Money, sexuality, illumination and the double helix (revisited)

The dollar sign is indeed a subtle variation on the caduceus which can be traced right back to Sumerian images of Enki, whose clan symbol was the serpent (probably denoting his mother's indigenous Snake lineage).

Enki, for those as yet unacquainted with the Anunnaki pantheon, was a master scientist-wizard whose son, Ningishzidda (better known as the Egyptian god Thoth), grew up to be among the greatest healer-scientist-wizards in history. The caduceus reappears in connection with Hermes Trismegistos, the Greek incarnation of Thoth, who initiated Pythagoras into the Mysteries. The caduceus was adopted by the Hermeticists as their emblem, indicating spiritual descent from Enki.

Hippocrates (possibly a student of Pythagoras) is called the Father of Medicine - and his symbol was the caduceus. All doctors were obliged to take the Hippocratic oath (don't know if they still do so today), which explains why the Medical Association also has the caduceus as its emblem.

The serpent represents not just an ancient tradition of scientific wisdom originating on earth from Enki's work as a geneticist (it was Enki who engineered the Adamic race with a little bit of help from Ninhursag, his feisty medical officer and half-sister). There is thus the distinct possibility that the entwined serpents on the caduceus (yes, there are usually two) symbolize the double helix of our DNA.

Kundalini - that mysterious bioelectrical force that supposedly surges through our chakras along the spine - has traditionally been depicted as a coiled serpent at the base of the spine. When awakened, the serpent uncoils towards the crown chakra, facilitating enlightenment, It is therefore highly likely that the early Illuminati (Enlightened Ones) revered the image of the serpent(s) entwined around the tree (or spine).

As in Tolkien - as well as Stars Wars - mythology, the Illumined Ones (aka Istari or Jedi, guardians of cosmic wisdom) were not immune to hubris, hence the occasional "fall from Grace" that produced renegade Illuminati (like Saruman or Annakin Skywalker). It is unfortunate that in our time, being labeled an Illuminatus is not necessarily a compliment. Indeed, everyone assumes you're a member of the New World Order Cabal. (This explains the moral ambiguity of secret mystical orders like the Templars, Freemasons, and so on. David Icke, for one, doesn't conceal his intense mistrust of the Great White Brotherhood and all the Ascended Masters - this is simply because the ones involved with manipulating human evolution are identified as the Archons, what Susan Ferguson calls the Phantasmal Hierarchy in her 'Inanna' books.)

Tree of Knowledge by Martina Hoffman

Tantalizingly, the caduceus image is contained in the story of Adam and Eve as the Serpent on the Tree, representing the potential of kundalini arousal, which would result in tantric consciousness - spiritual adulthood, autonomy from the dictates of a paternalistic deity. (There are actually TWO trees - one called the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, the other the Tree of Immortal Life.)

It's easy to see why the caduceus was modified into the dollar sign - after all, money is a universal symbol of energy, it's a form of sexual currency or current - it triggers activity, propels industry, and secures material needs. Hence the money-fixation of our sexually-repressed species - which shows the many facets of activated kundalini, as creative as well as procreative impulses. When we lust after money, it's really the sublimation of an insatiable desire to fuck and be fucked. Perhaps that's why sexual abstinence is often linked with voluntary poverty.

Mr Kundalini by Nathan Hopkins

Modern notions of sexuality are inextricably linked with money. Pornstars don't do it so much for fun as for profit. Me, I'm old-fashioned and prefer to do it for fun. How about it, sexy, doing anything this weekend?

[From an email posted 2 March 2003 on the Magick River Network, first published 17 June 2012, reposted 8 April 2013, 25 March 2016 & 13 July 2017]

HAPPY 103, MUM!

Mum & Dad in 1961

1958 Family Foto

En route to Melbourne for Dad's bypass surgery, 1981

My beloved mother, Dai Moon Loy, would have begun her 103rd solar orbit today. She left her body 26 years ago on 14 July 1995. A non-alcoholic toast to your sweet memory, Mum! 💖💖💖

SWEET MEMORIES OF MY DEAR MAMA

UNSINKABLE FLOATING OBJECTS (update & repost)

Sim Kwang Yang has raised some very pertinent issues in his essay, "Whom should we trust?" Ultimately, we have to love and trust ourselves before we can love and trust anybody else. Otherwise we will end up behaving like the proverbial lemming, incapable of independent thought and action.

Every day I bump into people who continue to parrot well-worn clichés about Anwar Ibrahim being tainted during his long stint in Umno, his unrelenting political ambition, his connections with the Zionist banking fraternity - and, worst of all, the Islamic zeal that first shot him to prominence as a hot-headed leader of ABIM (the Muslim Missionary Movement). All these negative perceptions of the man are ultimately rooted in deep fear of individuals like Anwar Ibrahim whose lives seem like epics compared to most of us.

