Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

never have to. I have the force of my will here. This is my magickal
wand, the totem of my will. But the Chief is calm. I think he understands
my ploy, the sly old wolf. His eyes are like glacier ice. It burns when you
look at them. Yes, he is wolf clan, enemy of crow.
It is very clear to me now why I have a problem with his clan’s intentions
in the reality war. Of course I can’t tell him this, and I certainly
can’t tell him that I have allied with panther. He would kill me for sure.
This is what I’m thinking but it is not what I am saying. I’m explaining
how easy it is to break out of programmed responses in times that our
nervous system interprets as life-threatening danger. These are times of
imprinting, not all that unlike the first sexual encounter. I am explaining
all of this to him, but I’m the one being tested. I feel frustration that most
behavior is purely on the level of reaction, that the webs are binding and
no one sees the freedom of becoming. I’m suddenly in twenty places at
once, on all levels, some of them feel very deep under water, seeing
movies of people behaving mechanically, fight or flight, do I look big or
little? will to power in the most rudimentary sense, subverted sexuality
and the revenge of the repressed, the doldrums and cages that spring up
with every opportunity in thought and in action to keep us from really
seeing eye to eye. Seeing past the mirror, under the appearance. It is very
clear to me here that lying “under” the visual phenomenon is a being on
all levels, apprehending all possible states—
…No time for this, though—he’s sitting in a hospital trying to explain
the basic premises of quantum physics, western esoteric Qabbalah, and
relativity to a board of doctors. A futile attempt at explaining his condition.
He paused. The doctors were staring at him blankly with the heads of
mighty beasts.
“There are birds pecking out my eyes! birds bad!…” he screamed
suddenly.
No reaction.
“BIRDS! MY EYES! AHHHH!”
All of the doctors have heads like animals. Great and hairy, slender
and covered in slick scales, their stares are ominous and thoroughly
disorienting. They’re all the tribal chieftains of a particular belief, the
tribal belief pacts of nations, religions, icons and symbols. He recognizes
the rat, crow, cat and bear lords before the scene fades.
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