arcadia
01-31-2006, 12:58 AM
Hey group,
I seriously would like to see this focus on the negative polarity here to ease -
especially after what I'm now seeing in my own life. We've tried to create more
food for positive discussion and yet we're still here. "Negative" should not be
a word in the subject of the majority of posts appearing in a forum that is
designed to focus on the seeking of the positive path, though either choice can
be made and is acceptable within Oneness.
How would this obsession look to new members seeking joy and uplifting material
to inspire them about their own Ascension? The people who unsubscribed did like
the Divine Cosmos website enough to at least give us a shot - let's try to make
it worth their while as we are getting LOTS of new members all the time, and
they almost all just lurk, or complain to me privately about various things.
Dissension rarely goes public.
That being said I will answer Bjorn's questions in a way that is useful.
The "Luciferian Force" is that which inspires movement and growth. The
inspiration comes from the infringement on the free will of others, disrupting
them, putting them in pain and forcing them to change. A "Luciferian Awakening",
as I have coined the term, is the process of a victim becoming an abuser, and
doing to others what was done to them out of a feeling that they are ultimately
"helping" that person.
The early stage of a "Luciferian Awakening" is often called "Learning to Stand
Up For Yourself" by those who don't understand the difference between love and
control. The tricky bit, the real gray area, is learning how to respect and love
yourself while ALSO applying compassionate wisdom so as NOT to infringe on
others' free will in the process. You have to be confident enough in how balance
is properly applied to a situation, via your own discernment, that you can see
when another person has infringed enough on free will that you have the right,
nay the OBLIGATION, to stand up for yourself. I feel in my own life that I am
finally "getting" this and it is very, very hard-earned.
Negative-leaning entities believe, to varying degrees, that to infringe on the
free will of another - through control, manipulation, betrayal, et cetera, is to
"help" them grow. In some senses this is true, but they do not realize that they
are 100-percent karmically liable for EVERY infringement of free will they
commit - and this is very severe liability that MUST be paid back. So a
Luciferian (consciously or unconsciously) is a person who, even though they may
chase wealth, status, power and beauty, or at least the domination,
manipulation, control and sarcastic emotional torture of others, is nonetheless
beseiged with one negative event after another. The "blowback" is endless and
always leads to complete ruin - the Lightning / Tower of Destruction archetype
in the tarot.
"Oh, but *I* could never be broken enough by someone else to have a Luciferian
Awakening!"
BULL$#!+.
Don't be so naive as to think you couldn't be broken, even now... and that this
could never, ever happen to you. I'm sorry. You could. And it does happen. LA /
the valley / Santa Monica has been a HUGE eye-opener for me as there are a LOT
of people here who are more negative and self-serving than positive in their
orientation. Perhaps the greater population makes them more visible, but man
have I had my eyes opened.
The day started out with a place I found right near the water that I really
liked. The woman called me at 8:42, seemed relatively supportive on the phone,
interested in the film, and said she was showing the place at 9:30. In good
traffic the drive is almost a half-hour and I had not yet showered or eaten
breakfast. When I said that time might be a problem, she said that the time was
flexible, and I could set it up for later if I wanted to. I was really keen on
the place, but I knew I could not get there by 9:30 unless it was a miracle. She
made it sound as if 9:30 was just when she wanted me to be there, but if I
couldn't make it, then later would be fine.
I got a late start and the freeways were terribly congested, so by the time I
had found the place, seen it through the window, fell in love with it and then
driven around to find a pay phone, it was 10:15. I had been worried that I had
parked the car without paying the meter when I looked at the place, since I am
not in the habit of carrying cash. Now, in order to use the phone for any length
of time with my calling card, I had to make sure that I had change for the
meters. Simple, right?
I stopped at the post office to get change for the meters, to avoid a ticket, in
the form of a small credit transaction with cash back. They had me stand in a
"special" line for this. I directly told the woman I was buying the stamps only
to get cash for the parking meters. I asked for 10 dollars back after buying a
sheet of 39s. The woman refused to give me anything but a five and five single
dollars, never smiled, no customer service whatsoever, and offered no
suggestions to help me - just looked right through me when I struggled to
understand why she would not give me any coin change - not even a dime.
So then I had to buy stamps AGAIN at the vending machine with a 5er to get some
quarters - or so I thought. The cheapest stamps were 80 cents a pop. This should
hit the jackpot as far as quarters go. Instead, it spit out two dimes, two Susan
B Anthony dollar coins and two brass dollar coins - meaning that each time I put
one of these dollar coins in the meter, I've paid for a whole hour's parking,
which I almost will never need! Even the MACHINES were screwing with me and
refused to give me real change!
Three days earlier, I had just dumped a pesky old brass dollar coin that had
been hanging around in my wallet for ages, given to me by some freaked-out
longhaired metalhead college-radio DJ dude who was friends with my brother the
night we were going to the Twisted Sister concert, as repayment for the set of
fresh new earplugs I handed him as we came out of the pharmacy. This was a LOUD
show, and we were now Educated Metal Enthusiasts, so we went in there with full
hearing protection, whether we would be accused of being "p=ssies" or not.
Finally, at long last, that useless and unrecognizable coin had found a home
when Daniele and I strolled the 3rd Street Promenade after I parked the car a
few days back... which took well less than an hour of our time. Now, thanks to
the post office's one-two punch, I had FOUR of them - ( ! ) - almost completely
useless unless I'm just ready to start wasting money on parking meters. Most
cashiers won't even take them, as I had discovered since I acquired the burden
last November, as there is no drawer for such coins in their register and no one
ever uses them.
