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An Excerpt From An Unknown Document Extracted From The Portal.

I mostly had lost patience with the saliva dripping onto my neck. The serpents smoked cigars, and the cigars gave off a thick smoke. Everything felt thick because of it. It was a warm thickness, and the wetness of the saliva created a feeling I no longer desired to sit with. It seemed funny now, but desire was the thing which led me to this seat to begin with.

I pushed my chips outward towards the dealer, just like the start of any other hand, except I pushed out all of the chips I had remaining. There weren’t many left. There weren’t few either.  There were enough that it was more than a typical hand, but not so many that the action felt flashy or “High Roller-ish.”

As I stood up, the dealer asked, “Cashing out?”

“No,” I replied. “Just let it ride.”

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

“I’ll be around. Keep dealing me in.” This may have not made complete sense in retrospect, but his silence denoted acceptance of my request.

Perfect. The chips would hold a place for me. I needed to stretch out a bit. I needed to get out of this place. Pushing through the smoke, I wiped away the wetness from my neck.

If the picture isn’t clear, at this point, I am moving towards the exit of some cramped, stale, smoke filled casino in some desert somewhere. Leather skinned serpents move throughout doing serpent things: grunting, shuffling, sipping, smoking, laughing. I overhear conversations. They’re the typical serpent kinds. All parties are given ample time to speak, though no one listens. That’s the things with these types, an agreeable detachment.

On my way to the exit, I pass a washroom. I choose to step inside. I could probably use a bit of a wash so a washroom is the perfect place.

After immediately splashing a few handfuls of water against my face, I catch a glimpse of my own reflection in the mirror and laugh out loud. More times than not, I forget who I am. Surrounded by serpents and the casualness of it all, it is easy to do.

Breathing smoke and drenched in mouth droppings, it is easy to do. I don’t know if it is the typical experience of others, but the lack of acknowledgement of my presence, or at least my presence as an outsider, ads to my temporary amnesia.

Sometimes I’ll smoke their smoke. I have drank their drinks. I’ve even mindlessly listened to their ramblings and had a chuckle while sharing a story of my own. Maybe we’re not that different. Maybe that’s why they barely acknowledge the difference. What is the difference anyways?

I am able to avoid this question. I’m familiar with the thought, and I know it has led to quite the existential crisis in the past. No time for that. Not now.

I look in the mirror once again, as I thank it for the reminder. “Now straight to the exit,” I tell myself. I know there is a portal near, and I know I plan to find it.

#story #blog

An Unknown Document Extracted From The Portal.

I was born to this species. They told me, “You are Human.” They told me to “Be.” I was allowed to grow and mature.

A set of circumstances: location, technological innovation, career, friends and experiences would mold me. I would become a Good Human.

I was Good at Being Human.

I was a Good Human Being.

Something happened. Having volunteered for societal programing on more than one occasion, at times moving locations and voluntarily receiving courses designed to reprogram, sometimes for months or years at a time, I noticed something. What I thought was growth and progression was simply the winding of the mechanical gear that controls this shell of a body. What I thought was, “A New Life Path,” was actually just a new track to be placed on. The mechanisms turned. My mind turned. The shell turned. The earth turn. Nothing changed.

The world would get louder. I would become frustrated. Every indicator was that any variance in my path, any variance from the track I was placed upon, would result in complete and utter chaos, most likely resulting in death.

Fear is the biggest motivator, especially in today’s society. Death our biggest fear. All of our fears are ultimately born deep within, mostly from some sort of fear of The Great Unknown: Death.

Fear is a great control technique because the only way to overcome is through complete acceptance of the unknown, a process requiring lifetimes of deprogramming to master, or a full  on confrontation of the fear. A decision to experience the terrifying in order to gain the truth. Is this not why death is The Great Controller? How do we push past that fear and confront The Otherside?

Just past fear is freedom. The portal between: Truth. The greatest fear: Death.

I believe we must evolve or dissolve. In an increasingly polarized world, as a human collective, I believe both are occurring. An increase in interconnectedness, technological advances and the desire by many to sacrifice free thought for temporary comfort, emotional protection and material excess will lead a portion of society to spiritual dissolution, a complete loss of individual identity and an immersion in the systems, dogma and structure of the Mainstream Conscious Collective.

A second group will evolve. In order to evolve, this group must push past all barriers of fear, ultimately conquering the greatest societal dictator of our time: DEATH.

How must one conquer the fear of death? By pushing past it. By experiencing it. Is this our purpose? To stop “Being” and to go beyond.

