The art and science of coconut smuggling

When my Aunt Dorcas was 15 years old, she fell in love.

Late at night, when her grandmother snuck away to cry over the shoes of her dead son, Aunt Dorcas would sneak away into the attic and dream of her true love.

Sure, lots of teenagers fantasize about getting a shiny new car, but with Aunt Dorcas it was different.  This car was her escape route from the funny farm.  Living on the mango plantation was like living in  a third world country.  There was no electricity, no indoor toilets, kitchen sinks, or telephones. They were living like monkeys in the trees. They were like the mountain gorillas of Zanzibar.   Aunt Dorcas knew that there was a better way to live.  She had communication with the outside world and knew that there was a world out there with toilets that flushed.

She had a dream that one night she could wake up and use an indoor toilet.  Images of bathtubs filled with candy apple scented bubbles filled her head.

She wanted one of those magical machines that would wash the clothes for you and leave them smelling April fresh, and she desperately longed for big electrical box filled with food that was already made.

Truly, there was an amazing world that was out there filled with fabulous luxuries.  And it was all out there waiting for her.  It was calling her name, begging her to leave the jungle and partake of all the riches that the modern world of the beast had to offer those who would only bow down and worship him.  And it would all be hers, if only she had a midnight black 1957 Chevrolet with red velvet seats and little purple pom poms dangling from the windows, and perhaps even one of those cute little bobble head dashboard jesuses.  That would be just groovy.

And then one bright and glorious day it happened.  There she was scrubbing  her  old flour sack dress outside in a big bucket of cold water and lye soap, when the car of her dreams pulled up.  It was like jelly beans had fallen from the sky and landed on her doorstep.  It was like magic, and she herself had made it happen with her mind, all thanks to the divine power of the Kundalini.

This is how she met her future husband, Don Pedro Sanchez.

She was fifteen going on sixteen, and he was seventeen going on dead at the time, because less than an hour before the car drove up to the mango plantation, Don Pedro had been shot twice in the stomach.  He had come there,  with his brothers, because it was the closest place around to get medical attention.  With this bazaar injury came their story to explain the horrible gunshot wound.

They were poor coconut farmers from Peru, and had driven thousands of miles to try and find buyers for their coconuts.

They said that they lived on a huge coconut farm and had grandparents, cousins, nieces and nephews that they had to support by selling these coconuts.  All they wanted was to live a life of harmony with their family.  “Family and love are more important than gold and silver and all we want is to care for them and support them.” So they said.

And then they came to this place and tried to sell their produce and were told that just a few weeks ago, the government banned imported coconuts because of the Peruvian coconut worm.  According to their story, someone brought some coconuts that were infested with worms that would spread and eat all the crops and even mutate and live in the intestines of cattle that people would eat.  The authorities feared it would cause an epidemic and told these poor coconut farmers to go back to their country.  The officials  tried to burn the coconuts because they were afraid the worms would spread, and then they shot poor Don Pedro when he tried to save the fruits of his labor.

Grandmother Mabel pulled the bullets out, sewed up the wound, and gave the poor gunshot victim some medicine.  She had no sympathy.  She told them they could support themselves just fine if they weren’t drinking the blood of the unholy beast that is taking over the world.  She explained how it’s so much cheaper to live on the land without modern conveniences and the beast is tearing families apart by tempting them with the pleasures of modern life.  She sent these evil doers of iniquity on their way.  But it wouldn’t be the last time she saw them, because them. Guess what the coconut smugglers found stowed away in their trunk a few hours after they left the mango plantation?

That’s right, it was good old Aunt Dorcas, and boy did she get an earful of scandalous information while riding in the back of that 57 Chevy.  It turns out that they weren’t just smuggling coconuts into the country.

The curse of everlasting boredom

 

 

In the beginning, when the world was new, there existed only the spirit world.

And everything was wonderful.  Everything was peachy keen and hunky dory and all the spirits gave glory to the Lord.  Halleluiah. Amen, brother. But it isn’t that way anymore, now is it? No. It’s not.  As you can plainly see, it isn’t that way at all.  You know why? Because it was boring.

And that is why the flesh was invented.

Of course it wasn’t actually invented the way that you invent light bulbs and internets.  This corporeal world that we live in just came into being.  With flesh, comes pain and suffering. The ancient people who lived in the beginning of time knew  that if they followed the signs in the sky, they could control the magnetic forces and the water that made the flesh of man.

