Attack of The She-Demons

What strange morning. The Day of the Living Dead. Hosts of female demons seem to be attacking. Uh.... I don't know what do... strange experience. I guess, perhaps, the most important is to learn to see... Learn to witness things without reaction. And it's not boring at all!! I see huge, monumental things! Not good things at all... ; - )

They have the size of universe... 

I should learn to smile. I know this. Yet I seem not be able to. Often it seems I've lost the ability to smile. My facial muscles are paralyzed. Other people do seem to be smiling, but I don't think it's the same. It doesn't come from the heart. They are dead inside, only the smile is left. I am not dead, but I am not smiling. Often I wonder how is it this way.

It seems that the reality has split in two levels.  If we think the human psyche, it could be imagined being like a house, that has upstairs and downstairs. - The cellar, and the attic. And I am there with the Cellar Man, and the rest of mankind is upstairs, and there are no ghosts, and no goblins there.

People say, that ghosts wear white sheets. I don't know about this... sometimes I think I see kind of jewels there, like pearls, - electricity. It might be reflecting moonlight.

I think it's a very tricky project to act as a mediator between these two worlds. Often I get scared; and as often as that, people get scared. I try to be as nonchalantly, and incognito as possible. Both with the supernatural entities, and with humans.

Sometimes I accidental bring with me some ghosts. They are strangers in the human world. I think people see them, in some subconscious way. Sometimes people freeze, and might jump in the air, their hearts jumping. I think this is the cold pollack jump.  

Anyway, it comes and goes, and people quickly forget such things.

Often I see something like horns too. It's a feeling in the foreheads. You can almost smell something burning. People get restless, and jumpy and paranoid. All kinds of thoughts enter their minds. I think she could have a name: Fama. She blows in two trumpets. There's a tremendous pressure; one doesn´t know how endure it. 

Fortunately there are the waters of the Atlantic, that cool the heat. The Atlantic pollack lives there. They move around in shoals. I see all kinds of marine animals there, cold and shining with moony lustre. Yes, they live in a pond, that can also be a sea. They are cool, like the autumn is cool, and brings coolness. Or so I wish; as you can never know. I imagine so. These are my imaginings, only.

For a long time I haven't written a blog-entry here in tblogs. That is; I have not written about sahaja yoga, in english language, in public ... well for about a year.

I would like to write so much, yet say nothing. There is so much, that I just don't know. My brain is limited. I think.. I would like to pose myself this question, today: what is the meaning of life? Because, the answer seems to be coming almost before the question arises. Why we live here, I think is because of Sweetness. It's a sugary answer. We live to enjoy things innocently. And that's all.

This photo is from ... I think it was August 2005; a year ago. At that time I was living somewhat different life... Perhaps things change. Times change. Could it be possible? Everything's secret now; forbidden even. Great things lie in shadows. It's the time of occultation.

What can a solitary Mystic do?

“I haven't a particle of confidence in a man who has no redeeming petty vices.” ( Mark Twain )

Terpsichore - Muse of Music and Dance, Jean-Marc Nattier, French , circa 1739, oil on canvas.

Here is a book written by Xenophon (444 - 357 BCE) about Socrates: Memorabilia or Recollections of Socrates. Etext of The Memorabilia by Xenophon

David, Jacques-Louis The Death of Socrates 1787 Oil on canvas 51 x 77 1/4 in. (129.5 x 196.2 cm)

I wake up early, and arrange my papers. From what I thought was just pile of trash, I find old documentation; my diaries, notes and photos from Murmansk, Morocco, Prague, Stockholm, Vilnius and Ukraine! I archive them carefully.

I was going to write about the Spanish gypsies today, so I will. I know some of you are in great doubt is it sahaja yoga/anti-sahaja yoga to express feelings like sadness and agony. Me, - I just try to take things like they are. We were told to accept the situation. Even if it’ll make me the worst sahaja yogi in entire history of universe, I will express my truth, which is also impersonal truth. In a way it is; everything IS.

I seem to have studied the theory of Flamenco in the beginning of 1990’s. But enough explanations. I will just copy those notes here in cold blood, so you get the dazzling picture and a point of comparison to my present-day writings. Is it me, or is it not?

