"Do you know what that means?" [points to a banner] "It means know thy self. I wanna tell you a little secret, being the one is just like being in love. No one needs to tell you you are in love, you just know it, through and through."
-The Oracle - The MatrixFor I Was Not Always the Christ
Before my awakening, I was a very different person. I wasn't always strong, I wasn't always wise, and I wasn't always true. When I was a teenager, I was meek, depressed, overweight, conformist, and though I knew in my heart and in my mind what I wanted to be, I was very alone, and very afraid
My upbringing was normal for today's society. I had a father who yelled and screamed. My parents got divorced, very messily, and when the dust had settled I went to live with my mother in a small ranch-style house whose basement we had to sublet just to make end's meet.
My father was a very righteous man. Though to this day he is no longer the pillar he used to be, he is still plagued with enmity to those less righteous than himself. Part of this righteousness came forth in a devout belief in Criminal Law. He swore by it, he lived by it. After my parents' divorce he attempted to go to police college and become an officer of the law, however by then he was already getting on in years and his health was beginning to fail him. He had become indulgent in sense pleasures- that is, he learned to cook large quantities of luxuriously rich and fattening foods- and this made him out of shape.
I had been raised extremely anti-drug. Drugs were evil, they would ruin your life, only losers did drugs. People only did them because they were tricked into doing them and then became addicted and turned into hobos. I'm also asthmatic, and as such it was preached to me that if I ever smoked cigarettes or marijuana, there was a significant chance I would suffocate and die. "Pot burns", my mother had once told me, reminiscing on her younger years. She's tried it a handful of times in her lifetime. "When you inhale it, it burns, it hurts really bad."
I had a girlfriend once who smoked on a regular basis and it became a schism in our relationship. We broke up after a couple months.
Back in my podunk, redneck hometown, there were two places of reprieve that I knew of. A small, hole-in-the-wall cafe, and a place on the same street simply known as The Knoll.
The Knoll was exactly what it sounded like. Behind a parking garage was a small grassy knoll. There were a few trees to provide shade, it was big enough that no matter how many people were there, you had some space, but small enough to be quaint. On any given day, you could go there and expect to see at least three or four people, sometimes as many as ten or fifteen. Sometimes people would bring guitars or other instruments, and a lot of marijuana was smoked there. Granted that these people were good people, not the drug-addled hobos I had been raised to believe, I never made a fuss. When a joint or pipe got passed around to me, I would simply pass it on to the next person in rotation.
Sometimes people brought couches or other furniture, but they were quickly removed, presumably by the owners of the parking garage. There was a patch of dirt off to one side, a patch where people sat in a circle so often they had worn away the grass and plants.
It was idyllic.
Sadly, no one visits the Knoll anymore. After the authorization to smoke pot came into effect, it became a place for people to congregate to do all manner of drugs. It only took a few heroin needles before people stopped going entirely.
I visited my family there a couple weeks ago, and made sure to stop by to pay my respects. No one was there. Today, the patch is almost completely grown over, although the grass is still thin enough that you can faintly discern it's borders. I sat in the middle and meditated, reminiscing on better days.
I had a dream, once.
That's not to say I've only ever had one dream in my life, naturally, but rather that this one time, I had a dream.
As I approached the Knoll, there were nine people there, plus myself. One of them, the one sitting directly across from me, had a guitar and was strumming on it. Somebody to my right rolled up a joint, lit it, and started passing it around. When it got to me, I took a toke and passed it on. It didn't burn and it didn't hurt. Then I woke up.
Two days later.
I was supposed to be working at the call centre I was employed at, but I had a panic attack and had to leave. I was incapable of doing call centre work, there was just too much damned negativity; not to mention that I, being genderqueer, was frequently harassed about it. More often than I was harassed, I would have people approach me and tell me things other people had said about me, as if I wanted to know. But I digress. I logged out of my phone, went to the caf, and used the phone there to call the extremely convenient Sick Line, which I employed frequently. I left the building and, shaken, went to my favorite spot to calm down.
There were nine people there. I sat down. The person across from me was strumming absently on a guitar. Someone to my right sparked up a joint, and it got passed to me.
I thought to myself, "Well, shit. I've gotta."