Truly, all things made of flesh can be controlled by aligning the things you do, with the patterns in the sky.  If these things are followed, there is no pain and suffering.  The earthly world is wonderful and perfect, and the mangos just fall off the trees ready to eat.  The fish practically jump out of the water and leap into your hands.  It all works out perfectly and everyone sings happy happy joy joy all the day long. It’s all dandelions and lollipops.  Well, maybe not lollipops because they’re a synthetically made product and are probably nothing more than a modern byproduct of the unholy beast that wants to control the world, but that’s beside the point. Follow the order of the universe, and the forces of nature will be on your side and everything in life will be the epitome of sheer and utter perfection.

Being in direct alignment with the cosmos happens by accident all the time.  It’s rare, sure, but it happens. It’s the day that you finally get into the swing of things and everything just clicks and you finally understand derivatives and organic chemistry.  It’s the day you can finally flip the pancake into the air and catch it in the pan without it getting broken or all crooked or something. When there is harmony, the pizza is always the right amount of crispness on the bottom, yet, oh so chewy in the middle and the cheese is that perfect amount of dark golden brown.

It’s when everyone you meet points you in the right direction and everything finally goes your way. The Universe is like one great big sugar daddy pimp.  Do what he says, go with the flow…and the world is your oyster.  Lady luck is on your side and she’ll blow her magic pixie dust all over the dice and you’ll always win the game of craps.

 

But if you screw up, if you “accidentally” mess up and do something wrong like prune the rosebushes while the planet Mercury is in retrograde, you better run for cover.  Technically speaking, you can’t actually run from the universe, but you get what I mean.  Gardening on a Mercury Retrograde Day will cause the energy in your life  to become unsettled.  It’s like an earthquake in the world around us that we can’t see or hear right away. I wonder though, if God really wanted everything to be all perfect and hunky dory all the time, then he wouldn’t have invented a Mercury Retrograde Day in the first place.

 

 

 

You must understand that there are some people in this world who just get bored with the lame brained same old same old.  They want excitement. It isn’t good.  It isn’t bad.  It’s just the way things are.  It’s the way of the world.  People just get bored and want to liven things  up.  Everything has it’s price.  Some people would sell their souls to the devil, just for a chance to make thing.

This is Pablo Picasso.

When he was a teenager, he painted this.

I wish I could pain like this. Picasso painted this when he was like, 16 years old.  When I was 16, even my stick figure drawings look bad.  But then again, my father hadn’t been teaching me to draw since the day I was born.  Yes, that’s right, Picasso spent his entire life studying the art of science of making a painting look just like real life.  But guess what?  He got bored.  Really bored.  And so he decided that it was time for something completely different.

And so it was…out of order, came chaos.  The same thing happened to my Aunt Dorcas. She was raised in a world in perfect harmony from day one.  By the time she was born, her grandmother had read nearly ever text there was about how to align your life to create a perfect and beautiful place to live.  By the time Aunt Dorcas was in high school, she was sick of collecting poo from lactating cows and stuffing it into bull horns every time the moon was waxing with a waterman alignment of Saturn.   At every day and at every hour, there was a ritual that just had to be followed.  It was different for every day, and it was always based on the diagrams and charts that great grandmother Mabel spend countless hours formulating.

If Saturn is to the right of the moon, but lies in the vicinity of the constellation Gemini, it means that the summer will be wet, and will rain on exactly August the 24, the first day of Virgo.  This means that you must plant tomatoes on the first waterman moon in the waxing phase of scorpio.  It’s exhausting and boring if it’s just not your thing.  It wasn’t Aunt Dorcas’s thing at all, and she was the one that had to collect the valerian root and stinging nettle and mix up the solution.  It was maddening. She had to mix vortexes in a giant pot for an hour in order to send cosmic energy into the water for the first tomato fertilizer.  It was absolutely maddening and she didn’t believe any of the kooky old tribal books. Actually, she was just sick of being stung by the stinging nettles all the time, but since every one called her a whiny baby, she took all of her teenage angst out on the Universe.  You’ve got to blame someone, you know.

She didn’t care about a bunch of stupid plants. She wanted to go to the movies and see the creature from the black lagoon.

