The Printed Threat

The Printed Threat
Introduction
 
 
“Man, shit.”
    I said out loud, in slow motion, as I paused mid-step from the startle of seeing them, and concurrently seeing their eyes light up on seeing me. There was a moment of stillness for us all as I turned the corner and we saw each other, if only a millisecond.
    I just had turned around the corner of 215th Street, by Inwood Park, when I saw them walking downhill toward me. At that point in time I was looking out for them because I heard they were looking for me, but I wasn’t peering around corners or anything. In that millisecond I wished I did. They were looking for me, but I never expected them to be there, on my block, at that point in time.
    I made them angry for multiple reasons. It built up. I took action on behalf of someone they messed around with, I took one of their girls, and I was selling mad weed, to the point they made the assumption I was taking their money from their business.  
    There were four of them; Joe, JoeJoe, Joey and another Joseph of some form or another, who simply went by Yo, believe it or not, because it was too confusing any other way. Yo might have been more accurately called Brick, because he was about as smart, about as exciting, and built like one.
    The exclamation slipped slowly from out my mouth, and I stopped walking in the midst of a fight or flight decision. And in that millisecond the synapses in my emergency response system started crackling, adrenalin began coursing through my blood, juices were evacuated from my gonads, and my sinews began elasticizing. And in that instant when the four of them sort of smiled, and started at me like some hungry hunters who just saw their favorite flesh, I couldn’t help but think about what was at that point in time, my favorite story, Joe King Townham’s novel The Predicament.
    It’s amazing how many thoughts we can have in a split second, especially when the adrenalin kicks in. I was also thinking what to do and how I had to do something immediately, and for that matter how I had to stop thinking about my favorite story more immediately in order to do so, but it was at the forefront of my thinking. I had heard a few people describe The Predicament as like Watership Down crossed with Lord of The Flies, only with chickens. I could see that, but I never compared it to anything except life itself and my life in particular. Up until that point I had never read anything that I empathized with as much as King Townham’s The Predicament and never empathized with a character like a did Roughagelio. My story, and Joe King Townham’s story too were just like Roughagelio’s story, we were all stuck in a cage, or coop.
    In that moment, I felt like Roughagelio more than ever before. It was like I was Roughagelio, and it was an allegory about me, that Joe King Townham wrote about already as a psychic author, and I was only then living it out. I knew it was ridiculous to think, and even more so to think it at a time when every moment mattered, but I was Roughagelio being chased by his nemesis and his foes. The specific scene that crossed my mind was when Roughagelio faced off Bugsy and his goons, which was written about me I came to believe, as much as it is hard to believe. It played out as intricately and as detailed as if I was reading it right then, but zapped start to finish in about as long as it takes for the adrenal glands to open up and release when you see your hungry enemies.  
    If you’ve never read The Predicament it basically compares mankind to chickenhood in a coop. It’s set on a chicken farm in Maine, a farm where there were three poultry sheds, and the family’s own chicken coop. For all extents and purposes Joe King Townham basically proposed we are all chickens in a coop clucking along trying to fly, pretending like we can fly, and trying to act like we get worms to eat, but really we’re just stuck in the coop, and worse we’re dependent on the farmer entity for entirety.    
 