So, I walked out to the car, fed the meter a six-minute dime, went to the pay
phone and called the first number. It was Anna the apartment woman's husband,
Blaine, who was "in New York" and on his cell phone. He seemed very nice and
acted as if he had heard about me and was really hoping I could get her on the
phone so I could get the apartment, as it really was lovely and I would be great
for the place.
He even went so far as to give me what he called her "Darth Vader number,"
meaning the cell phone number that no one is EVER supposed to know except in the
most dire of emergencies.
About this time I realized that fragrant, fresh human urine, from someone vastly
overconsuming refined sugar products and with very weak kidneys, had recently
been spilled in the corner right near these phones, and was slowly creeping
towards my feet. It was probably from the crumpled up old bag lady in the faded
violet winter coat who was sitting nearby, reading her magazine with her
gray-haired head held in her hand. I had felt strange psychic energy from her as
I neared the phones but did not know why, until then. I am just as connected in
consciousness to the homeless as to anyone else, and I think she felt both
regret and anger at having urinated there right before I needed to use it.
I called Anna's normal phone first before going for the Vader option, and got
her answering machine. I started going into my apology about getting stuck in
traffic since I was new here and did not know how bad it could be. Then she
picked up the phone, and I continued, saying, "Oh, thank God I've got you on the
phone... I'm really sorry about the traffic. I'm new here and I did not mean to
inconvenience you, but you weren't there waiting for me, which is good - you
must have known that I would be late, given when my call came in and how bad the
freeways are at this time, as I discovered, and you were waiting for me to call
you back. So thanks for thinking ahead for me so I didn't further inconvenience
you. I'm really stoked about seeing this place and whatever time works for you
will work for me... I have other things I can do if you need a little more
time."
"It's rented," she replied, deadpan.
Pause.
"It's RENTED?" I answered?!! Say WHAT???
"Yes. I showed it to another person at 9:30 and they took it."
I couldn't believe it. The vision of Paradise was dissolving and spreading thin
before my very eyes like the bag lady's fragrant urine. She had NEVER told me
there was any other person at 9:30. I went through 50 minutes of absolute
gridlock hell on the freeways to try to get there as quickly as I could, to
accommodate her schedule. All along she made it seem as if that was just the
most convenient time for her, even after I clearly let her know it could be a
major problem for me. She never said that anyone else was coming- possibly out
of fear of being sued by me if they didn't show up. All to serve herself, her
own interests.
After this very terse statement of betrayal, "IT'S RENTED," I could tell she was
bracing for impact, for me to open up a can of whoop-@ss on her on the phone. I
had moved heaven and earth to try to respond to her sudden phone call, and
betrayal was my reward in kind. I did NOT attack her, even though it felt
TERRIBLE to be losing that wonderful place. "Well, I must say I'm disappointed,
but I'm not going to punish you with my emotions. Thank you for telling me the
truth, and I'm sorry we couldn't have worked something out." And that was it. I
hung up. And quickly desired to leave the stinking area of space and time I had
found myself standing in.
Nonetheless, I was not done, and a solution had not yet arrived. So, standing in
this woman's urine, still I called the next places down on my list, which I
never even imagined I would have to explore. The first one was the best option,
just walking distance from a huge health food store, and they answered the phone
and seemed nice, and sympathetic to how I had just been lied to and basically
cheated out of a place I thought I had in the bag. "That's just the way it
works," they told me, "but we don't work like that here." Suuure...
I already knew what would come next. More parking meters and a need for gobs of
completely disposable cash. I'd already been through this once before with
another rental place, but did not actually do the application since it seemed
REALLY sketchy to me. The apartment itself would have been akin to solitary
confinement - more like living in a perfectly square box, minus the bars on the
windows. Monastic life in a box is fine when you're in college, and having sex
or at least imagining you are, but surely you can do better than a COMPLETELY
square space of no more than 500 square feet!
On the way to their office on Stanford Lane, I drove to a gas station ATM and
withdrew 200 in cash, since these realtors can't just let you apply for a place
to rent - they have to hold you over the barrel with between 100 and 200
dollars, cash, that you NEVER GET BACK if they end up offering you the apartment
and you decide to take a different and probably better place. They win, no
matter what. It's a rigged game. They take 30 dollars just for your credit
check, which can cost them as little as 19 cents depending on the plan they sign
up for - Experian, et cetera.
I figured that after doing that kind of business at the ATM, directly in front
of the attendant at the gas station, I had earned some good credit with him as a
paying customer. I had just pulled out the maximum in cash that his machine
would possibly allow me to - 200 dollars in 20s.
I still needed better change for the meters, as I did not want to waste a dollar
a shot for little 3-minute trips into stores and the like. Naturally he would
help me out and not dick me over like the post office had done.
I put two dollars on the counter and kindly asked him for change. He handed me
four quarters stacked up next to his cash register monitor screen, and left the
other dollar just sitting there on the counter. He sarcastically laughed with a
knowing grin and a wink of "I got you" when I asked him why I couldn't have more
change, and said nothing more. This was fun for him - the only chance left he
had at power over others, and he relished in it. Everyone wants change for the
meters at a gas station. This was his gig. It's crazy what you deal with in a
city like this. You have to go to the more expensive businesses if you actually
want to be treated with normal human kindness.
