TRANSITION FROM KALI YUGA TO SATHYA YUGA

DISCIPLINE THAT SEEKS TO UNIFY THE SEVERAL EMPIRICAL INVESTIGATIONS OF HUMAN NATURE IN AN EFFORT TO UNDERSTAND INDIVIDUALS AS BOTH CREATURES OF THEIR ENVIRONMENT AND CREATORS OF THEIR OWN VALUES


THE WORLD ALWAYS INVISIBLY AND DANGEROUSLY REVOLVES AROUND PHILOSOPHERS

THE USE OF KNOWLEDGE IS POWER

OLDER IS THE PLEASURE IN THE HERD THAN THE PLEASURE IN THE EGO: AND AS LONG AS THE GOOD CONSCIENCE IS FOR THE HERD, THE BAD CONSCIENCE ONLY SAITH: EGO.

VERILY, THE CRAFTY EGO, THE LOVELESS ONE, THAT SEEKETH ITS ADVANTAGE IN THE ADVANTAGE OF MANY — IT IS NOT THE ORIGIN OF THE HERD, BUT ITS RUIN.

LOVING ONES, WAS IT ALWAYS, AND CREATING ONES, THAT CREATED GOOD AND BAD. FIRE OF LOVE GLOWETH IN THE NAMES OF ALL THE VIRTUES, AND FIRE OF WRATH.

METAMATRIX - BEYOND DECEPTION

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26 May 2011

The End of an Era

Your world is coming to an end, Don Juan said. It is the end of an era for you. Do you think that the world you have known all your life is going to leave you peacefully, without any fuss or muss? No! It will wriggle underneath you, and hit you with its tail. 
~ The Active Side of Infinity

The end of an era does not come in like a fog on little cat feet. Funny that this line happened to roll in now. It’s from the first poem I had ever memorized and I was in 1st grade. I have just googled it and want to share it here because it fits.
Fog by Carl Sandburg
The fog comes on little cat feet
It sits looking over harbor and city
On silent haunches
And then moves on
Total freedom, infinity, enlightenment, Samadhi, the dream world, twilight zone, outer limits…I really don’t know what to call it, this place where I am. It’s not like anything I expected and the above poem is perfect, reminding me in some way that my life’s journey was already somehow understood when I was just six years old and in first grade.

Oh the simplicity, the beauty, the sobriety and incredible stillness. And how very much I fought and fought to protect my ego by maintaining the false reality that had been imposed upon me. Bitter sweetness as I realize that at six I already had everything I needed and gratitude for the opportunity to see and even understand all of the patterns that we are expected to maintain and preserve.

Try as I may, the ability to stabilize the position of my assemblage point continues to elude me. There is either nothing to anchor to or perhaps there is just no reason to anchor anymore.

The sorcerers’ revolution, don Juan continued, is that they refuse to honor agreements in which they did not participate. Nobody ever asked me if I would consent to be eaten by beings of a different kind of awareness. My parents just brought me into this world to be food, like themselves, and that’s the end of the story.

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