Every culture produces its own cult heroes - strangers who appear from out of nowhere, slay an ogre, marry a princess, and end up ruling the kingdom. Most of us are fascinated by heroes. After all, that's where our role models come from. However, in recent times, with the rise of the corporate superpower, heroes have become a manufactured product. The mass media conspires to transform ordinary folks into superstars - and then, almost inevitably, they commit deicide by ripping their icons to shreds through vicious gossip and slander.

Sim rightly advises us to reclaim the authority that resides within each of us, to embody within our own beings the noble qualities of the hero. This is the mark of a mature individual. As more of us become our own heroes, we shall no longer be in awe of other heroes. Instead we will befriend and cooperate with them to manifest our collective dream of the Promised Land.

During Mahathir's 22-year reign as PM, he effectively dismantled all the mechanisms by which citizens of a functional democracy can replace non-performing or misbehaving public servants. Without journalistic freedom, no real information reaches the ground, only corporate propaganda. Without academic, artistic and intellectual freedom there can be no open dialogue on values, perceptions and collective visions. Without a politically neutral civil service and police force, a climate of Orwellian absolutism prevails. And without an impartial and independent judiciary, no justice can exist, nor can serious wrongs be righted.

In effect, Malaysian politics under Mahathir was like a public toilet with no working flush mechanism. There's nothing more unpleasant than walking into the loo only to find Unsinkable Floating Objects in the bowl. With no flush - and no bucket and pail to perform the job manually - we had no choice but resign ourselves to the less-than-delightful odor and the disgusting sight of public servants, fattened on sleazy lucre, who simply refused to resign or retire even when they had long overstayed their welcome.

Rather than succumb to mistrust and fear, we would do much better to regard Anwar Ibrahim as a Master Plumber who will take on the unpleasant but absolutely necessary task of fixing the flush mechanism. Once that is accomplished, nobody will be reluctant to "get their hands dirty" by participating in local politics as every adult citizen should. The public bowels will be regularly moved and Malaysia's infamous stinky loos will become a nightmare of our collective past. In other words, let's get a grip on our conditioned reflexes. BN (now PN) has misruled us for far to long by playing on our fears. They fanned the flames of the non-Malays' Islamophobia even as they played up the Malays' anxieties about being overwhelmed by noisy platoons of pig-eating pagans.

In a fear-free atmosphere of open discussion - such as we were experiencing for a decade or so courtesy of the Internet (but even that has faded away, no thanks to MCMC and the globalist tech giants) - clarity, truth and wisdom did have a slim chance of prevailing over atavistic superstitions and taboos. 

When the public lavatories are clean and functional, people will be less likely to walk around full of their own crap - and public servants who become bloated with egotism and greed will find themselves unceremoniously flushed away.

[First published 14 April 2008, reposted 6 March 2013]

Advent of The Bunyip ~ musings about my son (25th birthday repost)

Grandfather Dai had only three sons, but he had had countless daughters. Countless… because many of them had been drowned at birth in huge jars of urine kept as manure for the fields. In those days a Patriarch’s word was law. The Patriarch was the Progenitor – and the Progenitor held the lives of his progeny in his hands. Taking a daughter’s life was not regarded as murder. It was simply a means of ensuring fewer mouths to feed. ~ Dai Moong Yang (In Those Days, 1995)

Ahau's 13th day on earth

IN EARLY 1993 I spent a few weeks editing and retyping a collection of stories written by my maternal Aunt M.Y. (also known as Grace Lee) - but the significance of the lines quoted above didn’t fully register till 30 December 2012, during a long conversation I had with two healer-counselor friends, Heiko and Selina Niedermeyer, who have studied a wide range of emotional and psychospiritual healing modalities over a span of almost 20 years. They had recently completed a workshop with Bert Hellinger, founder of Systemic Family Constellation, which postulates that no soul enters into physical embodiment in isolation – it invariably enters through a complex soul cluster called the Family Constellation and therefore any healing process must always include an overview of the individual’s family dynamics.

Early blowpipe practice

In the course of our conversation, Selina mentioned that Bert Hellinger had discovered a nexus between murder in the suppressed family narrative (literally skeletons in the closet) and mental/emotional dysfunctionality. Apparently it is not uncommon for the souls of the murdered to be reborn within the murderer’s bloodline – but with characteristic disabilities like Down syndrome, autism or schizophrenia. The moment I heard this I had goosebumps. My sweet cousin in Singapore (the late Dr Dixie Tan) had two dysfunctional sons and two fairly normal daughters. My own brother Mike had been diagnosed with schizophrenia decades ago; and my only son Ahau, labeled autistic by some, was unlikely to ever interact “normally” with others because he was born with an unusual vocal cord that makes it difficult for him to simulate human speech.