The next leg of the trip was uneventful. I didn't even bother trying to park
very close, because there would be no spot - and I was right. I tossed one of my
fresh quarters into the meter and saved myself 75 cents, and then was on my way.
Then while I was filling out my application at the realtor's office, this
somewhat attractive / somewhat hideous woman, very dark tan, in very high shorts
(should this make me horny? No, no, definitely not... yuck!!!) and
hyper-over-wet-styled permed hair barged in and grandiosely announced that she
was a wealthy "entertainer" who "toured all over the world" and had "multiple
large properties" in Santa Monica. I certainly did not recognize her as anyone
famous - she may have been a striptease dancer by how high her shorts were
riding.
Even though they told her that four other good, qualified applicants who were
ahead of her on this property she wanted, she still insisted that she was going
to move her daughter into this place while she was on the road, to "protect" her
daughter from messing up her other "lavish" properties while she was gone.
She just about DEMANDED that they give her the place over the other applicants,
because she was so wealthy and powerful and amazing, and she "drove all the way
over" to their pitiful little office to file this application and certainly did
not expect to have to mix with the useless eaters / hoi polloi / plebians /
peasant folk / riff-raff ever again, anywhere else. She certainly did not want
to get caught being "spoon woman" at the orphanage on Mashed Potato Night. One
pathetic little hole-in the wall cockroach realtor business was enough for her
to cope with entering into for the next, say, eternity of time. (These are all
gross comic exaggerations, not things she actually said. Subtext. It always has
to be there when making a film, as I'm learning from Daniele. I have to learn
NOT to write the subtext and leave it to the actors, since I am normally such a
literalist.)
They finally allowed her to take the key and see the place, even though they let
her fully know there was no chance in hell that she would ever get it. She was
quite verbal with them about her obvious right to get the place, since her
subtext clearly said that the customer is always right, and the wealthiest
customer is always the MOST right. Since she was The Most Amazing Person Ever,
they should all just fall on their knees and BEG for her to actually want this
apartment. I prayed that my own luck in finding a place would be better, as I
knew you could attract more flies with honey than with piss and vinegar. Even
better to offer honey when you are not actually standing in piss and vinegar.
She left their office with the key, after her 20-dollar cash refundable deposit
was paid, and left the outside door hanging six inches open, right in front of
us! For real!
"Nice touch," I said to the girls working there, and immediately got up and
closed it so that they did not have to be disturbed. Giggles got started.
I aroused great laughter among the help after she was gone by working all this
spectacle into a routine about the joys of customer service, and how she wanted
to special-order a jail cell for her daughter to protect her marvelous
properties from teenage beer, bongwater and "body-oriented" stains on the
carpet. Better that it be in one of their rat traps so she can just have them
use the deposit to swap out the carpets at the end of her daughter's parade of
tits, @$$, drugs and decadence. I had them dying with laughter in no time. It
very much looked like I'd get the place I wanted thereafter, because I was
creating the human connection there, through comedy - and you have to take the
greatest risks to get the biggest laughs. I really have it down to a science
now.
The woman finally came back, and as if to justify herself in knowing that she
did not have a snowball's chance in hell of getting this place, once she bent
down to the desk's level to get her 20 back, she looked into the one main girl's
eyes with a knowing gaze, as a woman who has now gained Wisdom, and uttered,
"It's a little bit SMALL."
I was very sorely tempted to reply, right out loud while she was there, "That's
what SHE said!" She would have hated me and stormed out of there, but it would
have gotten fantastic laughs and almost insured that I got my own apartment,
just out of sympathy / comedy points!
Nonetheless I knew this was service-to-self behavior and the temptation was
already showing up to begin "fighting fire with fire." This did become another
great joke I shared with the office girls after she left, creating even more
peals of laughter, though... I couldn't just waste good material like this
completely, and I felt compassion for how often these girls get cut down in that
office. The atmosphere in there was so oppressive, the phone ringing almost
nonstop and the atmosphere so extremely tense, that humor was the only valid
service I felt I could provide to really shift their energy - and it did work
like a charm. Up until then I felt like I was dying just to be in there for 20
minutes. It was quite unpleasant.
Finally after waiting for an hour in my car next to his house, I got to Billy,
who was weak but his pancreatic cyst has now shrunken to "inconsequential"
status, almost undetectable. Before long we went to the bank to officially
incorporate me into Convergence Pictures LLC as co-signatory on the account. A
lanky stubble-faced man in a busted old green T-shirt inserted himself in line
behind Billy and in front of me, the fresh-faced young'un, though we came in
together. Then he just started going off, gesticulating wildly and showing Billy
his deposit slip from the ATM, which clearly showed a balance of -1801.57. His
sandaled feet were dirty, he smelled funny and he had a strange scar on the side
of his face. He also had a very quirky high-pitched nasal voice, almost like
someone doing a comedy impression of a really weird man - but this really was
his voice.
The energy of his nervousness and anger was so profound that I had to work
really hard to be standing one foot behind him. My pulse started racing and I
began feeling as if the world was coming to an end. I had to go back to "Is this
mine or someone else's," and it was very clear that it was not mine, but I was
still quite relieved when he finally rushed ahead of two others in line when the
woman he had been told to speak to asked if there was "anyone with cash
deposits." He announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, that he was supposed
to have 1500 and instead he had negative 1800, and how in the world could you
people do this to me?