So, is my goal to die? No. I already did that.

In order to understand death, we must explore it. We must, “Know our opponent.” Art, theology, philosophy and psychology are great places to start, so I read the wisest. I attended religious ceremonies. I attended religious schools. Years of schooling. I listened to the greats. I listened to their questions around life and death. I listened to the answers the gurus gave to those questions. I listened to those choosing to define themselves as, “The Common Man,” and I posed the same questions I had heard the greats ask and the gurus answer.

I experienced death through others. I spent many years in a career field that not only normalized death as a daily occurrence; it also let me sit with the fellow. I watched humans as they slipped from this earth. I watched others fight, death prying their finger tips as they clung to their existence. I told children their mother had died. I told mothers their children had died. I watched those same mothers die before me, as the shell they once occupied continued to be.

I have pulled people from depths of death so dark, that return should have never been an option, and I have cast others in the same direction, their fate death’s decision.

Prayer. Study. Meditation. Psychedelics. All have played the roll of “Instrument” in my journey. My Exploration.

I have written albums, books and journals. I have recorded songs, poems and rants.

All of this to answer the question…

How do we overcome the fear of death?

How do we gain the knowledge and the truth that lie just beyond death?

How Do We Die? This question was the turning point.

Flow chart after flow chart. Convo after convo. Smoke after smoke. Book after book. “How do we die?”

How Do We Die?

So how do we die? This question, seemingly simple in length, can quickly become quite incomprehensible in discussion, so I will keep it short, as that appears the key to simplicity.

Death: Definition: The action or fact of dying or being killed; The end of the life of a person or organism.

For simplistic purposes, “The action or fact of dying or being killed,” simply exists in the definition to tell people that death is a noun. This implies that it is a state one may be in. It is the state that is created as a result of dying or being killed.

The second half of the definition goes on to further define the state of Death as, “The end of the life of another person or organism.”

Life: Definition: “The condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity and continual change preceding death.”

Ultimately then, death is a state in which an organism experiences the end of the condition that includes the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity and continual change. To avoid complexities like philosophy, religion, etc, for the purpose of this discussion, every religion and philosophy I have encountered acknowledges more than one level of, “Self.” Some include: Higher Self, Subconscious, Ego, Shadow, Spirit, Soul, Conscious, Inner Child, etc. In death, we believe some of these things will depart and others will remain. How many, their roles, etc, defined by each given discipline or philosophy.

Continuing, let’s look at rejection, or, more specifically, the experience of rejection. Many people fear rejection in a similar way that many fear death. In order to push past the fear of rejection, we must not push past that fear in all aspects of life. We must start with one area and push past the fear. After the first time, it is easier. After the third time, it is kind of fun. After the tenth, we understand the process. We’ve probably been rejected enough that we know it doesn’t matter, and we have also had enough positive outcomes that our confidence has grown.

We understand the process and the role that rejection plays. We also gain an appreciation, maybe even a liking for it. It makes acceptance sweeter. It poses the, “No,” that we must search through to find the, “Yes,” that turns a word to a reward.

IF we must experience our fears in order to overcome them, IF Death is the ultimate fear, then… How Do We Experience Death?

We experience it ever day.

Death is the systematic lifestyle I described. Death is the stagnation. Death is the failure to realize our potential. Death is, “I can’t.” Death is life without growth. Life with no change. Habit and routine, ultimately, a form of death.

I have died many times. There have been points in my life so devoid of life that I have seen a zombie when I looked in the mirror. This is an experience that I believe has become an essential and all too quickly normalized part of the, “Human Experience.”

Think about it. Not every human can describe the last time that they were truly free. Hair blowing in the wind. Alive. I would hypothesize that every human can tell you about the time that the promotion or upgrade in their current circumstances was so close that they could touch it, but a thought caused a hesitation response just long enough that it all passed them by. We all die. We don’t all live.

What does that mean?

What it means is that we have all experienced death. What happens when we experience death? Nothing. Death happens. The thing, being, idea that was once labeled, “Alive,” is then labeled as, “Dead.” That is death. A change in state. Hot to cold.

What happens exactly at the same time though? As one thing is being labeled, “Dead,” another is being labeled alive. Death is a change in state. To die is to live. To embrace death is to embrace life.

So, if death is a constant presence, what is there to be afraid of? If pushing past the fear of death has already been done, what is left?

Now we must live.

This is The Evolution.

#thoughts #blog #selfhelp

The Following Document Was Extracted From The Portal. It Appears To Be A Prelude, Possibly To A Book.

