Here I’ll present you, one of the introductory chapters of my book, not though in its final form. The reading of the ritual will be different. The ritual itself probably too. My book will be the freshest. No worries, my friend. :
Individualis Victus Humansis
Legend has it, a myth TO BE
The events written in this chapter happened so long ago, that they were almost forgotten. They needed to be written down so they wouldn’t be lost in the maelstrom of time, of which you are part right now. Swirl, swirl with me.
There once was a time at which everything was created, or it just has always been there, either way it changes nothing about your life right now, nor who or what was first. It just doesn’t influence your actual life, nor will this answer give any satisfactory help to understanding yourself, because you already are alive and you are just guessing behind the fact. At this point of creation what was one turned into many or many continued being many. It may have been created out of nothing or it already was something, either way, you are alive now, not at the moment or moments of creation. So whether the egg or chicken was first… Both are alive, and both co-exist on earth already, in our human life, NOW. Since that first or many spark/s it has been able to continue to grow: Will it do the same during your life? Probably. Do you need to scientifically find the first one… Digger of the past… Fearful of the future…
If only I had this answer, then.. Then I wouldn’t be just another human, like sand on a beach.
This happened in some very remote part of the world not many people ever set foot in (luckily, most been kicked out), nor many feet out again (‘cus they ain’t ‘live anymore right?). (Doesn’t mean though that it must be a physical location). Luckily for you, one pair of translucent feet did walk out and could transmit word of mouth these events so rare on this motherly earth. This event is a foretelling of a better world, a healthier word, a truly blessed world where everybody, truly everybody has exactly what he needs, if they knew exactly what they truly need, that is. Where everybody is either happily in a couple or happily single. Everybody has all the money they need to comfortably live. Everybody has a house to live in and all the food they need. No more break ups, no more deceits, no more lies. Honest governments. Everybody just being able to love everybody. Honest farmers, honest villagers and city dwellers. No more murder. No mistreating each other. Happily ever after. No murder, means no food on the plate. No war forever more, thus you can’t depose the government as a populace you somehow might hate after all for all this perfection, seemingly. Everybody just is birthed with all the skills he needs, to be a good person, but then what is there left to do in such a perfect world, such darn unblessed long lifes, with nothing to learn. Maybe only in this dark ugly world can true ugly beauty be found, because you can blame the world forever, for how you behave, until you’ve got enough of the blaming and do the work yourself, and then the usual problems, are accepted to be part of the deal.
Ah if only the world weren’t so limitless, then one part of this limitlessness just would be less!
You may witness this event, as if you are the one doing the stabbing to really go in deep. Your heart is beating rhythmically but strongly. It already knows through oft repeated gestures, what is to come, and yet the outcome of this reading can only be uncovered through deep reflection. Sometimes this reflection may take years, millennia or multiple lives even to come to fruitition. Quick readings of any situation often only read what you want to read in them. Albeit your heart knows the gesture that is to come now, you can’t stop yourself from quivering slightly and dropping some tears, out of respect to this animal that helps you read these important messages, only you can uncover, the man that stands between the Kingdom’s of God and Men.
