Epilogue: A month after Jason found his groove.

Click here to read the original post about defeating generational evil.. This post picks up a few days later.

…Time to get on with the life I left behind at nine years old. Part of the revelation from Steve is a part of me died inside at age four when I deliberately rammed a knife into a power outlet. My shaman read the electrical chaos in my energy field. No wonder I don’t support the death penalty! I died again to myself at the time at 15 when I swallowed handfuls of aspirin and ended up in the hospital, where I met an adult lover who changed my life. A dream symbolized the part of me that had to pass as a young indian warrior lifeless in a canoe. Steve read it from my dream and called upon the image to help me finish grieving the life (opportunities) I lost. The golden boy, nature’s prodigy, had to pass. Generations stood by as we set the boat on fire and gave him an honorable departing.

Life is full of little deaths. If we cling to what we were, we lose who we are. We lose the ever-unfolding moment and hide in the past or the future.

I still have a lot of work to do to deal with my personal shadow. My ego is one tough customer after enduring layers of wounding. Had to be strong, or else I would’ve never survived. Steve saw the secret shame in my energy field, mine and others, and helped me let go – and through me we reached everyone in my direct family touched by the curse. He also saw a baby girl in my mother’s belly who, coming before me, chose to abort rather than face life without the tools to cope. The curse went down the maternal line. A male body was needed for this battle. Steve said that my mother probably wasn’t aware of the miscarriage, perhaps confusing it for menstrual bleeding. But my soul knew better than take that particular opportunity on the wheel of life. Not to worry; my teenage mother soon conceived again and produced a flawed prodigy with a unique combination of intelligence suited for the road ahead.

Trust me, I’m pretty dumb in other ways. My life of love, for instance, is an unending story of forever seeking. I’m too intense for most women (but I’m getting better!). I’m also a headstrong buck with my own ideas about everything, who sometimes has to be shocked back into remembering what’s most important in life: love. Only love is real. Thank you Brian Weiss for that insight. C.S. Lewis said he continually surprised himself by how the daily grind closed his eyes to the world around him, and it took tragedy to shake his complacency, not wake him up. Life is a stage and we are merely players. The stage, however, is the place where we work out our issues. Don’t wait because the afterlife offers far fewer opportunities for passion, growth, and karmic balancing. Face your demons or they’ll be waiting for you the next time you return to this beautifully poignant training ground, Earth.

…..

I spoke about nuggets of insight left by my soul for me to find along the way in my quest to understand my plight. One of the most important was a trilogy of books called The Covenant Saga, by Stephen R. Donaldson. A tormented man is pulled from our world into a fantastical, mirror realm under attack by Lord Foul the Despiser, a character that is perhaps the best literary example of personified hate. Twice Thomas Covenant has a final showdown with Lord Foul. First time, Covenant laughs the evil into a ball of shame to retreat hiding. He realizes that the evil fed off his fears and his fears gave it life. Therefore it was only as strong as his fear. Second time is a tough-love scenario of being so fed up (I imagine Mr. Donaldson was after writing close to 3,000 hardback pages) that Covenant says go ahead, I give in. Lord Foul gets his fondest wish. But the scenario reversed. The more he summons power, the stronger becomes Covenant, now the gate on the cage preventing Lord Foul from leaving his material prison to enslave the cosmos.

Little did I know during junior high how those stories would assist my own confrontation with evil. It only has the power to destroy itself. Destruction is its essential nature. I haven’t seen it offer anything except deceit, envy and malice — warped images of purity. Perhaps evil has to exist to balance truth, generosity and love. That is the most likely reason by my experience. The true God, good, exists above it all. We can’t rely on this experience to answer questions about God. Otherwise, I can only explain evil as something that so many people have believed for so long, it comes true. We make it real by serving a system of institutionalized indifference. Seen that way, it is we collectively who manifest evil by allowing conditions to exist where it finds life – from elite suburbs like Littleton to crack houses to White Houses. And the ultimate reason why it finds life is because some people have twisted the world to get obscenely rich at the expense of the rest of us. Free market capitalism laissez-faire style is essentially institutionalized indifference.

Institutionalized indifference works the same for everyone except for those who can afford to live high above it. It cares not that to get ahead, parents have to trust their children alone to take on a complex world with limited help from home. The Littleton shooters talked about latch-key existence and the sort of cruel detachment it breeds among the materially fortunate. Klebold and Harris would rather go out enacting a dark fantasy than become part of what they despised for its hypocrisy, and failed to see for its beauty. They might have directed their passionate energy into changing the system one person at a time, heeding the call of compassion.

ii – institutionalized indifference – accepts ghettos as the home to the least fortunate, a permanent underclass largely doomed to an existence surrounded by drugs and violence. Equal opportunity doesn’t exist in capitalism’s world of winners and losers. Supplying the guns that multiplies the violence and the drugs that feed addictions: that’s ii.