One of my papers. Now don't think bad about it! Whatever dirtyness there is it's in the eye of the beholder. In reality, this is humorous, and pure.Yes...

“Everything vital is anti-rational, not merely irrational, … and.. everything rational is anti-vital.” ( Miguel de Unamuno)

Ritual ardour and feeling. Sevilla: center, charm, cocky, gracia. Death. Natural grace: arte, angel, duende – a birthright.

CANTE.

FLAMENCO: flight, opposition, of being subordinate in some undesirable way, of being on the outside.

FARRUCO/FANFARRÓN – the strange, the wild, the excessive, the over-passionate. Something to die for.

AFICIONADO: “with truth” – I feel my mouth to be full of blood. Cante jondo: slow. Song of the dispossessed: to mourn.

SOLEDAD(solitude), isolation: lost love, a dark cry against approaching death. SOLEA: a proud and stoical expression of fortitude in the face of personal or social disaster. Fire(flamenco) icon of catharsis of all that hurts in the soul, exorcism of evil spirits(from the real → imaginary, magic) Nostalgia can claim greater control over the present than sense.

“A miner cried out

in the bottom of a mine

Ayy how lonely I am!”

Flamenco is an infinite, tense, even hysterical world. And all at once it is completely fire. Baile is a dramatic statement that goes into living. IT IS A HARD STATEMENT, UNCOMPROMISING, COMBATIVE, SENSUAL, BUT ISOLATED, free from gesture, but dignified in intent. It’s eroticism is concealed. It is not sex. It is confirmation of individuality, of identity – your place in the world.

Duende is primitive coupling of light and dark, euphoria and disconsolation. Duality. “A domestic elf or sprite who concerns himself with the things of the house, either helping or obstructing. At worst he is a poltergeist. “

The Fierce, nocturnal animus that lies dormant in the depths of the flamenco soul. (And which craves release) Something you experience in a state of a semi-consciousness – (angel) “He”. It is non-verbal. It is the oldest and most impulsive form of self-expression: noise and movement, music and dance.

Federico García Lorca: Theory and Play of the Duende (Juego y teoria del duende): http://www.tonykline.co.uk/klineaslorcaduende.htm" title="http://www.tonykline.co.uk/klineaslorcaduende.htm" target="_blank"http://www.tonykline.co.uk/kl...

"Poetry is like faith--it isn't meant to be understood but to be received in a state of grace. No one should say "this is clear", because poetry is obscure. And no one should say "this is obscure", because poetry is clear. What we need to do is search out poetry energetically and virtuously so that it will surrender to us. But we need to have forgotten poetry completely before it can fall naked into our arms." ( Lorca)

Another thing that fascinates me, is the Khruschev era, and how it affected to poets in the SSSR. The forces of repression had been enormous: In Soviet history, Kruschev's Thaw or Khrushchev Thaw refers to the period between the end of 1950s and the beginning of 1960s, when repressions and censorship reached a low point. In Russian, the term is Khrushchovskaya Ottepel or simply Ottepel («Хрущёвская Оттепель»). The term was coined after Ilya Ehrenburg's 1955 sensational novel Оттепель.

That’s all this morning. I did say much? Yes: I am Flamenco. I am also a jerk and a cucumber. I could be anything you wish. Yesterday evening I was praying, and Mother came to me and said: “Jukkaji, you must see yourself though Mothers eyes.” And I saw myself at the airport, going to Murmansk, and I remembered prophet Mohammed’s(pbuh) saying: life is transit.

With Love, J-.

Now what do I think or feel? People are such.. such... how would I say. Only two things reliable; Steel and Granite; my two fathers, the earthly father, and the Heavenly Father; these two do I confess. Vremya vpered! Towards the Steeltown, Magnitogorsk!

I prefer Steel and Granite.

Truth is nurtured in the independent loneliness of wisdom.

"Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction." --Blaise Pascal

- Alexander Solzhenitsyn, "The Gulag Archipelago"

So called "Tantrism" ...

Ah. So this is the dreaded word. But you know Blake also said: "I am drunk with unsatiated love - I must rush again to War: for the Virgin has frowned & refused." And I must confess here, I am not interested in talking about tantra, and don't know much about the subject. I feel it's not the proper way. I am not opposing marriage, or chastity.