    ~ Bugsy was standing on the outskirts of the main circle of chickens, as he usually did, flinching his neck, and kicking up dirt to show off. Bugsy would cluck, peck and scratch at the ground pretending there was a fresh batch of uncovered ants to consume in the arid dirt to get attention. This inclined his clucking brood to bop over to him.
    “Do you have some ants over here, again?”
    “Just ate them. Listen, it’s time, you wingless clucks. It’s time we make our final move on Roughagelio. He is weak and we’re going to prove to him what color the Sun is once and for all!”
    Bugsy meant to kill Roughagelio ever since their argument over what color the Sun was began. Because of the injuries Roughagelio recently had sustained during a confrontation with Fizzy the cat, Bugsy knew it was his best opportunity to take him out.
    “Have you seen the way he cucks along? And have you heard the way he clucks when he should caw? And caws when he should cluck? And I know you’ve seen where his spots are and how his feathers fluff? And I know, I’ve never seen a chicken his color tone. Is he spotted? Or is he not? Not good, not good at all. I know you clucks know, we’ve got to kill him, now.”
    “I always wanted to peck him to death, you know that Bugsy. I always wanted to kill him.”
    “I always wanted to kill him, Bugsy, ever since he said the Sun is the wrong color.”
    “Whatever, to him. Let’s make him ant food!”
    Gonzo, Android and Tick would have done whatever Bugsy wanted and would have convinced themselves of any number of false realities to support him and his hollow perspective. Bugsy had insisted that he was always in charge of their food, and that the farmer answered to his beckon call because he was the best ant hunter in the realm and they believed him, with all their gullets.
    “You know what he said to me before? He said, I will see the Sun is violet white eventually and that he’s right! Like my eyes are not perfect now! I’m going to kill him right now! Come with me! Let’s cluck him to death! Come on, you long feathered flyers!”
    Chickens have much more sensitive vision than humans, and of course are much more sensitive about the colors and the arrangements of feathers of their peers than man is concerning the color of his counterparts. Bugsy always despised and wanted to kill Roughagelio simply because of his arrangement of tail feathers, but the day Roughagelio claimed to see better than Bugsy made him a mortal enemy. 
    The brood clucked themselves into frenzy. The tremendous clucking alerted the rest of the coop. Every other chicken stopped their scratching in the dust and the stretching their wings, most even stopped bobbing their necks, and just stared. They all knew these were fighting clucks and highly aggressive wing flaps. Bugsy led the way toward poor old Roughagelio who sat on top of the well, as was his habit. He was resting and the loud clucks of the charge left him unmoved. It appeared he did not even notice.
    Bugsy’s flaunting run turned into a determined charge as he gained the speed needed to jump and fly up to the top of the well where the bucket was hung and where his prey, Roughagelio, lay unmoving. At a couple of feet from the well, he was at just the right angle to leap and flap up a foot or two onto Roughagelio. His cohorts flapped just behind him. As Bugsy flapped up at him just about at the right angle to meanly pounce, bash and peck him in one motion, Roughagelio moved. Roughagelio slid off the top off the well in a relaxed way, hanging on with his feet and then flung himself back up as Bugsy smashed into the well and ultimately, after scrambling and clawing to save himself, fell down into it.
   “Get him!” Was his final caw, as he fell down and disappeared.
    Roughagelio then wrestled and tossed each of the brood down the well one after the other. And as the commotion ended Roughagelio went back to resting, and the remaining chickens in the coop went back to their own fluffing and wing flapping, as if nothing happened at all, some even actually forgot anything happened at all. Most were only happy about the best ant hunter being gone. It meant more for them.