This was still going on when Billy and I finally got to the teller next to him
as he waged his onslaught. Finally when there was a gap, I said, "Looks like you
just got hit with identity theft. The same thing happened to me. Housekeeping in
a fancy hotel got my social, my credit card number, everything. I WAS able to
get ALL the money back that they stole, so just hang in there." Only then, when
he very slightly loosened up, did the teller admit that it also had happened to
her, and that she too had been able to get her money back.
This gave her the leverage to move him over to a desk and have him talk to their
corporate office on the phone. As we were leaving we heard him shout into the
phone, loud enough for everyone else to hear in that strange nasal voice, "Well,
you just earned yourself a lawsuit!" He was, of course, bluffing, as his body
was in a completley desperate posture and he went right on trying to appease
them and try various strategies thereafter. He certainly was not high up in the
service-to-self food chain, because like many others I was seeing, his
strategies of manipulation were chaotic and unrefined, destined for failure.
Control someone's money and in most cases you control their entire state of
mind. The negative elite know this well. To free yourself of the Matrix you need
to be able to ride out even the most terrifying of initiations in the face of
giant, faceless bureaucracies, like realtors or banks, and not be shaken by
fear. Had this man been stronger, he may have seen that I was right, and that if
he stayed calm he would look a lot less guilty, and have a much better chance of
actually getting all his money back.
I didn't have the time or the desire to explain to him about how important the
"presentation" was to the success. If you already KNOW that you are in the
right, and are calm, do not get verbal with anyone and just persevere because
the truth is the truth, you will win. If you turn into a wild animal, and try to
fight for your rights to have that beer-and-boobs apartment for your daughter or
get that negative 1800 dollars back, you can GUARANTEE that the people you chew
out will do EVERYTHING they can to INSURE that you do not get your way.
So there you have it ... just a small part of one day of what I have been seeing
here in this city whenever I venture outside my own private walls, which are
surrounded by people on all sides. And it all is very relevant to our discussion
about how "normal" people can be broken by the incessant exposure to
service-to-self behavior, and end up turning into monsters - and they don't even
know it. So now let's get back on track with our discussion, and go into the
"worst case scenario" of how this type of urban cut-throat atmosphere can
destroy people, like the "entertainer" I saw today at the realtor's office.
Again... no matter who you are, no matter how evolved you think you are, no
matter how service-to-others positive you are, EVERYONE has a breaking point.
Everyone can be "cracked" if they are tortured enough in a negative environment.
How many times had this woman seen men masturbating in their pants while she was
dancing? How cynical had she become realizing that her best gift to the world is
her tits? How did she end up justifying all the money she was making as due
compensation for the horrors she endures in those bars? How much did she want to
pretend she was famous and powerful in an obvious attempt to hide how much she
hated her life, her daughter and everyone she met, every day?
Everyone can have a "Luciferian Awakening" where they begin manipulating and
controlling others in an attempt to ease the otherwise absolutely intolerable
pain of abuse and torture - either psychological or physical.
Everyone can be brought to a point where they become convinced that others who
have NOT been through the level of torture and abuse that they have been are not
'enlightened,' and the only way they will GET 'enlightened' is by being
subjected to similarly severe initiations, against their will, which then "help"
them achieve the same understanding as the aggressor.
A full Luciferian Awakening occurs when a person becomes convinced that the
torture and abuse they have endured has made them so strong that they have
become a God where none otherwise existed - because their mind cannot rectify
the idea that God would have allowed their torture and abuse to happen.
Therefore, since it was THROUGH this abuse that they became "enlightened," they
feel that if another is to be given a chance to become a God in his / her own
right, they must also go through the same abuse. Once they become a God, they
will learn how to amass great wealth, power and prestige, since this is
considered Godlike to most materialistic people in this world. They are the most
successful killers in the tribe. And there you have it.
I have seen many, many cases of romantic relationships where there is a
dominator and a victim. The dominator sees the victim's passivity and clinging
tendencies as weakness, and therefore ugly and undesirable. The dominator tries
to abuse the victim so as to make them "strong" and independent, self-nurturing,
so they will find desire for them again. This often comes in the form of forcing
the victim to severely pull away emotionally, perhaps even to the point of being
asked to accept infidelity that has occurred or will occur in the relationship,
and if this pulling away and acceptance of withdrawal is NOT granted, then
severe verbal, emotional and / or physical abuse may occur. Yet the person only
rarely actually leaves the victim, as both are feeding off of each other in
their own way.
We ALL have these undercurrents of the negative path in us - that is why we only
need to be SLIGHTLY more service to others than service to self in order to make
the grade.
In my own way I am seeding light here in the City of Fallen Angels, just as I
did in the equally scary (in other ways) Native American sacred land of
Ken-Ta-Kee.
Wish me luck. Tomorrow I will enter the bowels of the realty office again at
noon and hopefully will come out with a really nice place that is just two doors
down from the best shopping street in town, just two blocks from the health food
store, 8 blocks from the Third Street Promenade and 12 blocks from the beach.
After living in complete isolation in the "middle of nowhere," where one health
food store was the ONLY place to hang out, I'm ready to have some options ready
for the rare instances that I am NOT working.
Be kind to each other... and let's focus on what matters so that we amplify the
energy we set our minds to!
More great news on the film soon to follow, just can't quite say it yet.