But her grandmother wouldn’t stand for it. She said that movies were a hypnotic mind control device designed by the beast.  Watching movies  will make people want to use plastic and destroy the earth.  Movies brainwash innocent children,  and keep them from  away from, the universe, the earth and mother nature.

Aunt Dorcas didn’t want to tiptoe through the tulips and sing in the rain that fell down upon the endless groves of mango trees, she wanted to have fun.  She wanted to wear high heels and plastic jewelry.

She wanted to listen to Elvis Presley on a plastic record player.  She wanted a 57 Chevy and a plastic bobble head dashboard Jesus.  She wanted to go on a road trip.  She knew there was more to life than fruit, fish, and composting.  She knew there was more out there, and she was bound and determined to have it. She knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it.

So she snuck off one day, when nobody was watching, and she found the ancient text of the Kundalini.  She was bound and determined to have everything that her heart desired.

The root of all tragedy is plastic

In the town of Monza, Italy, it’s against the law to keep your goldfish in a round goldfish bowl.  The government doesn’t want their fishy friends to develop a skewed perception of reality. Stephen Hawking says that even though a goldfish has a skewed perception of reality, he can still make legitimate scientific observations based on the patterns that he sees.

For example, if a ball rolls straight across the table, it always falls off the table.  The goldfish in a round bowl will see the ball roll in a curvy line before disappearing.  Or, here’s another example:  the round lady with one eye always walks up to the bowl and picks up a round package, and when she does this, food falls on the surface of the water.

The same theory works for people too.  Loads of people with demented perceptions of reality make calculated observations about reality.  Everyone thinks they see cause and effect based on the small portion of the world that they’ve seen.  Like my great grandmother Mabel, and her devout belief that plastic is an abomination.  It’s like a phobia.  Phobias aren’t genetic, they are caused by a series of events that the mind interprets into a sort of neurological allergic reaction of the mind.

This one time,my great grandmother Mabel caught Aunt Dorcas shaving her legs with a plastic razor.

It wasn’t one of those disposable ones like they have today and plastic wasn’t called plastic back then, it was called bakelite after the guy who invented it.  Dr. Bakeland.

This is Dr. Leo Bakeland. He’s the guy that invented plastic.

Because of his evil deed of inventing a way for the unholy beast to take over the world, he was cursed by God.  He died of a cerebral hemorrhage in a sanatorium and was buried in Sleepy Hollow.

And because of my Aunt’s evil deed, grandmother Mabel screamed so loud she popped the buttons of her shirt and threw a cast iron skillet clear across the room.  Had she been a baseball player or a sword thrower in a circus, perhaps Aunt Dorcas would have died that day and never married the Mexican Coconut smuggler who was in cahoots with the cartel.

No, she didn’t die.  The skillet smashed into the mirror of the medicine cabinet and shards of broken glass went flying through the air and completely covered Aunt Dorcas.  It took three months to get all the glass out of her skin.  I’ll spare you the details.  Aunt Dorcas loves to tell this story and just the thought of blood makes me want to pass out.

Of course, that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.  That was one of many many plastic incidents in the house, and in all fairness, Aunt Dorcas swears up and down that she thought the razor was made of wood.  But you know, the lady has been know to bend the truth to fit her own conniving plans.  I mean, seriously, if she really was sneaking around, then why didn’t she lock the bathroom door and shave her legs at four o’clock in the morning?  Really.  The woman was shaving her legs in broad daylight with the bathroom door wide open.  Actually, now that I think of it, they didn’t have plumbing or electricity in the house back then, so maybe I need to have someone else besides Aunt Dorcas tell me their version of the story, because now I’m really starting to wonder where all those scars came from.

Great Grandmother Mabel, wasn’t born with a psychotic disorder, and it had nothing to do with a genetic defect or DNA.  She claims that every single misfortune in her life was caused by some sort of plastic.  Coincidence?  She doesn’t think so.  Actually, I’m going to have to say that if I did the calculations, I could come to the same conclusion.  Every single time something bad has happened to me, plastic was involved.  Go figure, maybe there’s something to it.  Who knows.

But you really have to understand that things were quite different back then, when she was born.  There was just nothing made of plastic out there where she was.  That is, there was no plastic until her firstborn son was born.  As a gift, her very own mother gave her a crate of baby bottles.  These bottles had rubber nipples…that were made from the blood of the beast. That’s right, petroleum.  She was told that all the high class mothers were doing it.  She was told that bottles are better.  So she fed her baby with a bottle.

