Archive for August, 2011

The story of Heracles (Hercules) is a wonderfully twisted tale of gods, demi-gods, madness, murder, infanticide, sin and penance. In the middle is this story, Hercules, an indentured servant serving his sentence under the Mycenaean king, Eurystheus, is ordered to clean out the Augian Stables. According to the tale, Eurystheus had 1000 immortal cattle locked up in this building, doing nothing but eating and pooping for 30 years without anyone thinking to grab pitchfork and a cart to haul off the dung to the compost pile. I am thinking this is a bit of poetic license or else the poets of the day were city boys who had never seen the back end of a cow in their entire life.

More than likely, the Augean Stables did not exist but was an allegory for something else; perhaps the hearts of men, the politics of the royal court, or the chaos of human existence.

Whatever. Hercules had to clean out the stables and he only had one day to do it. His boss, who hated him, meant to teach him humility. Hercules was a lot of things but no one ever accused him of being humble. Instead of grabbing the mighty pitchfork of the gods, he cheats. He diverts two rivers from their course to run them through the stables. OK, already the poetic license is tripping me up. All that work, digging the canals, engineering the sluice gates, and so on, could have been put to work with a pitchfork, to my way of thinking. Only a guy with the soul of an engineer would design a Rube Goldberg contraption to run two rivers through a stable just so he wouldn’t have to smell poop all day.

Nowhere in this tale is there the mention of the minor logistics: Moving the herd to temporary lodging. Sorting out the tools and feed from the piles of dung. Dealing with the downstream pollution. Hercules was something of an ass. It can be assumed he didn’t bother with those details. The bet was to clean the stables in a day. Technically, that’s exactly what he did. He ignored the small details, knowing someone else would sort them out.

There is a name for the guy who thinks up ways not to work hard. We call him an efficiency expert. It was just such an engineering mind that thought up the idea of a remote control because he was too lazy to get up off the couch to change the channel. The Roomba didn’t get invented until 2002 when a man wanted to sweep his floors without actually having to, ya know, sweep. One can only presume he was one of those ‘forever alone’ guys who could never even get a girlfriend to make him a sandwich so therefore had no one to do his laundry or clean his house.

If Heracles had been female, the story would have been different. (For that matter, if King Eurystheus had been female, there would not have been a story at all. No queen in her right mind would have let things get so messy.)

It is the female mind that keeps the universe together, making sure things run like a well oiled machine, because, of course, it is they who are working endlessly behind the machines doing the oiling. It was a woman who first said ‘A stitch in time saves nine’, knowing full well that her plate was already too full, what with cooking and cleaning and doing the laundry and changing baby diapers and wiping snotty noses and teaching the kids reading, writing and arithmetic, all the while keeping herself fit and trim so she could play the seductress to her man every time he came home from the proverbial wars, therefore she had no desire to repair a destroyed seam if a few well placed knots could forestall it.

The female Hercules, being a demi-god, would have been a hearth witch by nature. She would have taken a broom and made a small clean spot in one corner of the stables. Hearth magic would have done the rest.  This is the magic of the female mind. It is the logic of the right brain and can be applied to any mess, no matter how intimidating. It works like this:

The broom is the broom of intention, the intention being not so much to clean the spot but to drive back the chaos and reestablish that spot’s anchor to the Patterning of the Universe. This she does with her will and her love and the purest of intentions. It is also these qualities that allow her to wade through the fetid mess without getting any of the stink on her. The stink does not bother her. The source of her power rises from the fermentation of life in the dark places of the Universal Soul. The stink just tells her that her brew is working.

Back to cleaning up the mess. The one clean spot, now put into order and anchored, causes the adjoining spots to spin around it, igniting change as a catalyst ignites change in a soup of reagents. What follows is a cascade of reactions that alters the whole until the whole is uniform once more. In other words, the change happens until the change can find no other thing to change and then it stops. Time, as is the way with all things in the Universe, is relative. This transformation can be instantaneous, like a flash fire or as slow as stalactites growing on the roof of a cave.

Hercules saw the Augian Stables as one single problem and solved it with catastrophic results. Hercules’s alter ego, in a distaff universe, ignored the big picture and broke the problem down into one manageable bit at a time, knowing full well that before she was through, she would do less work than Hercules and end up with a well ordered stable in which the useful remained and the detritus had been swept away on the tides of the Universe.

One clean spot can make all the difference.

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Do you think, looking about, in this high-tech society, that the evils of old have been eradicated?

Do you think if the propaganda machines tell you that you are free often enough then it will automatically make it so?

Do you think you are not a slave subjugated by those who would seek to control you?

Lets compare.

A slave submits, going through the motions, doing only what is necessary, making no extra effort at the daily processes that keep a roof over their head and food on their table.

A free man understands that it is the journey and not the destination that makes the act of living on this planet worth living. Every step, every breath, every interaction with another human being is a reaffirmation of the original intent of inception into this reality well. Working, whether you be a street sweeper or a cubicle monkey, is a dance, not with your overlords, but with very fabric of space-time, and must be done with care and joy, as if you were making love to your soul mate for the very first time.

A slave sabotages the workings of the great mindless machine in which he is imprisoned, either through active acts of destruction or by passive acts of negligence. The phrase ‘It’s not my job’ becomes their shield and their sword.

A free man understands that it is all one thing, this little tiny blue ball whirling through a space full of stars, and that you don’t shit where you eat. Being a good roommate on the Planet Earth, a free man thinks ‘If not me, then who?’ and cleans up the messes and solves the problems as they present themselves.

A contented slave allows the system to infantilize him, never being proactive, always waiting patiently to be taken care of when things go wrong, becoming angry when that care does not materialize.

A free man recognizes the care given by the system for what it is, a blanket meant to smother, a drug to make you mindless, a carrot on a stick to make you go where you should not go.

A discontented slave seeks to destroy the system, making the first mistake of all slaves, allowing himself to be defined by his hates and not his loves.

A free man knows that destroying a system creates a vacuum in which other systems arise, but, since they rise out of the chaos of destruction, become far worse than the thing it replaces. A freeman does not wish to destroy the system. He merely wants no part of it, as he is busy building his own reality in which overlords have no power.

A slave, feeling powerless, creates rules based in fear that make him feel safer, thereby building more bars instead of opening up the cage door. Doing anything out of fear always turns out wrong. Always. Trust me on this.

A free man needs no rules or laws. His heart and his steps are guided by the OnePattern, the Oneverse, the tick tock heart of all reality. If one is viscerally connected to this, listening with all your being, all decisions become intuitive, unerring and right.

A slave thinks as he is told to think, letting his mind fall into the same trap that his body is imprisoned in, thoughts shackled like feet.

A free man knows his own truth and cannot be dissuaded from it. He understands that thoughts are free, to fly where they please and that even in the darkest of dungeons, in the most oppressive of thought-control societies,  a free man is still free.

A slave, well and truly seduced by the system overlords, actually believes that he too, if he works very hard and is a very good slave, will someday become an overlord. This is never the case. The best he can hope for is the role of overseer slave.

A free man wants nothing to do with a system that grinds the many into the ground in order to raise the few to unnecessary heights and he understands all too well that negative karma can only be postpones but never avoided.

A slave waits for freedom to be handed to him.

A free man knows that being free is hard work, harder than anything one can think to do and he works at it tirelessly, hidden, deep in the bowels of the machine.

Poor machine. It is about to get indigestion.

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