Peace be with you -
- David
I seriously would like to see this focus on the negative polarity here to ease -
especially after what I'm now seeing in my own life. We've tried to create more
food for positive discussion and yet we're still here. "Negative" should not be
a word in the subject of the majority of posts appearing in a forum that is
designed to focus on the seeking of the positive path, though either choice can
be made and is acceptable within Oneness.
How would this obsession look to new members seeking joy and uplifting material
to inspire them about their own Ascension? The people who unsubscribed did like
the Divine Cosmos website enough to at least give us a shot - let's try to make
it worth their while as we are getting LOTS of new members all the time, and
they almost all just lurk, or complain to me privately about various things.
Dissension rarely goes public.
That being said I will answer Bjorn's questions in a way that is useful.
The "Luciferian Force" is that which inspires movement and growth. The
inspiration comes from the infringement on the free will of others, disrupting
them, putting them in pain and forcing them to change. A "Luciferian Awakening",
as I have coined the term, is the process of a victim becoming an abuser, and
doing to others what was done to them out of a feeling that they are ultimately
"helping" that person.
The early stage of a "Luciferian Awakening" is often called "Learning to Stand
Up For Yourself" by those who don't understand the difference between love and
control. The tricky bit, the real gray area, is learning how to respect and love
yourself while ALSO applying compassionate wisdom so as NOT to infringe on
others' free will in the process. You have to be confident enough in how balance
is properly applied to a situation, via your own discernment, that you can see
when another person has infringed enough on free will that you have the right,
nay the OBLIGATION, to stand up for yourself. I feel in my own life that I am
finally "getting" this and it is very, very hard-earned.
Negative-leaning entities believe, to varying degrees, that to infringe on the
free will of another - through control, manipulation, betrayal, et cetera, is to
"help" them grow. In some senses this is true, but they do not realize that they
are 100-percent karmically liable for EVERY infringement of free will they
commit - and this is very severe liability that MUST be paid back. So a
Luciferian (consciously or unconsciously) is a person who, even though they may
chase wealth, status, power and beauty, or at least the domination,
manipulation, control and sarcastic emotional torture of others, is nonetheless
beseiged with one negative event after another. The "blowback" is endless and
always leads to complete ruin - the Lightning / Tower of Destruction archetype
in the tarot.
"Oh, but *I* could never be broken enough by someone else to have a Luciferian
Awakening!"
BULL$#!+.
Don't be so naive as to think you couldn't be broken, even now... and that this
could never, ever happen to you. I'm sorry. You could. And it does happen. LA /
the valley / Santa Monica has been a HUGE eye-opener for me as there are a LOT
of people here who are more negative and self-serving than positive in their
orientation. Perhaps the greater population makes them more visible, but man
have I had my eyes opened.
The day started out with a place I found right near the water that I really
liked. The woman called me at 8:42, seemed relatively supportive on the phone,
interested in the film, and said she was showing the place at 9:30. In good
traffic the drive is almost a half-hour and I had not yet showered or eaten
breakfast. When I said that time might be a problem, she said that the time was
flexible, and I could set it up for later if I wanted to. I was really keen on
the place, but I knew I could not get there by 9:30 unless it was a miracle. She
made it sound as if 9:30 was just when she wanted me to be there, but if I
couldn't make it, then later would be fine.
I got a late start and the freeways were terribly congested, so by the time I
had found the place, seen it through the window, fell in love with it and then
driven around to find a pay phone, it was 10:15. I had been worried that I had
parked the car without paying the meter when I looked at the place, since I am
not in the habit of carrying cash. Now, in order to use the phone for any length
of time with my calling card, I had to make sure that I had change for the
meters. Simple, right?
I stopped at the post office to get change for the meters, to avoid a ticket, in
the form of a small credit transaction with cash back. They had me stand in a
"special" line for this. I directly told the woman I was buying the stamps only
to get cash for the parking meters. I asked for 10 dollars back after buying a
sheet of 39s. The woman refused to give me anything but a five and five single
dollars, never smiled, no customer service whatsoever, and offered no
suggestions to help me - just looked right through me when I struggled to
understand why she would not give me any coin change - not even a dime.
So then I had to buy stamps AGAIN at the vending machine with a 5er to get some
quarters - or so I thought. The cheapest stamps were 80 cents a pop. This should
hit the jackpot as far as quarters go. Instead, it spit out two dimes, two Susan
B Anthony dollar coins and two brass dollar coins - meaning that each time I put
one of these dollar coins in the meter, I've paid for a whole hour's parking,
which I almost will never need! Even the MACHINES were screwing with me and
refused to give me real change!
Three days earlier, I had just dumped a pesky old brass dollar coin that had
been hanging around in my wallet for ages, given to me by some freaked-out
longhaired metalhead college-radio DJ dude who was friends with my brother the
night we were going to the Twisted Sister concert, as repayment for the set of
fresh new earplugs I handed him as we came out of the pharmacy. This was a LOUD
show, and we were now Educated Metal Enthusiasts, so we went in there with full
hearing protection, whether we would be accused of being "p=ssies" or not.
Finally, at long last, that useless and unrecognizable coin had found a home
when Daniele and I strolled the 3rd Street Promenade after I parked the car a
few days back... which took well less than an hour of our time. Now, thanks to
the post office's one-two punch, I had FOUR of them - ( ! ) - almost completely
useless unless I'm just ready to start wasting money on parking meters. Most
cashiers won't even take them, as I had discovered since I acquired the burden
last November, as there is no drawer for such coins in their register and no one
ever uses them.
