We live in a wonderful time in history. When we look at the news all seems bleak, those who are behind the news media like it that way, fear porn, carnage and misfortune to entice, a feeling of lack, hopelessness, warring political factions, low level corruption exposed, chaos, all peppered with tantalising ads and the occasional feel good story to have you believe they are good guys, touchy feely and they care … it just keeps coming from all directions… misinformation and nothing short of subliminal mind control.
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Nope We are Not Buying the Product
There are those of us who are highly intelligent, not just blessed with ‘intellectual-smarts’, there are people who are meek, intuitive, gentle but powerful in the sense that they see through the world of smoke and mirrors, many of us have a clarity of mind as we watch daily something extraordinary emerge from behind the scenes.
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For two thousand years in the West and much longer in the East we have had petty tyrants who have controlled communities through religion, spirituality, false gods (no I haven’t stated there isn’t something sublime that holds the fabric of the Universes in a sense of order). These tyrants and their lackeys have placed themselves for their own comfort and agendas between God and man. These hideous miscreants have used their positions of power to abuse children, young women who sought god or enlightenment and anyone who is vulnerable, they have in the past and still prey on the community to satisfy their own needs, fill their nests with a bounty made from the sweat and hard work of others.
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Across the globe we now have a movement in the consciousness of humanity who are stepping up and saying ‘game over’, people are standing up and claiming back power. In Australia we have had what is called the Royal Commission into the Institutional Response to Child Sexual Abuse. I like thousands of others, brushed myself down, scraped off the cobwebs, stood up straight, held myself together just long enough to put my invisible helmet on to go to battle…with tears streaming down my face hidden by sunglasses I jumped on a Melbourne tram, walked in to testify at the Royal Commission about crimes committed against me as a child by adult men of the Catholic Clergy. As my wonderful dad said to me, “son this has gone on for far too long, someone has to do it, I am proud of you, you are very brave”. Those words carried me through the door, into the lift then into the room to meet the Commissioner who so nobly sat through my testimony as she had for many others. I went alone on this day as I did not want those who loved me to hear what I had to say, I had a few tokens of power and very organised documentation to carry me through the day.
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It’s not just about Me
For those of us who spoke, it wasn’t just for ourselves but for those who were incapable, some suicided, some are in mental institutions, some live on the streets and experience more heinous crimes daily, people forgotten by society, those with addictions and for those gentle souls who wanted to speak but were too broken and just walked away.
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The Unconsidered
Here’s a problem that is often missed by many people. When there is child abuse that is carried out and hidden under the umbrella of a religious institution there are additional complexities. All abuse has a shadow of some sort that follows people through their lives, this is obvious to anyone with even basic intelligence. However when ‘GOD’ is involved, there is a type of entanglement that keeps the experiencer of the CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY (lets call it what it is) intricately bound into a web of thought. We humans are born into cultures, we’re Italian, Bhutanese, Ecuadorian or whatever; we understand that with this comes a way of doing things. We might meet on Fridays, drink wine on Sundays, watch the Football religiously, eat gherkins, chilies, all these things are hardwired to our sense of normal. I remember as a kid in kindergarten looking at the Italian kids eating their lunch, I was a white-bread thin sliced sandwich kid; the boys with the funny accent had sandwiches half the size of their heads, jam packers with weird stuff. For me, diving in the surf, salt on my skin, getting over browned by the sun that I felt proud to look like my Maori ancestors.
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Cultural Idiosyncrasies
I am painting the picture of ‘normals’, things we don’t give a second thought to. Me I am a psychic who doesn’t do fortune-telling, I just stare into space like the ‘Men Who Stare at Goats’, it’s my normal but ridiculous to others. My dad was a great singer, I thought everybody had a playlist in their heads 24/7, it wasn’t until I was 40 years old that someone told me it wasn’t true, I am not joking.
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When you are part of a religious community, organisation, cult, sect, or even a wonderful group of kind but totally deluded people who all where purple Nikes, there is a ‘creep’ that happens. I have seen it many times. A newbie turns up very raw, they walk in with their jeans, T shirt, pair of hipster boots, a tattoo or two, a rucksack, bright eyes and an inquisitiveness. The calendar pages flip fast, the months pass and before you know it they have gone ‘full native’, they own a statue, a set of beads, are all but ‘speaking in tongues’ in a language unknown to ‘normal people’, just one stop of owning a camel or riding an elephant through the streets to the local mall.
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The Power Junkies
The top of the hierarchies in religious institutions is where the hideous tomfoolery can be pointed back to. There are people who place themselves there, maybe just maybe some sincerity when they entered into their quest to explore the answers to the Cosmos, stare at their navel, or to make sense of ‘what is the sound of one hand clapping’ or they liked the freedom of dancing and singing throwing their arms in the air or hitting a bongo. But rising to a place of power and being indoctrinated into warped ideas about ‘what is or isn’t normal sexual behaviour’ by those who wish to turn healthy people into eunuchs, the suppression of natural desire seems to get a little much for them and they seem to have intervals of brain spasms and inflict their mixed up concepts on the vulnerable. And due to their being in a position of power when they are exposed, their side-kicks and bum-lickers rally around to protect them because they are doing ‘God’s work.’
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Men Dressed Inappropriately
And here’s where it becomes difficult for experiencers of the crimes of the BLOKES in DRESSES with their mala-beads or crosses around their necks. Over many years the indoctrination is so powerful, unquestionable even, their victims have subconsciously placed these hideous miscreants between God and themselves. There is an assumption deep in the being of the victim that by stepping up, coming forward and triggering the healing process that in some way they are BETRAYING GOD. Even though the experiencer of the crimes is fully aware at a surface level that these abusers are NOT God’s representatives, the mental wiring is so entangled it becomes all but impossible to separate ones own relationship with what God might be from what one has spent their life believing.
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Claiming Back
When I testified at the Royal Commission, afterwards I had a casual conversation off the record with the Commissioner, I said to her, “If you want to solve this, you need to forget God exists.” She understood what I was saying. And this is where the healing lies, this is where the disentanglement begins or becomes complete. Victims of sexual abuse that happened in religious or spiritual institutions need to reconsider what God may be. A person may burn their prayer books, throw away the beads, buy new clothes, get rid of old friends, never go back to the church or temple. And I say this as a man who is not an atheist who spends most of his days immersed in the world of there Spirit.
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Aaaah Freedom from the Known
In the cafe wear I write there is a young child drinking a baby-cino, the smell of coffee reminds me I am alive and the gift of creation is wondrous thing. The flowers on the table are sort of scarlet coloured, people have sparkly eyes, the sky is blue, it’s sunny and I feel its warmth on my skin. Within the presence of all things I feel the tingle-of-foreverness, some might call it the Divine Spark, there is a hum. I am a free man, I do not need the petty tyrants to manage God for me, to tell me what I must do in order for me to be a part of what surrounds me, to make closer to what I live and move in, to dive into the depth of Silence, to wander with the Sages who are my closest of kin.
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The world is changing and as a community we are going to bring those religious and spiritual MotherFUCKERs down and make them accountable for their crimes.
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Get up, stand Up!
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Tilopa 2.0
Future Yogis 