Learning to ride, falling down, getting back on
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You won’t find their names listed by the American Medical Association. There’s no degree on the wall. The knives they use for surgery might be rusty, or they might use no knives at all. Yet, thousands of ailing people have, for centuries, reported miraculous cures by psychic healers.
The usual assumption about power is that there is only one kind — physical. Spiritual power exists too, though the two are not entirely unrelated, in my experience anyway.
“A veggie restaurant in Raleigh? It’ll never work” was the reaction of most folks who consider Raleigh a meat and potatoes town. Early this spring, however, the Irregardless, located on Morgan Street in the shadow of Central Prison, opened its doors and now has a full house every lunch and most dinner-times.
When I am awake I call myself a student of the occult. Though occult research is regarded as a profession less respectable than most, it is enough to provide me with an acceptable, if peripheral role in the social body.
To begin with, I don’t believe in alternate life styles. Having lived communally, having been married, having lived alone, it all comes down to the same thing: you live, ultimately, with yourself.
I’ll start with feeling bad. It’s a bone with a little — you should pardon the expression — meat on it. Tears are tears. Nobody needs to tell you how to feel bad. It’s as natural as bleeding. As natural as concentration camps, impotence, or saying the wrong thing.
Pin-ups make us feel good. Marilyn Monroe and Baba Ram Dass make me feel good. Why else did I spend the first half of my life jerking off into her picture, and the second half into his?
In Jane Robert’s The Education of Oversoul Seven, Seven is undergoing a rather awesome examination that centers on the nature of reality, dreams, reincarnation and out-of-body travel.
As you all know, we continuously contend with preachers who promote their productivity in Cosmic Shithouses all over the universe. And when they wipe their Cosmic Asses, there’s nothing there but the same old shit that you and I have been living with for years.
If his words evoke for you the same renewed wonder at the possibilities of creation, the same suggestion of undreamt-of expression, unacknowledged realities, and unlimited self-realization, I might escape a little of the karmic shitstorm that comes from saying: read this book.
Everywhere out of doors that I go — city streets, roadsides, country fields, dense forests, wherever there is water and soil and sunlight (and these can be in the smallest quantities or poorest qualities) — I see plant life of such great beauty and uniqueness that I am dazzled with appreciation and wonder.
When I think of ways to use food to feel good, they usually don’t fall into any category. It could be a chocolate malted with all its Proustian overtones. Or it may be a Wildflower salad that tastes as good as it is for me.