kagablog

clear your head
of words

Have you heard anything like that - “Don’t be consistent”? When you
hear it for the first time or read it for the first time, you will
think that there has been some mistake, maybe a proof mistake or
something. Because your so-called saints have been telling you just
the opposite: “Don’t be inconsistent”, they say. “Be consistent.”

It is here that Atisha is superb. He says:

DON’T BE CONSISTENT

Why? What is consistency? Consistency means living according to the
past. With what will you be consistent? If you want to be consistent
you can have only one reference, and that is the past. To be
consistent means to live according to the past, and to live according
to the past is not to live at all. To live according to the past is to
be dead. Then your life will be just a repetition.

To be consistent means that you have already decided that now there is
no more to life, that you have already come to a full stop; you don’t
allow life to have anything new to give you, you have closed your
doors. The sun will rise, but you will not allow its rays to enter
your room. And the flowers will bloom, but you will remain unaware of
their fragrance. Moons will come and go, but you will remain stagnant.
You have stopped being a river.

A river cannot be a consistent phenomenon. Only a pond can be
consistent, because it is non-flowing.

..

The consistent man is a logical man, his life is one-dimensional…
And the logical man is the poorest man in the world, because life
consists not only of logic, but of love, too. And love is illogical.
Only a very small part of life is logical, the superficial part. The
deeper you go, the more and more you move into the illogical, or to be
more accurate, the supralogical.

..

Atisha is giving you something tremendously valuable. Live all the
moods of life, they are your own and they all have something to
contribute to your growth. Howsoever comfortable and cozy it looks,
don’t become confined to a small space. Be an adventurer. Search and
seek all the facets of life, all the aspects of life.

..

Live, and allow all that is possible. Sing, dance, cry, weep, laugh,
love, meditate, relate, be alone. Be in the marketplace, and sometimes
be in the mountains.

..

The consistent man is a very poor man. Of course the society respects
the consistent man, because the consistent man is predictable. You
know what buttons to push and how he will act. He is a machine; he is
not truly a man. The society respects the consistent man; the society
calls consistency “character”… A real man cannot afford character,
because character can be afforded only at the cost of life.

The saint has character, hence he is respected. The sage has no
character, hence it is very difficult to recognize him. Socrates is a
sage, Lao Tzu is a sage - but they are very difficult to recognize,
almost impossible, because they don’t leave any trace behind them.
They don’t fit into any mold, they are pure freedom. They are like
birds flying in the sky, they don’t leave any footprints.

It is only for a very few sensitive souls to find a sage as a Master,
because the mediocre follow the saint. Only very very intelligent
people attune themselves to a sage, because the sage has no character
and he cannot fulfill any of your expectations. He is bound to offend
you, he is bound to disappoint you, he is bound to shake you and
shatter you in many many ways.

Slowly, slowly, he will make you as free as he himself is.

From The Book of Wisdom : Discourses on Atisha`s Seven Points of Mind
Training, by Osho

i think much more than the “philosopher with a hammer” nietzsche was in fact the dancing philosopher, especially in zarathustra

i am very suspicious of northern europeans, they are too developed in the head region, too head bound in their thinking

one should develop a propensity for thinking from the gut

it is a much smarter place than the head

there are many centres from which to dance, from which one’s dance can be emitted

it is an interesting excercise to compare one’s own dancing with one’s own thinking

in other words, does one also THINK from these centres? or is one’s thinking entirely head based, and therefore, impoverished

“In my opinion there is no final crossroad, no final step to anything. And since there is no final step to anything, there shouldn’t be any secrecy about any part of our lot as luminous beings. Personal power decides who can or who cannot profit by a revelation; my experiences with my fellow men have proven to me that very, very few of them would be willing to listen; and of those few who listen even fewer would be willing to act on what they have listened to; and of those who are willing to act even fewer have enough personal power to profit by their acts. So, the matter of secrecy about the sorcerers’ explanation boils down to a routine, perhaps a routine as empty as any other routine.”

don juan in tales of power
carlos castaneda

When a man starts to learn, he is never clear about his objectives. His purpose is faulty; his intent is vague. He hopes for rewards that will never materialize, for he knows nothing of the hardships of learning.