But then something horrible happened.  A few years later, the poor kid got type 1 diabetes, and died.

It was horrible.  For years she would hold onto his little shoes at night and just cry for hours.  Naturally, she wanted to find a reason why it happened.  Her husband was a medicine man, and so was her father in law.  She lived with several people who had been know to cure anything and anyone.  They were considered miracle workers, and none of them could cure this poor little child.  According to the story, she was so utterly devastated by the loss of her child that they almost thought she might commit suicide.  They had never heard such wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Everyone hovered over her at every moment of the day just to make sure that she wouldn’t “do herself in”.  That’s when they all decided that maybe the poor devastated mother needed something to keep her mind offof her deceased child.  So, they brought her the ancient texts.  They had hoped that she would find the meaning of life, and perhaps, something to live for.

Like a maniac, she poured over these ancient writings and learned everything there is to know about life, the universe, and everything.  Deep down inside, she wanted to bring him back, or turn back time, or do something to console herself.  But all she found was a reason why he died.  It was because she stuck a piece of rubber in her kids mouth, and the rubber that she used just happened to have been made from petroleum.  Petroleum is made from oil, and according to legend, oil is the blood of the beast that wants to take over the world and cause chaos and madness.

She swore, from then on, that she would not let anything enter her holy abode that was made from the blood of the beast.  She was on a mission after that to stay the heck away from anything plastic.  Unfortunately, there was another terrible tragedy involving plastic many years later.

One dark and stormy night, when Mercury was in retrograde, a Tupperware salesman (woman, actually), was driving down the road past the mango plantation, when she got a flat tire.   She walked a mile in the pouring rain with two bags of her finest wares and knocked on the door of Great Grandmother Mabel’s house.  Well, her son in law, Bill, answered the door and let the lady in.  She told them all about how she was just coming back from a Tupperware party, and opened her bag to show them the new line of the most fabulous storage containers.  It was like bringing a keg of beer and a vodka still into a Southern Baptist Church.  Great Grandmother Mabel screamed so loud a window broke and rain came gushing down into the living room and the wind blew out all of the candles.  Tears started streaming from the Tupperware lady’s eyes and the poor lady nearly had a heart attack.  Even though she was scared senseless by my great grandmother, she asked to use the phone.  Well, of course she couldn’t call anyone, because they didn’t have a phone.  So naturally, Bill offered to give her a ride on the horse to the nearest gas station whenever it stopped raining.  That’s when Mabel got the broom and used it to push the lady out of the house.  Well, because Bill was such a nice guy he just gave the lady a ride home on his horse in the pouring rain.  He never came back.  They were hit by a truck when they stopped to put the Tupperware lady’s bags in the trunk of her car.

Had it not been for plastic, this never would have happened.

Drinking the Blood of the Unholy Beast

In case you haven’t noticed, the world is changing.  People are changing,

music is changing,

clothes are changing.

Everything is changing.  Change is a good thing.  Or at least that probably what Martha Stewart would call it.

It isn’t bad.  It isn’t good.  It’s just the way of the world.  It’s the way things are.  Go with the flow and learn to adapt or be weeded out of the gene pool for all eternity.

Old people are always going on and on about how the youth of today are screwed up and immoral.  After reading several hundred stories of long ago, I have come to the conclusion that old people have been saying this since the beginning of time.  I think that’s the sort of thing people just say when they get old.  Young people are just young and foolish and just haven’t learned the way of the wise.  They don’t have years of trial and error and experience behind their belts to make perfect decisions about life.

Even if you could be taught wisdom at an early age, if you haven’t been taught such things, whose fault is it?  It’s the fault of the older generation.  Perhaps teaching wisdom can be done, but it has to be done correctly.  You have to begin with the end in mind, and you have to know and understand the way of the world.

This is a picture of my great grandmother, Mabel.  She is not really a feather Indian, she just married one.  She’s actually Irish and her maiden name is Bigbee.  She followed all of the ancient tribal rituals, and read all of the ancient texts, except for the Kundalini, because an inscription is on the cover of that book and it clearly states “It is forbidden to read this text.”