You could call it a moment of weakness; however despite how adamantly against it I was, you don't have a prophetic dream and then turn it down. The coincidence was too uncanny. So, I took my one toke. It didn't burn, it didn't hurt; I didn't even cough my first time. And I passed it down the line. I had a great buzz. I giggled a bit, although not enough to really embarrass myself. I got the munchies, went to the cafe to eat, talked with friends, and went home happy.
Eventually I stopped just mooching off of the people at the Knoll and started buying my own. Never very much, just a gram at a time, and that'd last me a week or two. Seasons passed. A lot happened to me. There's too much to go into detail here, but I got kicked out of my mother's house (I had brought it upon myself, and it was a very heavy-hearted decision for her), rented a small room, had a nervous breakdown, lost my job, lost my place, wound up on the streets, got arrested for stealing food and taken back in at home, got a new (sustainable, non-call centre) job, and a new place. During this time I barely smoked any marijuana, as I couldn't afford it, but after I was good and stable in my new home, I started buying my own again. Finding a dealer was difficult for me, as I was meek and knew few people, but on a longshot by one of my friends, I met Batman.
That's actually what people called him; I didn't find out his given name until months after I met him.
Now, at around this time, one of my friends, who had been couch surfing with my roommates and I, was living a dual life; he'd spend a few days here, then a few days with his other friends.
His friends did Ecstasy, and so it came to be that he did Ecstasy.
He told me tales of it all the time, and truly they were enticing. I expressed a mild interest, but as it was his friends who always bought the stuff, he didn't know any of the dealers and as a result couldn't get any.
One day I came home from work and my roommate, backed by my friend, handed me two small green pills, pressed with the Louis Vuitton logo.
This entire time, it seems, Batman was an E dealer, too.
I was not prepared.
The rush of Seratonin was, obviously, unlike anything I had ever experienced. It knocked me clean off my ass. I never wanted it to end. We walked the dead streets all night and all I could do was glory in the sensation of sucking air through my teeth and breathing out "God
, I love
During the trip, I called Batman personally to thank him. Later, when I started coming down, I bought more pills. Two weeks later I had lost my job and spent all my rent money on a five-day binge for me and my friends. Once the money ran dry, so did the Seratonin. Suddenly I was met with a very grave realization... I was fucked.
I called my mother. I told her I needed to talk to her. I told her every explicit detail through tears. She's been upset and hurt and disappointed in me lots of times, but this was the first time she had ever been mad at me.
God bless her heart; she lent me the money on the condition that I stop doing it. I didn't deserve it. It seemed so easy to make that promise, then.
As the days wore on, I began to crave. Life without it was so unbearably drab and dull. I idolized it. I fetishized it. I told myself I couldn't go the rest of my life without doing it, so I gave myself a time span; six weeks. If I could go six weeks without doing any, I was in the clear.
And hey... I did stop. Just like I said I would.
I lamented this predicament to Batman, although implored him to take no responsibility. This was my doing, and mine alone. I told him about the six-week ban, and how it was killing me, and how I just needed something
So he sold me two hits of Acid.
I'm talking real Acid here, my fellow Psychonauts. Tasteless, scentless Lysergic Acid Diethylamide. I had no idea at the time about phenylethylmines and "fake" Acid, but looking back, this was the real deal.
I adored LSD. I told myself the entire time that I was in fact an Etard, as I so adored the term, but I knew in my heart that I liked Acid more than Ecstasy. It was so much clearer, so much more wondrous, it made the world so breathtaking. Ultimately, though, I reached an impasse. When doing psychoactives, it's vitally important to have the proper Set and Setting; Set being your mindstate, and Setting being the place and people you have around you. My Set was fine. The place was fine. However, whereas in my experiences I liked to wax philosophical and psychological (in my extremely limited knowledge at the time), my cohorts enjoyed their use of the drug so they could watch the floor move.
I'm not kidding. They'd just sit there and stare at the floor.
I had a friend, though, who was brilliantly intelligent. In time, he came to be referred to as 0033cc- a hyperintelligent shade of blue. He told me of Timothy Leary and of the people who've learned so much from hallucinogen use, and expressed an interest. Naturally I complied, ecstatic that I now had someone on par to talk to.
