sublimates his animality and that’s why he is sick.
           
Epeli Hau-ofa is a mini Swift of the South Seas and is clearly a writer who affirms that wondrous unity. The phrase “mini Swift” though, may not be quite accurate, it can suggest something that is more Swiftian than “Hau’ofian.” Swift, that “tiger of the 18th Century English literature is a master of satiric comedy that is distinguished by its uncompromising fierceness; a fierceness that is not quite “Hau’ofian.” 

Hau’ofa in Kisses in the Nederends is relaxed where Swift in Gulliver’s Travels and the satirical poems is Fierce and Furious; Hau’ofa’s hearty comedy is more Rabelaisian, wild and rompy – and hilariously breezy. In an interview with the New Zealand literary magazine Landfall, Hau’ofa says: “I am by nature playful, and playing with words, obscene or otherwise, is an aspect of that nature. But that is only one aspect of my use of dirty language. I use it also for other purposes. Firstly… I resorted to it as a way of presenting the effect of physical agony (that unrelenting “pain in the arse,” remember?) on Oilei’s psyche (Oilei is the aptly named suffering hero of Kisses), and on his relationship with those around him. But most importantly, I used it as a most unlikely tool for a discourse on love, purity and harmony…” 

A comic satirical novel with an ulcerous fistulated anus as the prime mover and focus of the narrative – that kind of novel is “discourse of love, purity and harmony”? I’m happy to say, yes. Unlikely? Well, the author himself is fully aware that his use of “dirty language” is “a most likely tool” for such a discourse. He knows that “it’s never been done or even thought of before.” But that’s what makes it fun; it’s a form of creative experiment that shows that Hau’ofa the anthropologist is also a true writer. Hau’ofa asks the question that Rabelais asked centuries ago: “Why should we continue to loathe references to our organs of procreation and elimination, and not to other organs? Such questions have implications that go beyond mere body matters. 

As Hau’ofa puts it they lead to “other questions about social and cultural institutions.” As he worked on the novel, laughing as he furiously scribbled (“I could not but laugh as I wrote”), the fundamental seriousness of the theme became more and more crystallized in his mind. The idea or ideal of bodily unity (and equality) came to suggest other forms of unity (and equality) – such as the social and political (thus the use of language with political connotations in Hau’ofa’s descriptions of the “rebellion” of the body’s lower orders, the bowels and the anus).

“I seriously said to myself,” Hau’ofa recalls in the interview, “that if we give due respect to the nether parts of our bodies, we would eventually eradicate most of the obscene expressions in language and therefore in thought. That should go a long way towards helping us to be more loving and caring of each other… Oilei’s search for a cure for his physical ailment is also a quest for purifying himself of violence and obscenity in language. Having attained his goal he invites everyone to kiss his arse. It is a joyous statement of the end of hatred, and a declaration of love for all mankind. It sounds bizarre but I’m serious about it… “ Bizarre maybe, but I can’t agree with Epeli Hau’ofa more.
           
In the novel, the character who helps to bring the light to Oilei is a guru and yogi named Babu. Babu is a wily character who can be both a clever entrepreneur and a prophet of spiritual and social liberation. Babu’s mission is to convince the world that “the anus is good, beautiful, lovable and respectable.” He declares that “It’s time that the status of the repressed lower organs” (note “repressed” and “lower” in both its psychoanalytical/biological and political meanings) “is recognized.”

He pointedly adds: “We treat our heads with respect and call our leaders heads. We could, with equal felicity, call them anuses.” Babu prescribes yoga exercises for his patient, designed to make him learn to respect his own anus so that it becomes truly part of him – and smells to his nose “as the fresh bud of spring.” One begins by learning to love one’s beautiful anus, kissing it meditating on it, inhaling its spiritual as well as physical aroma. Then the next step is to learn to love the anuses of our brothers and sisters. Babu demonstrates the truth and power of his teaching by kissing Oilei’s anus with love and respect. The guru declares “if the President of the United States and the Soviet Union do likewise at their next summit (sic) meeting there will be no threat of nuclear annihilation… As in most things we must begin from the top down. When the top meets the bottom, there will be eternal peace. The real obscenity, the novel says, is not the so-called “dirty language,” but man-made horrors like nuclear war. To ban that sort of obscenity from the life of man altogether we must learn to “greet, love, laugh and dance with each other in the middle of our zones of taboo.”

11 & 18 November 1992


[1] Ilmu: mythical knowledge or power
  Kepala: head
  Tahi: shit


[Originally posted in Salleh Ben Joned; first posted here on 25 February 2016]