He slowly begins to learn - bit by bit at first, then in big chunks. And his thoughts soon clash. What he learns is never what he pictured, or imagined, and so he begins to be afraid. Learning is never what one expects. Every step of learning is a new task, and the fear the man is experiencing begins to mount mercilessly, unyieldingly. His purpose becomes a battlefield.

And thus he has stumbled upon the first of his natural enemies: Fear! A terrible enemy - treacherous and difficult to overcome. It remains concealed at every turn of the way, prowling, waiting. And if the man, terrified in its presence, runs away, his enemy will have put an end to his quest.

“What will happen to the man if he runs away in fear?”

Nothing happens to him except that he will never learn. He will never become a man of knowledge. he will perhaps be a bully or a harmless, scared man; at any rate, he will be a defeated man. His first enemy will have put an end to his cravings.

“And what can he do to overcome fear?”

The answer is very simple. he must not run away. He must defy his fear, and in spite of it he must take the next step in learning, and the next, and the next. He must be fully afraid, and yet he must not stop. That is the rule! And a moment will come when his first enemy retreats. the man begins to feel sure of himself. His intent becomes stronger. Learning is no longer a terrifying task.

When this joyful moment comes, the man can say without hesitation that he has defeated his first natural enemy.

the teachings of don juan
carlos castaneda

Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Krisna.
When a loved one lies dying
We call these names
To ease their passing, to comfort ourselves.
For death is as much about the living as the dying;
Relationships shift and change,
Both inside and between people.
We don’t know who hears our pleas
I mean, how do you talk to a god?
Do you pray, do you meditate,
Do you send out good intentions?
Do these names resonate somewhere …
Is a heavenly eye cast in our direction?

Death comes for the dying, like a dog to its evening bowl,
Hungry, expectant, confident.
It adheres to the living in the vicinity
It fills your aura and lives in your dreams
You can see signs of it in the sky and birds and sea.
But, for all that, death is not to be feared.
It’s just the flipside that comes with every single.
What else do we really expect, when we tire of living?
Only modern man has pushed it aside;
We assume our medicines will keep us going indefinitely.
Death, like our horses, cows and pigs
Used to live in every household;
It was never far away, from our minds or our lives.
Festivals were held in its honour:
It had a face, a name, a character.
Death was respected. It was present.

Once, I cornered a mongoose in a tree
It stared straight back at me
There was no fear in its level gaze -
If I was its death standing before it
I was neither welcomed nor rejected,
I had simply come there on that day.

Does a mountain fear death?
When it opens a grassy eye,
What does it muse when it surveys
The brief lives that flicker on and off,
Death-life, life-death,
Upon its slopes?

A samurai contemplates his death
Every day.

The most blasphemous thing the Bible ever did

was to claim knowledge of the workings

of the mind of God

One can imagine the workings of lower consciousness,

never the twirls of the higher..

1 The words of the Teacher, son of David, king in Jerusalem:

2 “Meaningless! Meaningless!”
says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.”

3 What does man gain from all his labour
at which he toils under the sun?

4 Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.

5 The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.

6 The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.

7 All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.

8 All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.

9 What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.

10 Is there anything of which one can say,
“Look! This is something new”?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.

11 There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow.

Wisdom Is Meaningless

12 I, the Teacher, was king over Israel in Jerusalem.

13 I devoted myself to study and to explore by wisdom all that is done under heaven. What a heavy burden God has laid on men!

14 I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.

15 What is twisted cannot be straightened; what is lacking cannot be counted.

16 I thought to myself, “Look, I have grown and increased in wisdom more than anyone who has ruled over Jerusalem before me; I have experienced much of wisdom and knowledge.”

