Shadow Stripping, But Not For Brazzers

Unfinished, but pretty.

 

That happens to me a lot. More than I'd like to admit. Especially with drawings. I have numerous sketchbooks full of these unfinished pieces. That's okay. I myself am an unfinished drawing.

Anyone who knows me at all knows I use strange methods, divers methods they were once called, to dig into my deep structures and fix the wrongly wired neurons. Pills won't do it. Have I said I can't take anti-depressants? Zombie pills, I'm good. So ritual. It's not weird. Now, any literate person can find a million books on ritual practice and purpose, but it's poorly explained. Maybe because they never show you their work, like the kid in math class who can do everything in his head gets F's for not showing his on the worksheet when called for, occult writers fall short with their furtiveness. I guess they don't want to embarrass themselves. Might fuck up their shot at deification.

I don't care about shit like that. Maybe that makes me gregarious. I don't know many friends of mine who'd argue against this point, so here's what I wrote in my handy notebook. Anything I scribble in said notebook is a hint easier to do when I wake up the next day, and last night I chose the following:

"I once used speed and pills to stay in the zone, but those are gone, the days over. My talent has been buried under the rubble of two decades of opiate trash. Thou shalt not covet it is said, and I see why--try getting anything done when you covet being finished. Do not send me the energy that covets being done. Burn out the vibration--the fight is obnoxious. Take up my evil."

You know that BLAH feeling you get at work when the day is long? Or when you get the "I DON'T WANNA" shit? You have to slough it off, maybe wipe it away with a drink or merely a scoff and go on about your day? I hate that shit. I hate the way it feels and the way it makes me have to fight myself to get anything done. Not that I never win. But slowly, and with far more strife than needed. This didn't happen in days of old. Because dope. I guess this is another reason most addicts turn to Jesus. Or whomever they believe will take up their evil. Lucky for me, that's my HGA's charge.*

Take today's workout. It's a long process. After an hour this ridiculous neon sign blazing STOP started fucking with my amygdala and took the oomph out of my muscles. That's not cool. I need to get through the entire routine if I don't want to punch the mirror when I walk by it. And writing. It's like starting an ancient lawnmower, getting going and staying there for the whole day. Good thing I have a bit of mental kung fu in yoga. However, fuck that shit. I need to step it up and keep it up. There's a lot to this game. It has no time for complaints and very little for the blahs. 

I view it as an evil, and I want it stripped from my shadow. This is my way of confronting the sections of psyche deeper than ego when doing shadow work. Ritual practice helps shred what you can't reach, and there will be things you can't reach. This argues for creation of the tantric higher self. Something that can strip you of your bullshit while you sleep and have you waking up wondering who replaced your brain. The old habit demon does return to fuck with you, and you have to stay vigilant against him until he shrinks, losing power and size and above all the power to control you with his noise. Maybe soon I'll be a James Patterson type, writing seven books a year, publishing them all. 

And I might even finish that drawing. 

You have to think like that to have any chance at success. Even if you're a fool. If you think safe, you're fucked. If you can't believe in yourself, you're fucked. If you talk yourself out of everything with a cowardly logic, you're doubly fucked. That's called a Beck's Triangle. Watch for those in the brain.

OK for now. Enough babble. Coffee time. 

 

*HGA is Holy Guardian Angel. Find yours, strip the being of the dogma, and converse. See if it doesn't work as well for you as it is starting to for me.