My great grandmother, Mabel, for some reason, firmly believed that modern day society was innately evil.  She believed that the one true way to live was to follow the natural cycles of the Universe and to stay away from anything made of plastic.

She believed that plastic was the blood of the Beast that would one day take over the world.  And therefore, nothing made of plastic could be purchased, used or brought onto their land or there would be hell to pay.

Plastic comes from petroleum, which is just a form of refined crude oil.  In case you didn’t know, oil comes from the ground and is actually made from the remains of dinosaurs who lived many millions of years ago.  My great grandmother Mabel claimed to have read an ancient text that declared oil to be the blood of the beast.

According to legend, if the blood of the beast is extracted from the earth, it will awaken the spirit of the beast and he will reap havoc on the earth and cause chaos and war and destroy not only the human race, but every living thing on the face of the earth.  Why would a creature do such a thing?  For fame fortune and glory?  To rule the world?  What’s the motive, you may ask.  The beast doesn’t have a motive, he’s just a monster and likes to destroy things just for fun.  That’s why.

And that’s also why her children and her grandchildren were completely forbidden to use plastic.  Which I don’t think is all that bad, because plastic drives me nuts.  But then again, I didn’t have some deranged lunatic mother breathing down my neck at every minute of the day making sure that I wasn’t using plastic.

Actually, my mom and Aunt Dorcas were practically raised by their grandparents because their dad died when they were little. So they spent their early childhood being warned of the dangers of the beast.  They were told that using plastic was like drinking the blood of the beast.  They were also told that if you drink the blood of the beast, you become one of his evil minions and he will summon you to follow him.

The government forced my great grandmother to send her grandchildren to  school!  Can you believe the nerve?  She didn’t have her own car, so they sent a school bus that was filled up with plastic! And all the other kids at school were using plastic.  They had plastic clips for their hair.  They played with plastic toys and listened to plastic music on their plastic record players.  They kept their plastic jewelry in plastic jewelry boxes.  It drove my great grandmother absolutely bonkers.  She was constantly smudging them with white sage to release the evil powers of the beast.  She made them drink concoctions to release negative energy they got from riding in the plastic school bus.  And to make things worse, my mom and Aunt Dorcas were constantly sneaking around in order to use plastic.  They even went so far as to ask for running water and electricity.

Do you know what happens to people who are raised by control freaks who have believes that are the opposite of the rest of society?  Well, if you don’t already know, let me give you an example.

Okay, maybe that’s not the best example, because that’s just a made up story. But here’s a real guy who was raised by a crazy grandmother.

This is Charles Manson.

His grandmother was a religious fanatic and we all know what happened to him.  It’s no wonder my Aunt Dorcas finally flew off the deep end one day and cut the roses on a Mercury retrograde day.  And you can’t really blame her at all for reading the forbidden text of the Kundalini, she’d just heard so much about it, and really just wanted to see for herself if plastic was really an unholy substance that could cause a plague of locusts upon the land and an infestation of boils like no man has ever seen before.

I mean, seriously, I personally believe that the control freak mothering thing can have some serious side effects on certain types of offspring.  I have learned from careful observation, that this parenting tactic is not for me.

Aunt Dorcas vs the Kundalini

This is a picture of my Aunt Dorcas when she was 18.  She has that evil look in her eye.  You can just tell by looking at her that she is up to no good.

She pruned the rose hedges under the waning, rooting moon, when Mercury was in retrograde,  And everyone knows you should never do that.  She didn’t care.  She wanted to decorate her birthday party with roses and didn’t want to wait another day.

She was nothing more than an obsessive compulsive spoiled brat.  Because of her discordance with the Magneticon, the ancient Choctaw book of magnetic fields and planetary alignments”, she caused a cataclysmic shift in the universe that caused our whole world to come crashing down. For as we all know, one thing leads to another.

Just in case you don’t know, a waning moon happens the day after the full moon.  One day the moon is full and big and bright, and the next day, and the fifteen days afterwards, it just gets smaller and smaller until you just can’t see it anymore.  When the moon is getting smaller, they call this the waning moon.

You pull weeds and plant root vegetables under the waning moon.  Just for the record, it’s not scientology or voodoo witchcraft or old hillbilly proverbs of yore.  When the moon is getting smaller in the sky, it means that the water on the planet earth is being pulled upwards.  It’s like high tide at night on the ocean. Most of the water in the plants are in the leaves and branches during the waning moon, and cutting them during this part of the cycle makes them weaker and more prone to bacterial infections.