~Excerpt from Joe King Townham’s, The Predicament
 
    In that instant when the story finished unfolding in my mind’s eye, I heard Joe scream at me, “I’m going to kill you, you chicken shit! Get him!” as he thumped downhill toward me with the other Joes behind him. I must have looked sort of frozen with fear, only I was simply compelled with the eerie similarity of what was unfolding to The Predicament, my favorite book.  
    And then I knew exactly what I needed to do.
    As I turned around to bolt down the street, behind the corner where they could no longer see me, I put it all together in my head. I saw what I had to do, and slowed my run to a strut when I was no longer visible to them. I walked over to the parking sign that was just around the corner, and tucked myself behind a parked car aside the sign. I tried to calculate the time it would take for them to turn the corner from where they were, and I listened. And as I heard them coming around the corner at full speed, and saw them from my hiding, at just the right moment, I leaped up and flung myself out into them, knees and elbow first. I grabbed and held the pole to fling and pivot myself in a way to smash into them with my knees and my forearm, as they ran so fast they were just about out of control, just like Roughagelio would.
    I whirled myself into them. In front, was my main nemesis, the inspirer for the pursuit. And I checked him with my forearm in the jaw. I heard later it cost him a few months with a wired shut jaw, and probably took off a couple years off his life. Two others caught knees and legs and I kind of only scuffed their boy, Yo, with a kick. In the process of their ensuing tumble, cracking and crunching, I was swung back, still holding onto the pole and I was flung onto the parked car with what was, all in all, a gentle slide and rebound.
    I was honestly as surprised as they were, though admittedly more pleasantly so. I was not grazed or scraped at all. I hopped up while Yo was still in the middle of the other three who were jumbled onto the concrete, each well enough to begin crying. Before I could even think about it I cracked him with a palm strike to the head and a kick to the lower back. They were then, all four of them, in a crumpled pile. I contemplated beating them more, but figured it was enough. It was brutal, but it was me or them.
    I looked around to see if anyone saw what happened. There was one person on the block, who was standing right across the street, who was staring right at me, who saw the whole thing. He was dressed clean, for a homeless person. I recognized him as a guy who lived in the park. I didn’t know him at the time, but I befriended him later. I gave him a nod, and he said something like ‘that was the baddest ass kicking I ever seen!’ He gave me a bunch of glory from then on, but at that point I kind of just want to slide out of there. This was back in the day when there were no police drones, so I didn’t even worry about that, but I didn’t want to get in trouble anyway, so I just took off back where I was headed.
    I told them to remember that I didn’t kick their heads in and some such threatening hero prevailing nonsense, while the homeless guy exalted my ass kicking skills, and then, I was out. I was on my way downtown, on a mission, figuring my beef with them was over. They wouldn’t want anything to do with me ever again I figured, I hoped.     
    I was hustling some marijuana that day, and of course, after I did what I had to do, I found a box of books on the street with a copy of The Predicament right on top! I grabbed the whole box of books without even thinking about it, like it was nothing, like I normally did, and went back to the block. And by the time I got back, everybody was talking about how I dropped four fools, including Yo. I never really had to fight much again after that, not that people were generally looking to get me. No one tried to mess my game up after that, no matter what I was doing.
  