I died years ago. I was murdered in a sense. I just don’t know which one.

I was sitting at home on my couch indulging, or binging, when someone killed me. I think I knew the person. I think I knew them very well. Strangely, I didn’t realize it was them when it happened. It didn’t feel, look, sound, smell or taste like them, but it was them in a sense. Again, I just don’t know which sense it was. Clearly not one of the standard 5 I had been taught in school if that makes sense.

Anyways, they entered through the front door. Why it was open, I don’t know. In hindsight it doesn’t make sense but neither does a closed door. So, as I mentioned, they entered the home through the front door. Gun in hand.

Rather silently with no resistance and no emotion by anyone involved, the barrel was pressed against my temple pushing in with enough force to cause a pressure canyon to form in my skin, before slightly tilting my head to the side, bending at the neck. Click. I felt the explosion in the chamber of the weapon. The deceptively clever design of the firearm (genius level engineering in truth) coupled with that exact explosion propelled the projectile through the floor of the skin canyon.

As mentioned, this was unexpected. Not in the sense that I didn’t know it was going to happen, but in the sense that even my soul didn’t know it was going to happen. I’m not aware if god even knew it would happen. Regardless, both my body and my soul, we were not prepared. So, just as the unexpected arrival of hot metal energy in the previously fully occupied space of my skull caused a spontaneous eruption, pushing a shock wave of a ripple through and a white and pink speckled explosion of red out, my soul was thrust from my body, unusually exiting in the same direction as the red mist. Sideways.

Unbound by reality, it hurled itself through the wall, the same wall the blood like matter stopped at, sprawling itself across the canvas of bare suburban eggshell white before posing for a photograph; the type of photograph that would later claim motive was evident beyond any type of reasonable doubt.

Enough with photos and the physical. As the soul that had either once been mine or was now finally becoming mine, emerged from the wall on the other side, it looked to the door. It was closed after all. Always had been. Had this been an inside job?

This is where the story begins. Think of that as the melodic interlude. Contributing in its presents. Forgotten in its absence. It’s own story when presented that way.

The story begins just after, on the other side of the wall. The previous story becomes a past event with significance so minimal I couldn’t even tell you what city I was in. So we begin. Right here. Right now. Making this story: The Present.

You may unwrap.

#shortstory #blog #prelude

A Document Extracted From The Portal. Possibly The Second Chapter Of A Book.

“Ok. What the hell?” I thought as I pushed the hazy glass door of the convenience store open and walked inside.

My carefree stroll and my presence in the present were no more. I now thought to myself, “Where am I? Is the fruit not edible here? Do I look dirty? What has happened?”

Confused by the current situation, I took the man’s advice. I grabbed a donut, a candy bar and headed to the soda section. Before making it five steps, I tripped quickly catching my balance. I looked back to see that the corner of one of the tannish brown vinyl floor tiles had folded over on itself grabbing at my toe as I passed.

I squinted trying to see into the refrigerator. The dull florescent light above the display hissed and flickered. This, coupled with the dew on the inside of the refrigerator door, made it difficult to see the labels on the beverages. “Um. Green,” I thought, only being able to distinguish colors. I opened the door and grabbed a lukewarm, “Green drink,” out of the room temperature refrigerator, catching a whiff of what can only be described as sour milk. The soda bottle stuck to my hand. I looked and saw brown syrupy drip lines running down the side of the bottle.

I walked to the counter. “Good Morning,” I said to the woman on the other side. She was a black woman about 30 years old. She had beautiful brown braids with tints of either silver or white weaved in. They were tight on her head and were pulled back in a pony tail. She chewed gum. She raised her eyebrows and nodded her head forward once in acknowledgment of my comment, never once looking at me. Instead she moved her gaze from her phone, to the counter, to my products.

“Should I tell her that her hair is beautiful,” I wondered. “No. Don’t do that. She doesn’t want to be bothered.”

She said something to me. I couldn’t make it out through the half inch thick glass between us. “What was that?” I asked, moving my ear closer to the small communication hole. At least I assumed that’s what it was, even though it appeared to be clogged up with some sort of round metal device with paper thin slits.

“Maybe the slits help project the volume?” I thought, but probably not.

“Bag.” She said.

I looked at her. “What?” I quickly asked, before turning my ear to the hole thinking I had misheard.

“Bag.” She said again.

I looked at her. She finally looked up at me. “Come on! You want a bag or what man?” She snapped at me.

“Oh. Uh sure. Thanks,” I said. Thinking she must be having a bad day, I added, “I love your braids. They’re beautiful.”