So, I walked out to the car, fed the meter a six-minute dime, went to the pay
phone and called the first number. It was Anna the apartment woman's husband,
Blaine, who was "in New York" and on his cell phone. He seemed very nice and
acted as if he had heard about me and was really hoping I could get her on the
phone so I could get the apartment, as it really was lovely and I would be great
for the place.
He even went so far as to give me what he called her "Darth Vader number,"
meaning the cell phone number that no one is EVER supposed to know except in the
most dire of emergencies.
About this time I realized that fragrant, fresh human urine, from someone vastly
overconsuming refined sugar products and with very weak kidneys, had recently
been spilled in the corner right near these phones, and was slowly creeping
towards my feet. It was probably from the crumpled up old bag lady in the faded
violet winter coat who was sitting nearby, reading her magazine with her
gray-haired head held in her hand. I had felt strange psychic energy from her as
I neared the phones but did not know why, until then. I am just as connected in
consciousness to the homeless as to anyone else, and I think she felt both
regret and anger at having urinated there right before I needed to use it.
I called Anna's normal phone first before going for the Vader option, and got
her answering machine. I started going into my apology about getting stuck in
traffic since I was new here and did not know how bad it could be. Then she
picked up the phone, and I continued, saying, "Oh, thank God I've got you on the
phone... I'm really sorry about the traffic. I'm new here and I did not mean to
inconvenience you, but you weren't there waiting for me, which is good - you
must have known that I would be late, given when my call came in and how bad the
freeways are at this time, as I discovered, and you were waiting for me to call
you back. So thanks for thinking ahead for me so I didn't further inconvenience
you. I'm really stoked about seeing this place and whatever time works for you
will work for me... I have other things I can do if you need a little more
time."
"It's rented," she replied, deadpan.
Pause.
"It's RENTED?" I answered?!! Say WHAT???
"Yes. I showed it to another person at 9:30 and they took it."
I couldn't believe it. The vision of Paradise was dissolving and spreading thin
before my very eyes like the bag lady's fragrant urine. She had NEVER told me
there was any other person at 9:30. I went through 50 minutes of absolute
gridlock hell on the freeways to try to get there as quickly as I could, to
accommodate her schedule. All along she made it seem as if that was just the
most convenient time for her, even after I clearly let her know it could be a
major problem for me. She never said that anyone else was coming- possibly out
of fear of being sued by me if they didn't show up. All to serve herself, her
own interests.
After this very terse statement of betrayal, "IT'S RENTED," I could tell she was
bracing for impact, for me to open up a can of whoop-@ss on her on the phone. I
had moved heaven and earth to try to respond to her sudden phone call, and
betrayal was my reward in kind. I did NOT attack her, even though it felt
TERRIBLE to be losing that wonderful place. "Well, I must say I'm disappointed,
but I'm not going to punish you with my emotions. Thank you for telling me the
truth, and I'm sorry we couldn't have worked something out." And that was it. I
hung up. And quickly desired to leave the stinking area of space and time I had
found myself standing in.
Nonetheless, I was not done, and a solution had not yet arrived. So, standing in
this woman's urine, still I called the next places down on my list, which I
never even imagined I would have to explore. The first one was the best option,
just walking distance from a huge health food store, and they answered the phone
and seemed nice, and sympathetic to how I had just been lied to and basically
cheated out of a place I thought I had in the bag. "That's just the way it
works," they told me, "but we don't work like that here." Suuure...
I already knew what would come next. More parking meters and a need for gobs of
completely disposable cash. I'd already been through this once before with
another rental place, but did not actually do the application since it seemed
REALLY sketchy to me. The apartment itself would have been akin to solitary
confinement - more like living in a perfectly square box, minus the bars on the
windows. Monastic life in a box is fine when you're in college, and having sex
or at least imagining you are, but surely you can do better than a COMPLETELY
square space of no more than 500 square feet!
On the way to their office on Stanford Lane, I drove to a gas station ATM and
withdrew 200 in cash, since these realtors can't just let you apply for a place
to rent - they have to hold you over the barrel with between 100 and 200
dollars, cash, that you NEVER GET BACK if they end up offering you the apartment
and you decide to take a different and probably better place. They win, no
matter what. It's a rigged game. They take 30 dollars just for your credit
check, which can cost them as little as 19 cents depending on the plan they sign
up for - Experian, et cetera.
I figured that after doing that kind of business at the ATM, directly in front
of the attendant at the gas station, I had earned some good credit with him as a
paying customer. I had just pulled out the maximum in cash that his machine
would possibly allow me to - 200 dollars in 20s.
I still needed better change for the meters, as I did not want to waste a dollar
a shot for little 3-minute trips into stores and the like. Naturally he would
help me out and not dick me over like the post office had done.
I put two dollars on the counter and kindly asked him for change. He handed me
four quarters stacked up next to his cash register monitor screen, and left the
other dollar just sitting there on the counter. He sarcastically laughed with a
knowing grin and a wink of "I got you" when I asked him why I couldn't have more
change, and said nothing more. This was fun for him - the only chance left he
had at power over others, and he relished in it. Everyone wants change for the
meters at a gas station. This was his gig. It's crazy what you deal with in a
city like this. You have to go to the more expensive businesses if you actually
want to be treated with normal human kindness.