Going back to the original point about good and evil, ii is the opposite of love, institutionalized. Indifference is the true opposite of love, the greatest crime against humanity. What kind of world would we choose to be born into – this one, or a world where quality of life is shared equally, while people are rewarded for effort through higher opportunity? In an ideal world we all rise and fall together, equal in the quality of our surroundings. An aspiring surgeon doesn’t look ahead at the long, daunting task of learning the job and ask, what’s my motivation, when the job itself is so cool. You get to rush to people’s rescue and sometimes play with really cool machines. You get educated freely in advanced medical sciences. You get to work with other really smart and motivated people doing something you love. Without HMOs, lawyers and insurance companies crawling up your ass, or the requirement of insanely long hours, surgeon would look like a damn fulfilling career worth the aspiration, but in a completely different way than it is sold now to smart, driven people. Privilege comes with the environment worked in. Being a hotel maid is still cleaning up mess so many hours a day, but all sorts of people contribute to creating a world where where some of us can rush off and save lives or make movies or build spaceships. As a society we would define and attach value based upon how something benefits all of us, not just the fortunate few who control most of the wealth and product of all of our labor.

Since publishing the original piece, I’ve been asked if it’s true, and my answer is yes, best to my knowledge. I’m tempted to think that I found meaning in a series of powerful but coincidental events. I’m an author and by nature a journalist; I have a vivid imagination. Also, trance is an inexact science, more an art, and Steve had an outline of my life to go by. But again and again he called forth images from my mind and explained events from various time periods of my life. He validated everything. The shades of ignorance remain open despite hands pulling at the string to convince me that my mind is my enemy. Ha! Tell that to my spirit guides, who are enjoying the new access to my life and leading me every day to further insight, and more….

Another validation arrived when my spiritual counselor recently began work with a client who is dealing with generational tragedy. Ten years of our work together gave him another healing tool. Plus I shared the story with a coffee shop companion and conventional therapist who was also aided in her practice. People are reading about my experience and hopefully learning about their own. I know they are, I see the search engine hits. Bottom line: The greater the sins of the father (and mother), the more imbalanced life gets for future generations. Bad energy accumulates. Patterns are reinforced. Lives are tragically ruined. But by no means is that the rule. Help is out there for anyone else struggling with the same issues. If my story is familiar, you can start by telling me yours. Send it to gmail.com care of groovywriter.

Ode to Cougar

O cougar, I know your desire. Your growls I hear at yoga, where you prowl and shiver and discuss dinner among the others who know your personal fire. The other cougars. I notice your Down Dog and your Exalted Warrior. Nice ass. I mean good form – and I’m your instructor!

O Cougar, how your claws sharpen upon younger men. If the seasoned male hunters weren’t seeking cubs, you’d consider sharing your den. But your path is marked by casual encounters, passing in the night the scents of your kind. No young to raise, no man to feed. The hunt is all your own.

You choose your mates carefully, able to engage the pursuit or leave it if the scent goes cold. No affirmations of your womanhood do you need. But beware when the trail is hot! Cougar will pounce. Cougar has wants. Cougar love devours.

Her path can be seen as lonely, but pity not her plight. She doesn’t stride the earth regretful or shamed. She holds her head high, proud of her place. Let the girls have their older men – a hard dick is easy to find. Cougar need only venture outside.

Some nights are harder than others. Sleeping alone isn’t the same as nestled against a lover. If they’d shut up about their ex wives and mothers, you might keep them around longer. You breathe the sex late at night when life is least complicated. When you can be cougar.

Young man, don’t try to be a lion for cougar; be good. Be easy. Be there when needed. Otherwise, get out of the den. Cougar doesn’t want your undying affections; your poetry, music or high ideas. She wants you to know her through her body and predilections.

She wants to be so, so naughty.

O cougar, I know your desire. Your growls I hear at yoga, where you prowl and shiver and discuss dinner among the others who know your personal fire. The other cougars. I notice your Down Dog and your Exalted Warrior. Nice ass. I mean good form – and I’m your instructor!

Let’s get together. Your den or mine doesn’t matter, though you’ll be more comfortable at home where you can stretch out and purr. I love how you purr to my caresses. Careful with those claws; save them for later, when my advances raise your cute ears. Yeah, I noticed.

I know what pleases your eye and raises your howls; where you want to be touched and how; when to take you and when to let you be. You’ll never be mine. But at night my presence soothes and my body warms. Your maw against mine. You know how to find me.