The trouble with tantra is, - in my opinion, that it's all human activity; it's born from the sympathetic system and it's activity. I think Blake was just trying to liberate man. I am sure he was loyal to his wife. He was talking about natural sexuality.

Originally, I didn't wish to bring this issue into discussion, - I think I am really a sly coward for a man. But somehow the matter popped up, and it was brought into my attention. Whose idea it was; God's, Satan's, some human being's? I was forced to take a stance, almost against my will. That's why it's bit thick to accuse, and say there's something wrong in my sympathetic system. It wasn't me. This whole mess was none of my doing.

Of course, it's possible to put label on me, and in other yogies that they are "evil tantriks", and it's possible to say even that William Blake is anti-god personality. But who is saying all this? Who makes these accusations? Who? What kind of person? It's very silly to flatter yourself, that you are like Rama. Rama would never had attacked against an archangel(=Blake)-removed his text; deities don't work this way. Rama was fighting against the powers of evil, against Ravana. Yogis seem to miss this central fact, and think that incarnations and angels are all occupied in hectic war against each other. It's not so, however much you twist and turn things.

It's also possible to behave nicely. Yes, you can compare: the bolsheviks were also like this; they condemned every single person as "an enemy of the people", and thought that their actions were justified. Yes, in very shortsighted view they might have been right. But if you look at things at more distance, it's obvious that they were a bunch of cruel people. Humans are often like this. Ordinary human beings; we don't have to name them with this paranoid terminology.. raksashas, bhoots, trotskyists, saboteurs, bandits, kulaks and vampires. I have to repeat what I said: Rama respected Ravana, even though he knew he was a raksahsha. But you don't know, you act in blind fashion accusing everyone of bhootishness.

Idealism and fanaticism often bring these things out.

It's another question why this issue about sexuality was brought up. I think someone was making wild accusations there, and the mob got into his side; being just mediocre, easy people.

I think, during this thing... "hieros gamos" - the attention is not in Mooladhara. It's nothing human. Sympathetic system is cool. I think it's the Goddess who makes the first move. She must have brought this issue on display. I suppose you could compare this thing to sex between the husband and wife, happening in privacy of marriage. I don't know. I have no firsthand experience of Goddess acting this way. But what I read from Blake, Michelangelo, Ishmael and Gibran, I see it's perfectly possible, and there's nothing wrong about it. It's on another level entirely.

If you have knowledge about sacred writings, of tradition; sure it's mentioned many times; Shiva-Shakti Radha-Krishna, all deities have their consorts. Shiva has that peculiarly shaped stone in front of him; the lingam. Sometimes it's depicted with yoni. I don't know why these symbols exists, but there must be some reason. Socrates went to see prostitutes of Athens, and loved their breasts. I think it's all written. I am not talking about tantra at all.

I just think it is logical what Shri Mataji talks; if She honours Blake, and Blake is talking about bridal mysticism quite explicitly, what I must think? It was Her who wished to point the way. And when my brother is talking about this same symbology, I wouldn't judge. I am only trying to understand.

I don't like tantra or Freud, as you think; I've preferred Jung. And I think that.. I say again: Gibran, Blake, Michelangelo were ARTISTS. They were special kind of persons; artist-personalities. They were not mediocre people, or promiscuous fellows. What they said, refers not only to physical reality, but it has a spiritual dimension. If some genius talks about sex, it's not the same as if some bloke from the street would talk. Or some puritan believer with dirty imagination. I am trying to say that an artist is made of different wood entirely, because an artist has a special type of personality; a higher type of personality, and for an average believer this is much too high.

It's not possible to understand. The minimum would be, to not judge, not become angry. You know, anger is also a sympathetic reaction. It's not so good thing as you think. You congratulate there yourself - because you are many, that it's righteous anger, but really it's self-righteous. It's blind anger. You think you are Kalki now, see. I don't have such illusions. I don't have any need to be something.

I don't believe you can censor everything. Shri Mataji is talking a lot about Blake. You should stop showing Her videos; that'd be the first thing, and I would not be surprised if that will happen, and new, fanatical yogis will take Her place.