The next leg of the trip was uneventful. I didn't even bother trying to park
very close, because there would be no spot - and I was right. I tossed one of my
fresh quarters into the meter and saved myself 75 cents, and then was on my way.
Then while I was filling out my application at the realtor's office, this
somewhat attractive / somewhat hideous woman, very dark tan, in very high shorts
(should this make me horny? No, no, definitely not... yuck!!!) and
hyper-over-wet-styled permed hair barged in and grandiosely announced that she
was a wealthy "entertainer" who "toured all over the world" and had "multiple
large properties" in Santa Monica. I certainly did not recognize her as anyone
famous - she may have been a striptease dancer by how high her shorts were
riding.
Even though they told her that four other good, qualified applicants who were
ahead of her on this property she wanted, she still insisted that she was going
to move her daughter into this place while she was on the road, to "protect" her
daughter from messing up her other "lavish" properties while she was gone.
She just about DEMANDED that they give her the place over the other applicants,
because she was so wealthy and powerful and amazing, and she "drove all the way
over" to their pitiful little office to file this application and certainly did
not expect to have to mix with the useless eaters / hoi polloi / plebians /
peasant folk / riff-raff ever again, anywhere else. She certainly did not want
to get caught being "spoon woman" at the orphanage on Mashed Potato Night. One
pathetic little hole-in the wall cockroach realtor business was enough for her
to cope with entering into for the next, say, eternity of time. (These are all
gross comic exaggerations, not things she actually said. Subtext. It always has
to be there when making a film, as I'm learning from Daniele. I have to learn
NOT to write the subtext and leave it to the actors, since I am normally such a
literalist.)
They finally allowed her to take the key and see the place, even though they let
her fully know there was no chance in hell that she would ever get it. She was
quite verbal with them about her obvious right to get the place, since her
subtext clearly said that the customer is always right, and the wealthiest
customer is always the MOST right. Since she was The Most Amazing Person Ever,
they should all just fall on their knees and BEG for her to actually want this
apartment. I prayed that my own luck in finding a place would be better, as I
knew you could attract more flies with honey than with piss and vinegar. Even
better to offer honey when you are not actually standing in piss and vinegar.
She left their office with the key, after her 20-dollar cash refundable deposit
was paid, and left the outside door hanging six inches open, right in front of
us! For real!
"Nice touch," I said to the girls working there, and immediately got up and
closed it so that they did not have to be disturbed. Giggles got started.
I aroused great laughter among the help after she was gone by working all this
spectacle into a routine about the joys of customer service, and how she wanted
to special-order a jail cell for her daughter to protect her marvelous
properties from teenage beer, bongwater and "body-oriented" stains on the
carpet. Better that it be in one of their rat traps so she can just have them
use the deposit to swap out the carpets at the end of her daughter's parade of
tits, @$$, drugs and decadence. I had them dying with laughter in no time. It
very much looked like I'd get the place I wanted thereafter, because I was
creating the human connection there, through comedy - and you have to take the
greatest risks to get the biggest laughs. I really have it down to a science
now.
The woman finally came back, and as if to justify herself in knowing that she
did not have a snowball's chance in hell of getting this place, once she bent
down to the desk's level to get her 20 back, she looked into the one main girl's
eyes with a knowing gaze, as a woman who has now gained Wisdom, and uttered,
"It's a little bit SMALL."
I was very sorely tempted to reply, right out loud while she was there, "That's
what SHE said!" She would have hated me and stormed out of there, but it would
have gotten fantastic laughs and almost insured that I got my own apartment,
just out of sympathy / comedy points!
Nonetheless I knew this was service-to-self behavior and the temptation was
already showing up to begin "fighting fire with fire." This did become another
great joke I shared with the office girls after she left, creating even more
peals of laughter, though... I couldn't just waste good material like this
completely, and I felt compassion for how often these girls get cut down in that
office. The atmosphere in there was so oppressive, the phone ringing almost
nonstop and the atmosphere so extremely tense, that humor was the only valid
service I felt I could provide to really shift their energy - and it did work
like a charm. Up until then I felt like I was dying just to be in there for 20
minutes. It was quite unpleasant.
Finally after waiting for an hour in my car next to his house, I got to Billy,
who was weak but his pancreatic cyst has now shrunken to "inconsequential"
status, almost undetectable. Before long we went to the bank to officially
incorporate me into Convergence Pictures LLC as co-signatory on the account. A
lanky stubble-faced man in a busted old green T-shirt inserted himself in line
behind Billy and in front of me, the fresh-faced young'un, though we came in
together. Then he just started going off, gesticulating wildly and showing Billy
his deposit slip from the ATM, which clearly showed a balance of -1801.57. His
sandaled feet were dirty, he smelled funny and he had a strange scar on the side
of his face. He also had a very quirky high-pitched nasal voice, almost like
someone doing a comedy impression of a really weird man - but this really was
his voice.
The energy of his nervousness and anger was so profound that I had to work
really hard to be standing one foot behind him. My pulse started racing and I
began feeling as if the world was coming to an end. I had to go back to "Is this
mine or someone else's," and it was very clear that it was not mine, but I was
still quite relieved when he finally rushed ahead of two others in line when the
woman he had been told to speak to asked if there was "anyone with cash
deposits." He announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, that he was supposed
to have 1500 and instead he had negative 1800, and how in the world could you
people do this to me?