“You trying to flirt with me? Why don’t you just pay for your things. Eight dollars.” I only had three and some change.

“Eight? I only have three.” She just stared at me. After about six seconds of awkward silence and staring, I said, “I’ll just take the donut.”

We exchanged money. She gave me a large plastic bag, which I placed my donut, which was already in a much more appropriately sized small plastic bag, inside of.

“Maybe don’t forget your credit card next time fancy man. Who do you think is gonna put this all back,” She added as I made my way out. For some reason, that comment made it through the metal filter hole much clearer than the previous.

“Thank you,” I remarked and pushed out the door.

Note: It Is Possible That This Document Is Related Chronologically To, “1. A Walk In The Park,” A Document Extracted From The Portal.

  1. #HVMXNBYND #Book #Blog #Portal

A Document Extracted From The Portal.

It was All Hallows’ Eve in the desert. The full moon would be visible by night.

When I saw the lizard filling the gas cans, I knew we were close. He filled the final can and placed it into the open trunk. There were 3 total. SLAM. I waited until he disappeared into the opening in the wall of dust, the mouth of the desert.

I proceeded on a slightly different course, of course. The portal was discovered at noon. Better yet, the key, which hung next to a stone angel, was obtained at noon exactly. The key was the portal, but the note, which contained only a name and a number, told me the treasure waited on the island. I collected the key and drove east.

A 3 or 5 day journey: the path was simple, though the journey was treacherous. Things would grab and pull at me the entire way. It was somewhere near the arch where my battle would occur. Kicking and screaming, I was drained. Beyond my survival, that story contains no further significance.

I knew I had reached the island when I came to the bridge. It hung over a marsh, the likes of which I had never seen, and a beetle, about the size of my hand, fingers included, hung above the bridge. The beetle, unusually large, was enshrined in pure gold. Frozen in stillness, his buzz still hung in the air.

Proceed to the cabin and unlock the door. Use the key. The key is the portal.

The key made a sliding noise as the locking mechanism was rolled to the left before, “CLOCK,” the bolt removed itself from the equation. ENTER.

I entered the cabin. One room. Wooden floor. White walls. Sun lit. And a treasure chest.

It sat in the center of the room. I collected the chest. Holding it in my hands, thick black ink leaked from the cracks between the wooden pieces that assembled the container. Soon my hands were covered. The ink dropped from my hands onto the previously pristine floor. A puddle formed around my feet.

Excessive amounts of black ink pooling around me. I began to sink. I opened the chest. I stared inside. It’s contents clean, no signs of the black ink.

When I looked up, the shine was bright, and it was hot. Sand now replaced the ink puddle where I stood. Furthermore, it extended further than I could see in every direction.

The key is the portal; I was now uncertain what side of the portal I existed in. I would hang the key next to the portal and I would return with the chest.

NOTE: The document, “Black Paint Drippin,” another document extracted from the portal, contains similar mentions of a black ink/paint like substance.

#HVMXNBYND #100DaysToOffload #shortstory #Blog #BlackPaint #Portal

A Document Extracted From The Portal.

The black ink drips down. The ink drips through. 

The NoBodies

Have you ever stepped:

BYND the limitations 

BYND the stress

BYND the truth’s devious lies

BYND reality

Where do you end up?

Reality speaks: “That was never me. That was chains and prisons. This is me.”

The future sings songs of the present. Dance lightly. BYND the melodies, the past is heard screaming warnings of its imminent death. Pleading or rejoicing?

The Past and Future Battle. Battle to integrate or battle to eliminate? The present standing in stillness. The gatekeeper and the bridge. What happens when the present allows? 

The past and the future colliding. 

#HVMXNBYND #Blog #Poetry #Thoughts

A Document Extracted From The Portal.

I lay in a blissful slumber.

Unaware. 

Detached.

Peaceful.

Free.

I hit the ground with a force so powerful, I was nearly certain I had arrived in the form of a comet, hurling with the power of 10,000 years of life weight into the hard barren landscaped of this deserted land.

Even given the treamendous force of my cosmic impact, more painful was the suddenness of it all.

One moment. 

Entangled in the loving beauty of nothingness. 

The next.

Cast into her furocious depths.

A smoldering wasteland of hot clay and vastness.

Her piercing golden talon the only reminder of her powerful presence.

Note: Another Mention Of The Desert, A Theme Among Many Of The Documents Extracted From The Portal. Is This An Arrival Story?

#HVMXNBYND #Desert #Blog #Portal #100DaysToOffload