 Terribilità

Talking about the righteous anger; the prophets were always alone. Like the Hebrew prophets, they never moved in herds or formed armies. The prophet is a solitary figure; alone against the whole world, only God on his side. People wish to twist things, this too. For average believers, of course it's convenient to be part of group. To be uniform. To be without personality. It's ok, human weakness. But they should not parade that they are great heroes like Rama, or powerful figures like the prophets; because it's not true; it's self-delusion.

The real men of God have a spiritual dimension. On this they work, and exist.

"Michelangelo prefered to sculp instead of painting but he was brilliant at both. His contemporaries talked about his terribilità, which basically means being awesome. There has never been a more awesome artist than Michelangelo: awesome in the scope of his imagination, awesome in his awareness of the spiritual significance of beauty."

Blake's Message - Unhampered.

Today morning I read Blake, - and if you can't believe - here's Ackroyd's book on my bed; I just took a photo with my digital camera. It's quite clear; for example if you take Blake's meetings with a christian believer John Linnell; he was Blake's friend, "rather puritanical and single-minded Babtist". Blake was saying there things like: "What are called vices in the natural world, are the highest subliminities in the spiritual world." And Linnell: ".. and then he went off on a rambling state of a Union of Sexes in Man as in God - an androgynous state in which I could not follow him."

Page 296: " This was the context in which he placed his eroticism, because for him it represented an approach towards eternity and the reawakening of the Divine Man who is within us. The image of the hermaphrodite, with penis and vagina, is an ancient one - for Blake it represents in literal form that time before the sexes were divided and human faculties thereby distorted or degraded..."

Well. These are not isolated instances; but frequent; representing the very essence of Blake's message. In some mysterious way spirituality and sexuality are connected. It's there for all to read. What is there reason to quarrell about, or become agitated, degrade, accuse or carry grudges against other yogis? It's wrong. All should by this book, or get it from library: Peter Ackroyd, BLAKE, 1995, London, ISBN 0-7493-9176-6.

What a mess...

And I am tired. All these books must weight many tons! I throw away what I can. Soon this will be ready; everything nice and in order, clean and comfortable.. I wait that moment. I love every book individually, and put Luther there, Wislöf here, Ginsberg, Gibran, Blake and million others... Now some tea...

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I change the name from MyBlog to YogaBlog. It does make some sense. Perhaps: SahajaYogaBlog? This is my yoga, my path; satyagraha, my fight to defend The Truth. Writing marga.

Bloody H.

Baron von Richthofen is re-entering my daydreams: all kinds of German, Prussian and masculine things whirl in my head. Every day so much physical work; I go arms wide and muscles sore. I enjoy to work. Work is even better than sex; because in sex there's two people, and you never can be sure of that other one. But in work you are bloody, beautifully alone, like that Baron von Richhofen on the sky in his red plane, like Charles Bukowski; there's aboluteness of freedom, and purity; and I enjoy it. Of course, it's not absolute loneliness; but it's BEING WITH THE GOD OF MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI.

The spring is coming. Greenness sprouting from winter-grey. After work I feel some impatience; sort of ecstatic impatience. I guess Michelangelo got that aggressivity from chopping marble with a hammer; after such concentration you can not stand much human nonsense. That moral corruption and self-delusions of human beings. Their lies and cruelty. Why we must have patience for such? Wait for 10 millions years? God!! Give me that Judgement Day today and here; that's why I choose solitary pleasure. Give me one drop of purity. I see a vision of me running towards heaven; and I knock the door and God shouts from above "who's knocking?", and I shout back "it's bloody me. You should know! I wish you make me the general of heaven; I wish to become like father Kartikeya. Please make me your general, I am old enough; I can't always be just your son, you see?"

I don't know if I get answers to this sort of whispers; or prayers you should call them. Today I was doing shopping there at the supermarket, and there was a giant movement; like a hand or a forefinger being smashed through my brain, and the Thoughtless State stood there very erect; like a lingam. I was receiving massive vibrations; some people see, some people are too blind to notice anything. It was the finger of God the Father. They say that a hurricane of size F5-6 is the finger of God, but no, the real finger goes through your brain when you receive the blessing of the Father.