  
 
 
Chapter One
 
 
 
 
    I ended up highlighting the following section of The Theory and Practice to E.S.P. I remember I was scanning through it when I first bought it, brand new too, the following was the first page I opened to, then and basically every time. I swear, every book has what I call the primal page. It’s that part of the book you think you just fumble to when you open it randomly, but it’s not random. Usually the primal page is in the first half, but you never know. It is a strange phenomenon, but I have experienced it with thousands of books. The following begins on the primal page of The Theory and Practice to E.S.P.
 
“Your consciousness is trapped in a matrix of cellular cages, held biologically on the microscopic level and categorically in the system around your skeleton. Your consciousness is further trapped in a matrix of politicalized and social cages, held behaviorally on the collective level.
    Our biological states and our political states of being are equally complex systems, that because of our immersion in them, biologically caged in a being of cells, and politically caged as an individual in groupthink, we have no idea the matrix exists, and we succumb to it like a drop in an ocean. We are trapped inside and outside, politically and biologically, but there is an exit. 
    The mechanized mind bending advertisers of corporations influence our thinking via marketing propaganda, and influence the thinking of those in the government via lobbyists and so forth and so on. And this has been occurring for generations. The corporations and government seek to influence our thinking, in fact they are all about influencing and controlling our thinking. The word govern-ment means control the mind, after all. The matrix cages really require no more than a little knowledge of current events and etymology to discern. Further discernment of our own thinking can allow us to slip through the cages. We are only capable of thinking so many thoughts in a day. If, with discernment, we can maintain the right thinking we can surpass the suppression of potential by the negative thinking imposed on us.     
    The government and corporate infiltration of our minds is the greatest influence on us all, and perhaps the greatest crime ever. Through all sorts of subtle scams including the initiation of ‘scientific studies’, they make us believe whatever they want. The recent idea, that the benefits of meditation can only be obtained with a machine, is particularly disturbing. And the somewhat ancient idea that eating bovine parts will somehow sustain vitality is another great trick to deaden consciousness. You are what you eat is true in so many ways. In order for consciousness to bloom, simply do not stifle it with deadened thinking, and deadened food, such simply consumes your energy. 
    Religious institutions too have taken over spiritual nutrition, and loaded it with salty dogmatic transfat taking what was whole(y) lessons concerning and make the meaning indigestible in attempts to not so covertly control your mind. Corporations, governments and religious institutions all are unions and formations that seek to control the mental via a metaphysical cage. If institutions inhabit your thinking they can inhibit your being. So whether with advert jingles or monothematic interpretations of allegory if they have your thinking they have your being.
    Being arises before thinking, but being directs later thinking. Chemical and biological reactions and ignitions can be related to certain feelings. You are what you are because of the endowment of your birth, and your thoughts later transform too. However, there are thoughts that are your own, the traumatic thoughts of others around you and the traumas of your ancestors. If individuals were only more in tune, or rather less in shock from such traumas of others and their own, they might be able to go much farther than the simple intuition notions within. Today we were all born into the fire of postmodern toxicity and today likely you, and certainly, practically everyone around you, is dominated by advertisers, law writers, dogma dealers and those seeking to govern your mind, either directly or indirectly, to con-vince others to seek solutions outwardly, with them, and be a slave to their game, their way, instead of seeking the answer within, so as to understand and surpass traumas for instance. 
    We wait in line to commute, wait in line to eat bovine flesh with scat, wait our turn to discuss horrible and worldly subjects with equally locked out slaves, equally far from their home within, all in the bosses’ buildings and offices, doing their bidding, in a hurry up and wait game on their behalf. We daily go away from ourselves and rarely, if ever, go in-ward to our own ward, or mansion within, to the point we have little direction, and no sense of self. We’ll disbelieve and refuse in-tuition or in-sight, because we’ve never been ‘in’ and because we are steered by tools of mediation, outer control as opposed to steering ourselves with meditation. We are held by the status quo, by our social training, and moreover our very essences or lack thereof, by the hormones and endorphins we emit and detect with the olfactory despite our lacking conscious knowledge we do detect and react to them.    
    Without meditation, we will remain trapped in an endless matrix of unconscious reaction, as if we are paper in a burning house of prejudice and delusion, unknowingly, uncontrollably, susceptible to catching fire and spreading the delusional flame. This old, ill trap is illustrated most vividly and clearly in the cyclical torment of Samsara described in Buddhism where a cock, snake and pig chase each other’s tails. It’s like that, and worse where there’s a million other entities trying to get in there and get a tail before you, maybe your own. The matrix of tail chasing keeps us as paper apes of base thinking, performing predictable animalistic routines based on our biological inheritance and karma amid bear traps afire in a burning house. The difficult thing about the fire of course, is the fact that we’re made of paper, that is to say, the most difficult thing is to get past is ourselves. What fear has a diamond in a fire? Transforming your inner house in such a way, concentrating a paper mind that sways in the social winds into diamond density that cannot be burned simply requires dedication, dedication to practicing meditation.