So if you prune the roses during a waning moon, it’s going to take them ages to grow back more roses, and they’ll most likely turn black with mold spots.  Okay, so what, right?  She screwed up the roses for next six months, who cares?  Well, let me tell you, up until that moment of time, everyone had been following the natural order of the cosmos, like clockwork.

On my Aunt Dorca’s 15th birthday, the planet Mercury was in retrograde.  This is the ancient Choctaw Indian’s special day that they didn’t cut any plant, pick any fruit, or dig any holes in the ground.  It’s kind of like the Jewish Sabbath day, in a way.  Anything planted on a Mercury retrograde day will grow distorted and deformed.

In fact, if you conceive a child on this day, its almost certain to become a Siamese twin.

So when Aunt Dorcas came trudging down past the catfish pond carrying a butt load of long stemmed red roses, her grandparents nearly had a heart attack.  They might as well have.

It was Mercury Retrograde day, so naturally they were out fishing. They weren’t fishing the normal boring way, like most people do with worms and bait, no they were bow fishing.  Remember, these are people who were descendants of the natives.

This is a picture of a guy bow fishing with a modern day version of a fishing bow

And this is my great grandfather, Chuck, son of Marvin, who planted the mango plantation that I was born on.

I never met the guy, you know why?  Because he’s dead, that’s why.

My great grandfather Chuck used a regular bow and arrow until that one fateful day, long ago.  Someone gave him a modern fishing bow that morning as a thank you gift for saving his daughter from a serious infection that she had.  Great grandfather Chuck did not receive proper instruction, nor did he read the users manual and guide to modern day bow fishing.

He just stood there by the catfish pond that was covered with Lotus blossoms and overshadowed by mango trees and tried to catch some fish.  Mercury retrograde day is the best day for catching fish, and also the day that you traditionally eat massive quantities of deep fried catfish.  You can fish on that day until you turn blue in the face, but you do not,under any circumstances, trim the rosebushes.  But Aunt Dorcas did, and my grandma saw her come trudging down the path with an armful of long stemmed red roses.

Well, my grandma screamed so loud that she fell backwards knocking over grandpa the instant he shot his arrow.  The arrow went flying forwards and then backwards again, slicing a chunk from great grandmother Mabel’s arm and hitting great grandpa Chuck square in-between the eyes.   And that’s too bad, because he was really the only person who knew what to do if someone should get plunged between the eyes with a sharp object.

Well, Aunt Dorcas panicked.  She should of ran for help, but since it was Mercury Retrograde and she chopped down roses on the wrong day, she wasn’t exactly thinking straight.  Her first instinct wasn’t to put pressure on grandma’s wound and call 911.  They didn’t have 911 back then, and besides, there weren’t any nearby hospitals to go to.  The closest doctor around was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood next to an old lady who was in wild hysterics.

As a joke, when she was little, Aunt Dorcas’s grandfather on her mother’s side told her that there was a salve hidden in one of the caves underground that could heal any wound.  He told her that his leg had been cut off in the war, and he bought a salve from a traveling healer that grew the leg back.

Naturally, Dorcas believed the story, and nobody bothered to tell her it was just a bad joke.  It was just one of those tall tales that old people like to tell the naïve young children of the world and Dorcas had forgotten all about it until this moment in time.  All of a sudden, this story popped into her head, and she spent the rest of the day looking for this magic healing cream that could bring her grandfather back to life.

Although she wanted to be a hero, and truly believed that she could save her grandfather’s life if she found the salve, she was really making an excuse for herself to run away and hide from her crime against the cycles of the cosmos. She knew she shouldn’t have cut the roses down on Mercury Retrograde day, and she was well aware of the disasters such an act would cause.

She didn’t find any magic salve, though.   She found the forbidden text of the Kundalini.  She’d heard of it, she knew what it was.  She knew she wasn’t supposed to read it, but she read it anyway.  And from then on, things got a lot crazier.

The ancient text of the Kundalini

They say that this is the age of information, but who are THEY anyway?  And what do THEY know?  Nothing if you ask me.  They know how to turn gold into garbage, that’s for sure.  That should count for something.