I was thinking how will I tell people, of how I know it's the Father, and not .. for example: green martians, garden pixies, the freemasons, kgb, or witches. First, He is one; there is unity in that feeling. Many could not do it; they would run to opposite directions, there'd be more confusion. Like the legions of hell; it's easy to see; it's always many there; it's a cloud of mosquitoes. Second; it's the Father, because the energy is so fatherly. It's not macho in any way, or show-off or cruel. It's responsible energy. Third; it comes from the right-channel. Fourth; it comes through physical and mental work/activity. It's enough evidence even for a doubting Thomas like me. - Hail Kartikeya!

The Fujita Tornado Intensity Scale

I sit here in my room. The door to balcony is open; the birds sing; it's warm spring evening. I enjoy my life; normal life, normal people, everyday happenings. All idealism and belief is something like dead in me, and I can't even stand the idea of religious people; - the "believers" without feeling that I have to vomit. It's all hypocrisy; someone has to say it; it doesn't matter what is your belief, or sect and what rituals you make; it will not help, and not change absolutely anything. the only thing that means what are you yourself. If there's no goodness in you; no amount of meditation, or prayers or sacred texts, dogmas and theories will help.

I am so shocked that i guess I have to feel like this another week. Buddha was very right on the nature of God; - that he wasn't talking about God at all. The self is central.

Om Shri Shiva Kavi - The Poet.

I immerse myself in sweet, brown coffee, write some poems.

Why I love the Poets?

I love Poets, because a Poet
incarnates Love,
so much more,
than those who only speak about Love,
- Believers and Lovers,
but never plunge into Her fully!

Who has the courage?
Who is Real, -
Who is most fully human?

Only The Poet!

I believe there’s such thing as “the truth of the soul”, which only few understand. It’s not the same as “absolute truth”, or “divine truth” – gyana. But it’s not so subjective, as base men seem to think; always fearing original thinker to be a madman. “Speak your Mind, and the base man will avoid you.” (Blake) I believe there’s such a thing among men, as a Genius. There are geniuses. They are men, we ought to respect and obey. Who ought to be our true leaders. I am getting close to Carlyle here, but it doesn’t matter. I believe in Great Men, in Remarkable Men: in greatness. I believe that humanity can merge with the divine, as we see happening in saints. It doesn’t really matter if this authority comes from outside or from inside. I think we see a sprout of this process in all those lunatics who where shut in draconian isolation, and pumped with tranquilizers, their identity there, in pieces, trying to get some picture… And there becomes this growing certainty, or intuition that they are of noble birth, or at worst megalomaniac fantasies are born to compensate harsh reality. It’s then, the animus-projections appear; and Napoleon, Christ, Alexander the Great comes forward marching… I think it just proves that the Archetypes are born from within.

I also believe that the greatest lunacy is not shut within the Walls of Lunatic Asylum. I believe that the Lunatics are just mere victims of Greater Evil. A more collective evil, like depicted in this film One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. Also I believe that we can not blame few monstrous people like Hitler, Stalin or Mussolini; it’s just too obvious. I believe that the true Hitler lives within our own soul. We just haven’t realized it yet; the magnitude of OUR evil. I think it’s this the Poets were trying to tell to the bourgeoisie; trying to hold a mirror. Out of Love. Because a Poet is Love personified, he is doing this type of assistance. He sees that the base man is blind. He understands that it’s the duty of a Poet, to awaken. To make others see. 

The base men get always upset. They begin to blame the Poet of blasphemy; they accuse that the Poet is denying God or something. I don’t really understand this. The Poet was saying something about the human nature, in general. The base man reacts as if the human nature was God. I guess the Poets sees deeper; he sees our separateness from the Divine, he knows we are not One yet. The Beam – the real beam is not in the eye of a poet; - he is not a negative person, or a malevolent nuisance; but a Light-Bringer. In this sense, Christ was the greatest poet. It’s the work of Christ.

The Beam is in the eye of base man, because he has this erroneous conviction that we are already divine, - and he can not make distinction between the human ego and the God. That is why he reacts. He lives in the misconception that his ego is something unique and absolute.

That’s why all religions have gone so wrong.

But yes; a human being can merge with the divine; just it doesn’t happen through the ego of crowd of base man, may be the collective ego. Or in any way politically. It may not even happen in “politically correct” way. This someone might be somebody outsider, of whom we know nothing.  This merging is happening in Mystics Soul.