    As paper, you misjudge, make assumptions, misunderstand, think you see what happened when you did not at all, miscount, misplace and all in all flub what could surpassed. Simple social breezes easily mislead us in the wrong direction off cliffs and into pitfalls by corporate malfeasance. But in the beginning we are all primarily swayable through our very bodies, our masculine or feminine natures.
    If you are not a meditator, your cortex of bioelectric flesh controls you, and it’s rigged to base root instincts and uncontrollable reactions akin to that of a paper ape afire in a bear trap, in a burning house. If you meditate occasionally you may be in control of yourself occasionally, but you will not be aware of your true nature. If you meditate twice a day and then once a night when you roll over and wake up during sleep, you can become in control of how worldly weather affects you and you can begin to grasp your true nature, and even understand what your higher self is telling you, probably initially something like every Buddha says, ‘Be happy, time is short, seize the day and meditate to return to your true nature.’ Going inward is the supreme exploration because the microcosm within our mansion, our consciousness, accesses the macrocosm of the Akashic field, the universal stream of consciousness. 
    In order to go inward you have to be open and clear, and be geared towards being aware. Then you have to learn how to interpret the symbolism and brief messages your stillness and awareness initially yields, but somethings that were hidden immediately become obvious. In the psychic, energetic, spiritual Akashic that which has remained hidden the longest, the truths which have been covered up with the most lies become the most blatant and bright subjects. The more energy went into covering up truth with lies in the physical, the more energetically the subject glows in the spiritual.
    Men and women interpret symbols differently, as we are subject to our born being, to raw femininity or masculinity, as much as we are subject to the need to eat, only it’s even more constant, and thus being more constant perhaps less realized. Our culture practices the inhibition of understanding of self as a means to sell some smokes or cell phones or some snake oil to consumers lacking understanding of their true nature. But this physical entrapment leads to a downward spiral effect, downgrading our being further because our chromosomes seek to keep us locked down in the physical as well, to interrupt our metaphysical connections, so we remain focused on and ruled by the physical, which tends to be self-absorbed, sexual and aggressive, so that everything we do is in order to get laid on finer sheets, in a bigger room with more stuff and more flesh to eat. The physical is encouraged to maintain its established rule of behavior, and always attempts to hold the reins, no matter if negative. In the same way the eyes try to infer the seer of their dominant role in visions or insights, but they are not responsible. The physical always tries to dominate the spiritual, the metaphysical, but be sure everything begins in, and adheres to the rules of, spirit. And what we note physically arose before in the psychic, spiritual Akashic.        
    Dealing with the physical nature of our raw femininity or raw masculinity is a constant, and because it is constant it is mostly unnoticed, as are most happenings and circumstances when you’re out of your mansion working all day in some institutionalized literal or figurative off(orof)ice. We are trapped by our psychosexual selves, men much more so then women, usually by women. Interestingly cultures in Asia and Europe classified the feminine as the weaker of the sexes, the lesser in a physically dominating manner and therefore, it was inferred, all across the board weaker. Cultures in the Americas however yielded to women as the spiritually superior of the two sexes, and often made women leaders and equals as such. The Indigenous Americans were more spiritually open to the feminine and thus more in touch with metaphysical Akashic. No matter what people tell you, no matter how one views life on this gross, physical plane of Samsara, the feminine is exponentially more powerful spiritually and metaphysically more powerful. Masculinity taking physical power in the world among various cultures is just like the eyes claiming responsibility for insight and intuition. 
    For women to find their true nature, simply meditate in the manner described, twice a day and once a night in order to be open to the truth of your higher self, surpassing the guttural cellular cages the political have played upon and set afire. Women always maintain a bit of the receptive spiritual essence, that metaphysical water that quenches and clears karma if you will, a combination of purity or innocence, clarity and dedication, and for all extents and purposes easy access to the spiritual metaphysical field. While men practically always have their waters dried up.  Without purity, clarity and dedication one cannot clear burdensome karma and will be stuck viewing this plane of existence for its tangible grossness only, for its tail chasing and no more. 
    Sometimes things that seem magical might just be the result of a mechanical process, like what is termed ‘women’s intuition.’ No matter what a women’s thinking is and even if she never meditates three times a day, if a woman practices purity, clarity and dedication she will develop her inborn intuition, to some extent or another.  The problem for women is that being such high end metaphysical receivers they are more receptive to and influenced by social, political, corporate mind bending which otherwise inhabits and inhibits. Women have better access to the light, but are made to carry the corporate blight more. For women to crack open the shell of the psychosexual self, in order to communicate with higher self, simply address it’s there and meditate as described, twice daily, once at night.  
    The following is for men only. Ladies, I respectfully ask you do not read this section as it would only undermine your thinking with the clutter of the masculine predicament, though I know many will decline. Instead of reading further meditate now and skip ahead to the beginning of the following chapter. If there is any gender discrepancy at all, go with whatever sex you were born as, and not whichever sex you have most affinity for being, for all of us were born physically a certain way, but spiritually possess contents of both.
 