 

This is the age of technology, they say, there has never before, since the beginning of time, been an era where man was capable of creating anything he can think of.  There is no stopping man and his great ideas like flushing toilets and lightbulbs and buildings that reach the sky.

All I see is one giant Rube Goldberg machine that enables people to spend night and day working for what long ago, was free and came easy.

This is really just the age of madness, if you ask me, and we are all being ruled by idiots.  And it’s all because the ancient books of science have been burnt in mass quantities over the ages.  They were burned by powerful men who had consumed far too many methamphetamines and used violence and mind control to achieve power.  Like Napolean who burned libraries full on ancient books, and Hitler, who burned all that was left.

All that remains in this day and age are remnants and stories that go along with ancient text which my ancestors referred to as the forbidden text.  Of course, my family has the original copy.  In my opinion, this should have been the only book ever burned.  But you can’t burn something that’s been carved in stone.

The book is called the Kundalini and and was originally carved in the stone walls beneath the earth.  Some people call it metaphysics and  and some people just call it sheer and utter nonsense.  But let me assure you, that this is no fairy tale of yore.  This is science at it’s finest because it can be replicated like a winning A plus science project on crack.  Want me to prove it?  I could if I wanted to, but I’ve seen enough to know that this isn’t something that I want to mess with.  No thank you.

The Kundalini is the winding spiral energy that weaves in and out of all the other energies and is a matrix, that would look just like a DNA pattern if it could be seen with the human eye.  This energy can only be seen in a dreamlike state or trance, or with devices that are no longer in existance, although, the diagrams for such devices, are written in ancient texts that still lie on the face of the earth.

There are all sorts of light spectrums that human eyes can’t  see.  We can only see a small fraction of them.

There are only a fraction of sound waves that our ears are capable of hearing.  Anyone who has ever blown into a dog whistle and saw the reaction of their canine friends can tell you that animals can hear more than we can. But it’s not just sound and light rays, there are loads of different kinds of energies all around us all the time, and most people don’t believe they exist because they can’t see them with their eyes and their senses have become dull and their chakras are misaligned with the earth and therefore, they can’t even sense them

If you believe that there is energy that we can’t see, just ask Marie Curie.  Oh wait, you can’t.  You know why?  Because she’s dead.  She is proof to the fact that one can be killed by invisible energy.  There is a whole nother periodic table of invisible lights and energies, but all of the documented transcripts were burned in the fire in Paris.

(This is Marie Curie, and by the way, in case you don’t know who she is, she discovered some radioactive glow in the dark materials, and learned the hard way that sometimes invisible things can kill you).

One of these energies is called the Kundalini, otherwise known as the snake energy.  There is a fairy tale about this energy that has been lost in translation.  I’m sure you’ve heard about it.  It’s a cautionary tale that goes by the name of “The story of Adam and Eve.”  In this story, the snake tells Eve that if she eats the apple, then she will be all knowing, God.

Using the Kundalini will open up neurological pathways in the brain.

The neurons and dendrites within the cerebral cortex transmit these powerful magnetic charges that pull energy from whatever you think of to the desired object.  In a sense, whatever you think of becomes yours.  Getting whatever you want is loads of fun, but everything has it’s price.  In a sense, the Kundalini is very dangerous.  It is because of this fact that old mother’s have a natural instinct to mercilessly hack up innocent garden snakes with garden hoes.

In it’s natural state, the human energy points are in a nautilus coil.  These points are known as chakra points.  In the ideal state of harmony with the earth, these chakras are aligned along a nautilus pattern.  These points align with energy points on the earth, many of which are within plants, trees and animals.  When aligned properly, a slight high pitched hum can be heard.  This state of balance with the earth gives protection to man, and potentially, he (or she) can live forever.  When this balance is misaligned, then sickness and death occurs.  Which is why the Kundalini is so dangerous.

If you quiet the mind, and follow the directions perfectly, the chakra’s can become completely aligned into a perfect straight line, and the Kundalini can be summoned to enter the body through the chakras. And anything that you think of becomes yours.  There is no limit to what you can obtain.  Fame, fortune, you name it.  Anyone who is incredibly wealthy has done it, although, they’ll deny it.

However, when you invite the Kundalini to run it’s slithery body, entertwining in a mating ritual with your soul, you become food to feed the beast, and can be controlled like a puppet to do his bidding.  There is no longer freedom, and there is no longer protection from the dangers that the world can bring.