The word “outsider” is a lovely one. Of course, he is Shiva himself, there in disguise; Ulysses returning home. How to recognize an outsider; I think so many have written about it; the greatest is by that awesome, immortal Cornwall Wizard, - Colin Wilson: The Outsider. 1956. We get to names of Existentialism: Camus, Sartre, Ionesco, and Beckett.

Talking about “collectivity”; I think the paradox, and the mystery of true collectivity is precisely that the outsider stands there in the middle. THIS was the discovery of the Hebrew Prophets. Oh, my heart is bursting..like pile of coals when it’s becoming white-hot: it’s all been prophesized; it’s all been written. So much has been talked about Christ. So many empty words, and empty promises, vague assertions have been made by people who are just holding a formal office or post.

It’s just a thought….

16th April 2005. Hietalahti – Bulevardi.

It's evening. A quiet evening. I found today a book about Paul Verlaine. ( a French poet 1844-1894) It is written by one interesting Finnish writer, Anna-Maria Tallgren in 1922. I think it's about the only book she published, even though she wrote much. I don't know exactly but I think Paul Verlaine was a decadent poet? A Parnassian. I always thought that the Decadents were romantic poets; but it seems here that Decadence was a reaction against Romanticism? Certainly this Verlaine messed with alcohol and all kind of "sinful" life. It makes me think of one other book; The Death of Vishnu.

I dare to think that Verlaine is a great poet. Before I would have been more afraid of him - of his alcoholism, because it’s not dharmic behaviour. But… things change, I change, we change. There’s less fear, and more love.

Often I get just such immense comfort from poetry, that I hardly believe it’s possible. Poetry is balm for my heart. And more.. it goes even deeper; and I wish to try to say it; in some sense, I feel that Poetry is me. I am poetry. There’s this recognition of similarity; similia similibus curantum. I don’t like books as such. Most literature I just detest. Today I looked the books they sell in normal supermarket here in Finland, - there were about five hundred books in book department, and there was not even one interesting. I asked the question; why? The answer; supermarket books are meant for average people; they are popular; and the average, base men have no belief, no depth; so there’s nothing happening in their books. They are all guaranteed agnosticism. Perhaps people are too lazy to believe; or too deep in mud? And if some miracle, some exception happens, it’s some kind of sensation. For the seekers, miracles are everyday-life.

How TRUE(!!):

Et puis j’aime! Tout court! En masse, en général.
Depuis la fille amère au souris sépulcral
jusqu’à à Dieu tout-puissant dont la droite nous méne !
( Verlaine, A Sonnet to Gabriel Vicaire)

 Flea-Market purchases…An Escapade into 1940’s Fantasy.

I was at the flea-market. I wasn’t going to buy anything, but it happened I was going out from there with a heavy pile of books in my hands. Why did I do that? There’s this one friend, a confirmed book-lover; he once said that he collects old books, because “you never can be sure they keep those archives well, in museums.” One of his strange motives was this; a distrust in museums.

Wednesday morning.

I thought I would like to make this blog some sort of praise to my hometown, Helsinki. You don't see so much these photos in Internet. Yesterday I was in sahaja yoga program, and felt..there are no words even to describe: BLISS. Mercy. I was in heaven. Nirvana. I felt engulfed by all-enveloping cosmic love both inside me, in my heart, and outside me, in relation to other people. Pure love, without second thoughts or anything hidden. Now I don't even wish think. I am reduced to an idiot, who repeats one word; love, love.... And believes in it! Love will save the world. Love & Beauty.

It’s someone there… photographing. APR1_0544e2.jpg

The First Posting.

I found this blog space here. I used to have one blog in Finnish, in other place, but wish to try this one here, for a change. Let's see how it goes. I chose the colour green for it's association with calm, the forest, fresh, mint, and also I feel green is a colour of growth, being the colour of vegetation. Frogs are green, and so are the leprechauns. Ireland is green. Emeralds. And it's also a colour of strangeness; if you are green, you are new, and everything looks odd, and it's how I mostly feel. Nothing further to say, at this point. 

Bolo Shri Adi Shakti Mataji Shri Nirmala Devi ki Jai !!!

"Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again," Jesus answered her. "But whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never thirst any more, for the water that I will give him will become within him a well bubbling up into everlasting life." The Gospel According to John, 4:13-14