Dear Sir,
 
    You have been trained since day one, not directly but through immersion in a subtle manner that goes mostly unnoticed. You have probably not been yourself since you were a toddler, since before you really grew to be yourself any way. You were brought up to be a brute and to dominate those around you as a dirty, lying, tricking, conniving coyote in a pack of a billion strong scheming coyotes. You have been lied to your whole life by most all who you have met and most likely have been steered away from any form of sensitivity, and totally desensitized from reality, and for most, this condition may remain preferable to facing it and moving forward.
    You have been convinced to think that obtaining things and dominating other coyotes who are lower on the canine social ladder than yourself is the key to good fortune.  You have been made to see the most evil as the most typical and trained to jump right in so you are soaked by it. Your only validated ideas are evil, and ‘get’ is your most often used word. You are not being yourself, you have been steered to be blind, deaf, and mostly silent brute. 
    Centuries ago men accomplished farm work, and sought to enhance their consciousness, not to grasp and seize tangible crap and to march around constantly chatting on phones and about how much they get. We indeed operate in a form where lost is logic today. The Sufis were predominantly a farming and meditating community, clearly representative of our lost heritage, despite their current leniency to the monotheistic and secular thinkers. The Sufis were among the first people to enjoy coffee and found the stimulant enjoyable and useful. Only the Sufis did not drink coffee before work, as a cog in some hurry up and wait corporate machine, instead the Sufis drank coffee to stay up late and meditate, to explore their inner house and their true nature, what you might understand as the corporation within. Now we spend our whole life persuaded to work outwardly, not to perform the most important work of all, inward getting. Time is short and Sufis used coffee to stay up late and meditate, not get up and go somewhere they didn’t want to be. Change your pattern. Instead of focusing on get, focus on let. Let the absorption of meditative energies take place. Stay up late and meditate, instead of just performing the goals of the corporation. 
    You have been trained to think drinking cow milk is normal when in reality cow milk is for babies, baby cows. Milk is for babies, coffee, teas, wine, beer, juice, are suitable drinks for adults. Children crave fruit and vegetables to grow, but are tricked by advertising gimmicks to substitute their natural wants for cereals and sweets. Stay away from grains, sugars, all bovine products, and unnatural energy drinks.
    You have been trained to think going to war is a heroic and that being violent is legitimate. Across all spectrums this reptilian notion is pushed. Our ancestors came and went, tricked into killing and dying in wars for nothing. And we’ve been tricked to be proud of that and if someone calls attention to the fact that memorialization of stupid violence is not the best for progression of consciousness they are chastised. Many believe that because of some religious idea from some thousand year old doctrines based on homogenization for the rule of some king at the time, that revenge quest is worth pursuing, but it’s not. Religion is based on spirit and the religious just don’t know and can’t know what can’t be described, your true nature. War with religious institutions involvement or approval is worldly and stupid, simply. It is not spiritual. The suggestion of its legitimacy comes from the institutionally mutated need of adventure and comradery and the basic behaviors instilled in society so that kings today can maintain their end. Institutions steer you and manipulate you into thinking the way you do, in order to make money and dominate. And you take pride in it.     
    You have been trained think in terms of getting, of seizing and holding people, places and things because you are afraid to go inwardly wrestle consciousness. You are so afraid to go inward that even when exercising, when you are potentially most in tune with yourself, you call it a work-out, key word: out. You have been trained to be outside yourself even when ‘exercising’ and attention is steered outside via dealing with the deadness of metal weight, instead of body weight and mechanics of movement. 
    You have been steered to think drinking alcohol daily is fashionable, when in actuality it kills you, when in actuality any so called tough ‘manly’ drinking culture like the Vikings you might think you emulate, would only drink occasionally and then they would get rip roaring drink and could handle it as most of the didn’t live long enough to endure hangovers of any significance. They would have never soured their blood for days on end.
    You have been trained to think about hurting others, been trained to think about acting stupid and trained to evoke shallow toughness in a hateful manner. Why? Because you are spiritually inept, and you compensate for it physically and tangibly, even if it means knuckling up for no reason. You are the most unlucky of beasts, capable of ascension, but tending toward declination, because of a fire you did not start. 
    Women can turn on their ascension reception with very little concentration, whereas men tend to require so much reconditioning, meditation on removal of vile preconceptions to turn on their reception, that most become disbelievers of intuition. It can take years to recover from the denial of truth and portrayal of lies. We are indeed so filled up with our sense of things, our perspective, most of which is distorted at best, that we are basicall a mix of nonsense and therefore have to be rid of it to begin to make sense. We have to return to being in no sense, to our innocence, as within no sense, no preconception.  
    We are all cocooned in our physicality first and foremost and meditations are all about simply becoming and rising beyond the cocoon of conditioning and peering inward toward our true nature. We are also layered with webs and masks, put on us directly and indirectly, so many in fact that we just don’t know ourselves anymore, or anyone let alone ourselves, resulting in the sense of our nationhood instead of our universal brotherhood. Once true nature is found, intuition is undeniable brotherhood is undeniable. Because men have mostly accepted physicality as dominant over spirituality, because we’ve adopted rigidity we think is strength, because we are not natural receivers in tune inwardly, like the feminine, it can take years to verify intuition. In fact, biologically speaking on the spiritual plane white males are the most limited. They are male of course which is a hindrance, and secondly they lack any sufficient quantities of melanin which is a receptor of sunlight, and light of course is intuition’s medium. Where there is light, intuition can bloom Your average white male has about as much potential in a year to gain about the same amount of intuition as your average white female does in about a week. White males are spiritually the weakest, dullest and most rigid and therefore the most likely to be physically insistent, that is for all extents and purposes, deniers of spirt and/or atheists. If you fall into this category, double your efforts. If you’re blessed with melanin and are male, meditate on enhancing your already natural feminine-like receptive qualities physically of melanin with sunlight.
    No matter your physical cocoons and the experiential traumas and fragmentation that one might have experienced we can always mentally and further, spiritually, overcome our cocooning and conditioning through learning and practicing meditations and through learning and understanding universal symbolism, only then can we truly understand the potential of our own intuitive conceptualization. 
    The more one understand who one is biologically, the better one can get past it and understand one’s true nature which is of course beyond female and male. he more you understand your biological and political being, the more likely you are to understand your true nature, just as the more symbolism you understand, the more you will be able to understand the intuitive flickers.”  
 
~From the chapter Individuation, The Theory and Practice to E.S.P., by Joe King Townham
                         
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