17 Then I applied myself to the understanding of wisdom, and also of madness and folly, but I learned that this, too, is a chasing after the wind.

18 For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief.

if you bluff with conviction people will respect you no matter how wrong you are.
if you tell the truth and admit to not knowing the answer you will be the subject of contempt and ridicule, especially from those who pretend to want to hear the truth.

Foreword

I am Abraxas.
I am nobody.
Nothing.
No one.
Headless.
Mindless.
I am neither desirous of change
nor even remotely touched by the sentience of others.
Whether they exist, whether they are some-one, is no concern of mine.
I have no thoughts.
I am sense-less.
Non-sense-cycle.
I have no hidden agenda.
No skeletons.
Not even a cupboard.

*

The glamour of Losers fades with age.

*

An eccentric without money is risible;
Poverty drains him of his charm.

*

Becoming an eccentric is a time-consuming, painful, and Entirely organic process. One does not plan to be an eccentric; It creeps up on one, a bit like middle-age.

*

I used to think I preferred Blondes
until I scalped one And she tasted
the same as All the others.
(Venal).

*

*

It’s always wet t-shirt night In South African bars.
“Where do I Know you from?”
“I’m not trying to Pick you up.”
“I’m from Pretoria.”
“Why do I know you so well?”

*

I have to admit I have no idea what to
Say to South African women.
They certainly
Don’t want to hear the truth.

*

Why do South African women
Drink so much?
I think it’s because they’re
In so much pain from pretending
To be stupid all the time.

*

Why do South African men
Drink so much?
Just plain stupid.

*

In the bars Insecure Drunk women Behaving like Animals In order to be “Wanted” By pig men (But animals don’t Behave this grossly And Pigs are Noble creatures.)

*

In the bars I watched great minds Destroy themselves Out of boredom And lack of alternatives. I did the same for a while In a futile attempt To “fit in”, Until one day I decided I was man enough To “fit out”. And be happy with it.

*

*

Every wet t-shirt contest winner
Is a tragic blow to the myth of Progress.
There are always twice as many
Tits at these contests than Women.

*

Beyond its statement as an Aperture, a cunt can hardly Be described as functional.

*

It was only after I retired from poetry
That I was able to write poems.
Now I’m going to retire from laughter
(and dancing!).

*

There is a loneliness so vast, so dense, so Complete, that only Art or God can Emerge from it.

*

Regarding the inevitable:
Remember, it’s only a matter of time.

*

Abraxas expects the best from God. Then God may expect the best from Abraxas.

*

“But what does Abraxas really mean?” Cry the over-educated.
“Exactly!” retorts ‘Braxie.

*

*

Abraxas the consummate artist.
Everything he does is poetry.
Even the poems.

*

Now is precisely the time to Leave the foggy humanitarian Goals behind. The next evolutionary Leap will be into the Youniversal. Youniversalization is the prime Goal of; the fundamental reason for, our existence as individuated Forms of Consciousness.

*

Abraxas uses a sharp knife
To cut his water:
He slices it!

*

Abraxas suspends his broken heart
From the chandelier.
In this way his grief is at least
Illuminating

*

It’s not by design that Abraxas is alone.
At least no design of his own.

*

Not many understand Abraxas: Josh understands him. But Abraxas has not called for Understanding. His needs are Minimal - to worship, to Rejuvenate, but primarily, To create. The creator’s is The highest calling, and Everywhere, Obstacles! But Abraxas never forgets what Zarathustra whispered to him In the cave: “You have to go Under before you go over.”

*

the multitude of seekers
of wisdom and salvation

the wise lord
on his faithful horse

the lord spoke
the horse farted

the sound of the lord
was not understood

the sound of the horse
was understood

the lord left
on his faithful horse

the multitude of seekers
of wisdom and salvation

they followed
the horse

*

What Abraxas learned from the feminists:
Rape is power!

