PART I
Did you ever wonder about what you implant in your mind through words, visuals, daily rituals and what you read? Sometimes we take in so much and don’t realize that we are giving energy to a thought that expands into a space that we feed and it grows and keeps wanting to nurture off our consciousness especially when we give it play in our mind. What are you thinking? Are you giving power to daydreams, wishful thinking? Are you giving play to the chit chat in your head?
You are thought manifestors but you don’t realize the game you are playing. Thoughts are like magnets they will attract like. If you dwell on a thought, watch how events will unfold around you to reinforce that thought.
Sometimes we dwell on so much hate; that we bring hate into our life. Sometimes we think we are in love when we are in relationship but we are attempting to dominate and so we are reacting to how we see the person in our mind and not being full present with them when they are in front of us. We have already lived out the dialogue in our head and our reacting.
If you are doing it on this scale, what do you think others are doing on a mass scale. You take so much garbage into your mind and fertilize it until you are becoming food source for parastical thoughts. The world is fluid and you are giving power to thoughts that do not serve you.
What’s that saying, you are what you eat…rephrase it…you are what you think.
You give power easily to others when you believe what they think about you. People sometimes make you a prisoner of their opinions and then you are so caught in the trap that you forget who you are and become an extension of someone else.
Thoughts will rule you if you do not become conscious what you are giving power to. You think you are ill or think ill of someone and constantly focus on this; you will manifest it if the person is not secure within their own mind.
If a government, an institution or religion is constantly feeding you types of information based on lies but made to seem like truth then you are serving their agenda and not your free will.
THOUGHTS
His co-workers had tried to tell him to remain silent but he walked around mumbling, “Unfair, unfair. There’s got to be more to life than this 9 to 6 mental institution. It’s like every where you step or shit; there are rules and regulations. I’m walking a straight line that has nothing to do with my life!”
“Management doesn’t give a damn what one would say but you take the money and live the best you can,” said a co-worker walking by.
Other co-workers turned from him; they did not like to associate with him when he was not having the hive mentality.
He must remember: The noise of the world kept one from being crazy.
Other co-workers had told him this quietly several times: “This is the way life is!”
“Hey, you got to feed the machine if you expect to stay a clog in the wheel.”
“It’s best to accept it is the way it is.”
“Your opinions don’t mean a goddamn to me,” he was told by the one who was not seen but heard as booming voice that came from behind a door. He was referred to as The Voice Who Hides Behind The Door.
The disgruntled employee found himself pulling more within. This was causing wrinkles on his face because he was tightening up himself within. Some said he that raisin look, or he had a prune mentality or the worry lines were sagging like grocery bags.
Alcohol did not diminished it; nor sex with people who preferred no strings attachment encounters. Names meant heart and memory might be involved. It was a bought taking the tension out of the flesh. Needles and pills were temporary and he always came back to the same cubicle lifestyle.
The co-workers always were rushing back to their cubicles. The cubicles were uniform in design. No signature of personality was allowed. The corporation had a look and all must consign themselves to the look or find them selves unemployed. Peculiar traits and habits were a disruptive to the work flow and were not allowed. So, the cubicles were like mental cells that one could imagine were inside a corporate entity that used logos to lull people to sleep behind the wheel of their mind.
“I must have a purpose. I must have a form,” the disgruntled worker mumbled.
“You’re asking for the foot. Right up the kisser. You’ll be no where. Do you want to be homeless, a stone cowboy living in a cardboard box and eat garbage out of a waste bin or waiting for someone to leave food on the table in a fast food restaurant, or sit with a paper cup thinking someone will give you money instead of downcast look or an opinion. You thinking someone should hand you what they work hard for,” said a co-worker whose sweat dripped like a leaking faucet because he was standing outside of his cubicle too long. He didn’t feel connected to the system and caused him to feel dysfunctional, an outsider, a fringe dweller that were kept in the ‘bad section’ of town.
The disgruntled employee’s steps moved slower through the office. His eyelids didn’t bother to open no further than minimal requirements. The lines of desks were endless.
The Voice Behind The Door could move through the office without physically being seen, his presence could be smelled, like tar being laid on a summer day in the mid 90’s. You could hear the Voice Behind The Door scratching inside your head before its voice crackled around you like fire.
“Who do you think you are,” he heard in his head.
Again his daydreaming was interrupted. In the time before this he would have stuttered in his mind “I am nothing without the greater glory of you.” He felt his body quiver as if he was experiencing an inner earthquake. Then he felt a scratching within as if something was being removed, like wallpaper, like writing being scratched out. This time, he hadn’t turned his computer on. He looked at his blank screen. A light blinked as if an eye had opened and closed. The disgruntled employee watched the screen intensely to see if it was a dream. This time his response wasn’t automatic, programmed, or what was expected. His response was like a flutter of wings. The room shook. His co-workers screamed out for the Voice Behind the Door as they leaped under their desk.
“I am somebody,” he chanted over and over again.
Fired. What to do? Fired meant the same as “To Be Placed in a Place Where There Is No Place.” But he ran before he could be found out. He couldn’t hear the noises of the world. The other cubicles remind him of shoeboxes; no little boxes that would fit inside another box.
He heard the clanking sound. They were coming. They always came for those who would become fringe dwellers. He would be the shit of the world if they caught him; mud in the eye of the corporation.
The metal hands would lead dissenters away to a room where no one ever returned. He felt something in him pushing, pushing. His face moved within itself, “What is this that causes movement in me? “What stirs inside until there is a thumping inside that causes my body to expand and retract. Something moves in me, not just in one spot but throughout. I don’t know this is stirring.
He had been running down endless corridors of cubicles and the other works turned from him so they would not become like him; crazy, deranged, a delusional, insane, and dead to the corporation.
The metal hands hadn’t found him. Lights appeared out of no where and were blinking around him like thousands of eyes. Sounds radiated from them. He found himself spinning then falling.
“What is this? I just wanted to be somebody. But I am somebody. I’m not a clog in a machine. I am not a program to be deleted. I have a voice. I have a vision. I can see!” And he did something that he didn’t understand but felt. He uttered a sound. With that he found himself standing in front of a door that wasn’t there.
He heard a noise from behind.
“It must be the metal hands.”
“Don’t look behind are you will lose your way.”
“Who are you?”
“Knock and the door shall be open.”
“I don’t know you. You might be The Voice Behind the Door.”
“I am you calling from The Place That Sings.”
“Who am I that you call to me?”
“Knock and the door shall be open.”
The chaotic noise grew intense behind him.
He knocked.
The door opened and he witnessed a light pulsating with a choral sound and it filled him with light and sound and he was gathered by its wings and the door was shut behind him. He no longer heard the chaotic noise or was being chased by the metal hands.
Behind the door, he found himself singing lights from his mouth as he emanated from the circle of light that pulsated with music. Another thought had been gathered from chaos and was singing its way into another thoughtform.
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