As you can clearly see, the Kundalini can cause disaster and calamity and must not be summoned.  The text was arranged as a warning against using it’s powers should it be randomly discovered.  The Kudalini wants to be found and wants to be discovered, and hiding the text in an old cave underneath the earth wasn’t enough.  Keeping the text forbidden and secret, didn’t work forever.

For hundreds and thousands of years my family, before I was born followed the text in “The Book of Magnets” and they lived by “The Book of Horticultre.”  At night, they all sat by the fire in the moonlight and watched the star patterns in the sky as they read from “The Book of Harmony”, but all this changed one hot afternoon, sixty years ago, on my aunt’s 15th birthday.

Voodoo Witchcraft

 

As with all stories, my friend, there is no beginning and there is no end.  But since I must start somewhere, I suppose I shall start with this guy….

This is my great great granddad, Marvin.

This story isn’t actually about him, though, it’s about his great great grandfather, Jasper.  I don’t have a picture of him, though, because he lived in the day before cameras and nobody has ever bothered to draw a picture of him, although my dad still has his bison horn sitting on his mantle.

(It looks like this except it’s ivory colored and it has carving all over it.)

It was never stuffed with poo from a lactating cow and buried for six months for use as fertilizer, it was the horn used to call the rains upon the land.

My ancient super great grandfather, Jasper, was a Choctaw Indian witchdoctor.  He lived in the time when the white men were running the natives off the land and making them either die or walk the trail of tears to a designated reservation.

Jasper wasn’t run off his land, though, because he had a prophetic dream warning him of what was soon to come.  So he built a log cabin, stole a suit from a dead guy he found laying in the forest, and pretended to be a white guy from Ireland who hated Indians.  Heck, he even married a white lady.

So technically speaking, the land that I lost years ago, when I was just a child, had been in my family since the beginning of time.

Now, let’s get back to my great grandfather, Marvin, because he really is sort of important. This is a picture of him and his brothers.  He’s the tall one in the upper left.  I believe this picture was taken in 1912.

Marvin’s the one who planted the mango plantation that I was born on. His father and his grandfather were both witch doctors, it’s a tradition that was passed down from generation to generation.  (Of course, I think they were called shamans back then, but my parents just call them witch doctors). They lived back in the day before modern medicine, and finding someone with medicine that could cure influenza, small pox, or malaria, was just rare.  My ancestors grew medicinal herbs on their land and knew how to make tinctures and decoctions that could heal anyone and anything.  They could heal people, plants, soil, and even make rain, lightning, thunder, tornadoes, you name it, they could do it.

Some people call it mysticism, metaphysics or voodoo witchcraft, but it was all scientific, it could be replicated and duplicated and they had it all written down.  There is no possible way you can pass on that much information by word of mouth, there was just too much information, too many plants to remember and far too many recipes to remember.  I mean, how many times to you need to rid someone of leprosy?  Maybe once in a lifetime, perhaps.

Unless you use a recipe every week, you can’t possibly remember it.  But they had books filled with recipes for curing everything.  And because of this, people came to see my ancestors to be healed, but they didn’t always have money to pay.  They paid in whatever they had, and it was usually food they had brought from home, and it was usually mangos from South America, because that’s where most people came from.

My great grandfather, Marvin, saved all the mango pits, and the seeds from date palms, and planted them along the Red River, underneath the shelter of the oaks, pines, and pecans, that had been growing there since the beginning of time.  In fact, he planted all kinds of seeds on that land.  He’d chase down his brothers and sisters and take their peach and plum pits, still covered with saliva and goo, and plant the seeds in circles that would one day become groves that his grandchildren would play in.

I too planted such a mango grove.  It didn’t live long enough to produce fruit.  I had hoped that one day, my children would get to run and play underneath the shade of the mango trees and munch on the sweet juicy fruit all summer long.

But alas, the only such magic that can be found, can only bee seen for an hour or two on a long expensive vacation that becomes only a memory so small that it it almost seems like a dream.

My children rarely get to eat mangoes and not one of them has seen a full grown mango tree that drops sweet juicy mangoes from it’s branches all summer long.  For alas, my mango trees have long been buried beneath orange juice cartons, and boxes of half eaten Cheerios, splattered with rotten tomato puree.