The knife plunges into the belly of the ferret, slowly sliding open the skin as the first rivulets of blood drop down. It’s blood slowly pulsing out and staining the hands of the ceremonial person while dripping down in the bowl. The earthenware bowl fills with murky dark blood. As you peer deeper into the murky liquid, it’s as if you peer into a bottomless pit, from the dredges of hell. It’s as if fire and lava were streaming out of dark crevices. The stench is maybe even worse than the nightmare unfolding before your vista. Uncomprehending you keep on gazing for hours into the bowl, while the stench becomes slowly more putrid and nauseating. Your tribe has already left to worship the moon, before heading into their huts and caves. Whole nights and days you keep on sitting, unmoving while the first maggots start appearing. With nothing but your own fears and inhibitions for comfort these nights are one of the hardest of your life, knowing that you are still a young person and might have years left to live. Slowly you rise out of your torpor and rise to greet the first rays of the sun, after your third night deep in uncomprehension. Tears are streaming down your face, because there just can’t come anything positive out of this sign. Having not satisfactorily answered your questions, you have only gotten more questions left unanswered, deep down you wish you’d have never opened the ferret, because now you know, your life is over, you may just as well ask to be buried, for this only tells of death to come. As you go to the pits where the dead sleep, you take a shovel and slowly unerringly start digging a deep trench. It measures your length and is deep enough so you never see the light of day again. You tell your tribe, which you have faithfully adhered to since you were ordained into your position, of your coming death. They mourn, for now they know that they have to begin the long search for another spiritual leader that has the same personal merits as you. You didn’t foresee the possibility of your quick death and haven’t yet prepared a new guide in all your finicky own ways. You have been trained since your childhood and prepared for this position, but deep down in your heart you know, there is nothing that differentiates you from them, you are as humane as them. Why they’d look up to you, in your dark nights you have completely forgotten. The duty you had is lost because of one ferret. They’re problems aren’t yours anymore, this ceremony has so completely wrecked you, that there shan’t be anymore light for you. You say your goodbye’s and take leave of your tribe. As the sun goes down its course to kiss the earth, you take your position before the hole you’ve dug. You hold the knife before your chest and as the sun kisses the earth, you ram it straight into your heart. As you lose consciousness, your kinsmen and women see the clearest of bloods leave your body. Your lifeless body drops down into the hole.
Instantly they drop down on their knees, worshipping your clear blood. They are in deep mourning but also in deep reverie for this clear sign. How one human body can encompass two such opposite feelings/ forces is close to miraculous, if you ask me, but this is what your lifeless body shan’t have the time anymore to give it’s resting place in the mosaic of life. One would almost say that the ferret, was but one sick animal, and you have been quite a healthy animal, as far as differences go. This difference though has cost you your life, in your own self-deluded way. Your kinsmen weep for days on end for this clear, almost god-sent sign, yet as there is no guide anymore to read the blood, speak god’s law, they don’t know anymore what to do themselves. Nobody rises to the task as of yet and you have left no directions, how to read the different signs life may give, if you do need to read them. The warriors of the tribe have the honourful task to cover your body with roots, earth and flowers of death.
Murky blood, clear blood, blue blood, red blood, the sun makes its turns no matter what, around your head. That’s probably where the sun areola comes from, to describe supposedly saints. The sun shines, almost impersonally, without feeling for the beings below, touched by graceful searing rays, dried up to the bone marrow, in her hazy heat. As you know everything needs to have a personality, otherwise it just can’t be. Life or death, as if that made a difference, or more/ less part of your life.
The social congregation is left to wander and go about their ways. Somehow life goes on. Somehow they cope. It may not be easy at some days, but slowly not only one ‘guide’ does become wiser, but the whole tribe, because they are forced to fend for themselves, when they would have gone to their guide normally. They’ll never know all the answers they usually came asking guidance for, but this is an intrinsic part of living, as not even any guide can and should answer every question. Only this personal sitting through your own finnicky ways is going to be of any worth in your life.
As it just so happens to be, a few years later, news has spread of this peculiar tribe that have no spiritual leader. Many priests, guides, people that like to hear themselves talk and many other such manifestations, make their way down to that village where they expect to find Gomorrah and Sodom but instead find one normal village, where only birth and death are celebrated copiously, passionately. The coming of age, maturity, can’t be put down on one age for every person, is more of an inner slow cooking discovery. Marriage itself, the vow to live together, before human eyes, eye to eye, as equals is of course not to be dismissed or small-talked. Nor is ti always needed, if their own bond is strong enough. The villagers having found a new poise, independence, don’t want no part of these guides and send them back whence they came. Some are more serious in their endeavours to become their priests and spread their own ‘wisdom’, so the villagers hunt them, until they run away on their own. Some end up being killed for their dogmatic ways but so are the ways of nature and all her mysteries.
Generations later, you take your first breath and open your eyes, knowing nothing of what might, may or has happened, and so it’s fine and good. So it shall be until the end of time.
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