This was still going on when Billy and I finally got to the teller next to him
as he waged his onslaught. Finally when there was a gap, I said, "Looks like you
just got hit with identity theft. The same thing happened to me. Housekeeping in
a fancy hotel got my social, my credit card number, everything. I WAS able to
get ALL the money back that they stole, so just hang in there." Only then, when
he very slightly loosened up, did the teller admit that it also had happened to
her, and that she too had been able to get her money back.
This gave her the leverage to move him over to a desk and have him talk to their
corporate office on the phone. As we were leaving we heard him shout into the
phone, loud enough for everyone else to hear in that strange nasal voice, "Well,
you just earned yourself a lawsuit!" He was, of course, bluffing, as his body
was in a completley desperate posture and he went right on trying to appease
them and try various strategies thereafter. He certainly was not high up in the
service-to-self food chain, because like many others I was seeing, his
strategies of manipulation were chaotic and unrefined, destined for failure.
Control someone's money and in most cases you control their entire state of
mind. The negative elite know this well. To free yourself of the Matrix you need
to be able to ride out even the most terrifying of initiations in the face of
giant, faceless bureaucracies, like realtors or banks, and not be shaken by
fear. Had this man been stronger, he may have seen that I was right, and that if
he stayed calm he would look a lot less guilty, and have a much better chance of
actually getting all his money back.
I didn't have the time or the desire to explain to him about how important the
"presentation" was to the success. If you already KNOW that you are in the
right, and are calm, do not get verbal with anyone and just persevere because
the truth is the truth, you will win. If you turn into a wild animal, and try to
fight for your rights to have that beer-and-boobs apartment for your daughter or
get that negative 1800 dollars back, you can GUARANTEE that the people you chew
out will do EVERYTHING they can to INSURE that you do not get your way.
So there you have it ... just a small part of one day of what I have been seeing
here in this city whenever I venture outside my own private walls, which are
surrounded by people on all sides. And it all is very relevant to our discussion
about how "normal" people can be broken by the incessant exposure to
service-to-self behavior, and end up turning into monsters - and they don't even
know it. So now let's get back on track with our discussion, and go into the
"worst case scenario" of how this type of urban cut-throat atmosphere can
destroy people, like the "entertainer" I saw today at the realtor's office.
Again... no matter who you are, no matter how evolved you think you are, no
matter how service-to-others positive you are, EVERYONE has a breaking point.
Everyone can be "cracked" if they are tortured enough in a negative environment.
How many times had this woman seen men masturbating in their pants while she was
dancing? How cynical had she become realizing that her best gift to the world is
her tits? How did she end up justifying all the money she was making as due
compensation for the horrors she endures in those bars? How much did she want to
pretend she was famous and powerful in an obvious attempt to hide how much she
hated her life, her daughter and everyone she met, every day?
Everyone can have a "Luciferian Awakening" where they begin manipulating and
controlling others in an attempt to ease the otherwise absolutely intolerable
pain of abuse and torture - either psychological or physical.
Everyone can be brought to a point where they become convinced that others who
have NOT been through the level of torture and abuse that they have been are not
'enlightened,' and the only way they will GET 'enlightened' is by being
subjected to similarly severe initiations, against their will, which then "help"
them achieve the same understanding as the aggressor.
A full Luciferian Awakening occurs when a person becomes convinced that the
torture and abuse they have endured has made them so strong that they have
become a God where none otherwise existed - because their mind cannot rectify
the idea that God would have allowed their torture and abuse to happen.
Therefore, since it was THROUGH this abuse that they became "enlightened," they
feel that if another is to be given a chance to become a God in his / her own
right, they must also go through the same abuse. Once they become a God, they
will learn how to amass great wealth, power and prestige, since this is
considered Godlike to most materialistic people in this world. They are the most
successful killers in the tribe. And there you have it.
I have seen many, many cases of romantic relationships where there is a
dominator and a victim. The dominator sees the victim's passivity and clinging
tendencies as weakness, and therefore ugly and undesirable. The dominator tries
to abuse the victim so as to make them "strong" and independent, self-nurturing,
so they will find desire for them again. This often comes in the form of forcing
the victim to severely pull away emotionally, perhaps even to the point of being
asked to accept infidelity that has occurred or will occur in the relationship,
and if this pulling away and acceptance of withdrawal is NOT granted, then
severe verbal, emotional and / or physical abuse may occur. Yet the person only
rarely actually leaves the victim, as both are feeding off of each other in
their own way.
We ALL have these undercurrents of the negative path in us - that is why we only
need to be SLIGHTLY more service to others than service to self in order to make
the grade.
In my own way I am seeding light here in the City of Fallen Angels, just as I
did in the equally scary (in other ways) Native American sacred land of
Ken-Ta-Kee.
Wish me luck. Tomorrow I will enter the bowels of the realty office again at
noon and hopefully will come out with a really nice place that is just two doors
down from the best shopping street in town, just two blocks from the health food
store, 8 blocks from the Third Street Promenade and 12 blocks from the beach.
After living in complete isolation in the "middle of nowhere," where one health
food store was the ONLY place to hang out, I'm ready to have some options ready
for the rare instances that I am NOT working.
Be kind to each other... and let's focus on what matters so that we amplify the
energy we set our minds to!
More great news on the film soon to follow, just can't quite say it yet.
Peace be with you -
- David