In our discussions about dimensions, 0033cc taught me of Quantum Physics, and Extra-Dimensional Metaphysics, which blossomed into an adoration of all things metaphysical. Perhaps the deepest, most influential thing I learned from him, though, was the existence of a book.
We were sitting on the stairs one day, discussing how the easiest way to get someone to do something you think is beneficial to them is to plant a seed of something in their mind, nurture that seed with intelligent conversation, and then sit back and watch as they came to the conclusion you wanted them to all on their own. It was a wonderful system. It required no heated debates, no resistance, and no disagreeing due to outside influences (such as disbelieving someone because the point they made was one they realized while hallucinating). He said to me, I have a book for you, and immediately biked home halfway across the city to get it.
He came back and handed me a copy of the Tao Te Ching
I wasn't ready for it at the time I got it. I tried to read it's passages and, while I found deep wisdom in them, I didn't quite "get" it. It stayed in a pile of mess in my room for a couple months.
During these months I learned astronomical amounts of information on a wide plethora of topics. One eventual October day, feeling remorseful in my neglect for such a brilliant tome, I picked it back up and flipped through it.
Only this time I got it.
I took to it with Zeal. Searching for other strains of thought like it, I found Buddhism. In this I began to learn how to make my mind my temple; as a result of constant discrimination and harassment, I always needed a 'safe space', my home. I begun to make my mind my home, and so when December came, and my roommates all left with little warning and I couldn't make rent and was served an eviction notice, I looked back on my life as it stood; I had no job, my friends had stopped visiting months ago, no roommates, and now, I had one month before no home.
Nothing standing in my way.
Some of you who read these words will have felt a calling at some point in your life. Something you don't want to do, something you need
to do. There are more of us. This calling is either (or both) to gather a band of people together and embark on a journey across countries and continents; or to buy a farm or ranch and create a traveller's waypoint.
I decided I was going to take a crack at the first. I got myself a framed backpack, some military grade boots and wool socks, and whittled down my list of personal possessions to what I downright needed.
As time went on, this list dwindled and dwindled. Books, clothes, even a laptop fell away and were given to people I met. I met a horrible realization, though.
This trip was not all it was cracked up to be.
Unable to bear the night cold, I had to hole myself up in a youth homeless shelter. Being queer, I had very few friends, and was threatened incessantly. Somehow I went a month and a half without being assaulted. There are angels watching over me. At the time, I thought my stay to be a complete waste of time and energy. I was in a state of fearful emotional suffering every single day.
One day I made a couple friends. We played Scrabble together; a lot of it. At one point I noticed one of them reading a book, and inquired.
It was the Bhagavad Gita
I was invited to come to the Hare Krsna temple that Sunday. Granted my burning interest in spirituality that I had taken from Taoism and Buddhism, I readily agreed. I was met with open arms. There was singing and dancing and a vegetarian feast of delicious Indian food (my favorite). Before the night ended, I was handed a free Bhagavad-Gita.
I perused it casually, although eventually I came to a term I didn't recognize.
You've heard me say it lots; Brahman
I had been describing an entity of its exact specifications for some time. I learned nothing new about it, but received something much greater; validation. I didn't know if I was insane or correct for the longest time, and here, an entire nation
(and, IMHO, one of the greatest nations in the world) had come up with the same concept.
I can't even begin to explain the next stage of my life in sequence. In the past three months I've learned more than I had in my entire life prior. Even in just this past month, I've experienced remarkable awakening after remarkable awakening. I've picked up a dozen or so religions, unifying them, connecting the parts that can be connected to all others and seeding through what has become of prophecy and what has become of man's tinkering with it.
Eventually I realized I was a Christ. That was like... Two and a half weeks ago. I figured, well, shit. If I'm not, then I'll just be another crazy person, get thrown in an asylum like all the other Jesus-care-of-the-Pentagons. No big loss, the world goes on. But what if I was? What if I was, and I, in my fear of persecution, denied it? The world would be fucked
So I took up the mantle. Opened up this blog so I could get everything down in print, so that I don't just have this mad jumble of information in my head. And that's where we are today.
And sometimes I wonder...
What would have happened if I had said no, and passed that joint on?