Ahau at age 6 (pic by Emanar)

Our great-grandfather Dai, through sheer ignorance compounded with arrogance, had been instrumental to the murder of many newborn female babies. Perhaps the same number that had returned as dysfunctional males to haunt the bloodline like a family curse.

During a two-hour session I had with Heiko and Selina in the first week of January 2013, I conjured the spirit of my great-grandfather Dai. He had the haughty air of a typical Mandarin, scion of a rich land-owning clan, and it took him a while to even acknowledge that drowning newborn female infants was nothing less than murder.

His only defence was that he wasn’t the only one who practiced infanticide; it was fairly common in old China (and even in fairly recent times, many couples aborted female fetuses because the government’s one-child policy didn’t allow them another shot at conceiving a male heir). Finally, that impassive, inscrutable mask shattered and a few teardrops began to flow down his cheeks. He looked, for a moment, humbled.

A 10-year-old Bunyip

“Please ask forgiveness from the souls of those you thwarted from taking earthly incarnation, and then forgive yourself,” I told my great-grandfather’s spirit. When he slowly faded from view, I knew the family curse was finally broken. My only begotten son Ahau Ben would be the last in the bloodline to bear the karmic consequences of his forbears’ abysmal ignorance and self-serving cultural myopia.

After some initial hesitation I decided to share this story to illustrate how “the sins of the fathers” do get passed along the chromosomal track. I use the word “sin” in its original sense: in Middle English the word sinne was a term commonly used in archery to mean “missing the mark.” As a metaphor, missing the mark indicates poor aim, barking up the wrong tree, misreading the map of life, or possessing an entirely erroneous and distorted view of reality.

Humans who have yet to attain enlightenment tend to commit stupid, destructive acts as a result of a benighted perspective, usually inherited through parents and imbibed from their tribal and cultural milieu. A society that places a greater value on male offspring is likely to adhere unquestioningly to patriarchal attitudes that glorify skills in combat and the ability to “bring home the bacon.”

Amphibious Ahau by Dorota Nierzwicka

What happens, of course, is that such males end up in decision-making positions, bringing along their blinkered perspectives and prejudices. As military chiefs they will be constantly itching for the glory or martyrdom of warfare; and as corporate heads their ruthless ambition will blind them and harden their hearts to the wholesale desecration of the sacred landscape for illusory short-term profits and bigger bonuses.

However, life does not occur on a single plane. Almost every event or situation can be interpreted on many levels. Likewise the Advent of The Bunyip (a nickname I bestowed on Ahau Ben when he was a toddler, partly because of his amphibious nature (he loved playing in the bathtub and later the river); but mostly because he did seem to me a somewhat chimerical entity, a creature right out of fairy tales and long-forgotten legends.

Ahau was named after the Mayan starglyph for the Sun or Solar Christ. His second name Ben is inspired by the Mayan starglyph for Skywalker or Celestial Messenger. It so happens that the last King of Mu was reportedly named Ahau too. Not one to settle for the mundane, I delighted in creating a mythic context in which to locate Ahau’s entry into my life. I have written about this at length before, so I will say no more about the mystery of Ahau’s being (click on this link if you wish to read about it).

THERE IS ANOTHER possible explanation for the way Ahau turned out. He arrived at 2 in the morning of the 21st March, 1996, by Caesarean section at the Hospital Kuala Lumpur. I didn’t know till a bit later that the nurses had given him a hepatitis jab without first asking my permission. When they asked me to consent to a second follow-up jab, I expressed deep consternation that they would administer a vaccine to my child without first consulting me. Of course, I refused to grant permission for another jab, having learnt of the unholy alliance between the pharmaceutical companies and the medical profession that has made vaccinations enforceable by law.

Twenty years after Ahau’s birth a heated debate rages between pro- and anti-vaxxers with the main contention being that evidence linking vaccinations with autism has been systematically suppressed by vested interests – because once a vaccine is approved and becomes a routine medical procedure, vaccine manufacturers stand to rake in billions every year. Intuitively, I tend to be anti-vaccination because I generally feel a great deal more trustful of nature and the body’s immune system than of medical or any other species of science – especially since the bulk of it is fueled by corporate funding and private grants.

The possibility that it was a hepatitis jab that triggered my son’s autism has certainly crossed my mind many times. But as I can think of no way I can obtain irrefutable proof of this, it seems pointless to hold on to this suspicion.

Ahau is the way he is and those of us who know him well adore him exactly the way he is – even though it still strikes me as absurd that he should take advantage of everyone around him, recruiting us into his service, instead of taking more responsibility for himself. No doubt this can be attributed to the fact that his ancestors on my mother’s side were landed gentry (my aunt boasted that it took men on horseback 11 days to collect the rent) - all the males being archetypal spoilt brats - or perhaps Ahau’s sense of entitlement is due to his residual memory of having been an absolute monarch in a lost civilization called Mu.

22 September 2017

[First posted 25 September 2017 & 20 March 2019]