*

What the feminists learned from Abraxas:
Roll with the punches!

*

Not content with merely reading between The lines,
Abraxas has undertaken to write Between the lines.
This he does with
sublime precision.

*

Abraxas walks the streets of Sea Point Searching for poetry.
He finds only whores. Fast food. Degraded humanity.
Then he realizes” “This IS poetry, the poetry of Decline, Poetry of the Fall”.
blissfully Content, He pops into the Kauai Juice Bar
For a Toasted Island Chicken Sandwich And A Spiced-Chai
- sweet, creamy and deliciously different!

*

Heavens! Abraxas thinks to himself, out again In this déjà vu bar;
same wine, same cigar, Same crowd – I’m even spilling the same milk!

*

Fuck the crisis!
Always look good!
Deport the illegals!
Deport the legals too!

*

Abraxas asks the rappers:
“How much of you is poetry?
How much is merely rhyme?”

*

*

What does Abraxas know?
Very little.
What does Abraxas want to know?
Even less.

Only drained, Only empty Can Abraxas grow,
And Abraxas wants to grow,
Like his hair,
Until he’s bald.

*
What is a thought? Where does it come from? Can it be generated artificially? Abraxas thinks about these things until, Suddenly, he realizes he might only Think he’s thinking about his thinking (thoughts).
Does thinking about the thought of thinking Qualify as a thought?
Can one not think, as opposed to thinking About nothing
(which is a thought and hence something).

*

If I dared presume the vanity to consider a thought Original
would it be my thought? Be mine?
And yet, those thoughts that I think are original;
I know not from where they come.
Do they come from me?
What is me? Where do I come from? Am I a thought? An original thought?
And if so, whose? My own? Have I created myself or do I merely think I have?
(And is this not the same thing?)

*

*

Abraxas drives to the end of his rainbow.
This is not an accomplishment It is an ontological fact.
Abraxas’ colours miasm, He projects them out onto the diaphonous film of the Waiting world, Not the other way round
The world shivers. Such labour Abraxas, such
Immodest gestures! Abraxas shrugs, stretches,
“Like any retired reprobate,” he drawls,
“I’m up for a challenge now and then.”
The Peanuts cheer, put Abraxas on their shooter list.

*

Abraxas imagines the horror of a virgin birth;
Hymen erupting from within.
Abraxas flabbergasted by the awful denial of
female sexuality implied by such a myth.
Abraxas confused. What exactly constitutes a
Christian? He looks around him - Yes these
Creatures all dangle a cross around their bull
Necks but have they ever read the good news?
Thank God It’s Friday! Don’t let it out,
Don’t let it in. Abraxas sighs, burps.

*

Abraxas asks: What does anti-social mean in a society predicated on greed?

*

Abraxas dysfunctional?
Yes.
(If small talk is functioning.)

*

What Abraxas IS is never Certain. Abraxas is always Becoming something else. A definition Is always a limit. Abraxas’ Position is primarily opposition; but This is not always the case. Abraxas is at his best when he surprizes himself!

*

There is an Abraxas
Deep inside every one of us.

*

*

Becoming an Abraxian means that you Relinquish fear’s hold on you.
Becoming A sleepwalker means that you live your Dreams.
Reality is a consensual form.
Choose to disagree; impose your chosen Reality by willpower and you change and Create new realities.
Reality, the Youniverse and the Future Are not given, concrete states; they are Processes in flux.
When you realize this You are empowered to consciously enter in To the process, to engage in the flux as An active, creative participant.
You cease To be a victim of predetermined “fate”, but Become your own saviour!

*

Abraxas, tired of pretending To go through the motions of Falling in love in order to Obtain free sex, nowadays Contents himself with cash Transactions. This way he Actually spends less money; Has more sex, and no headaches.

*

“What is the secret of your success Abraxas?” the Losers chorus.
“Never give up! Never admit defeat! Never ask others for their Secret! The rest is just luck!”
Abraxas marches off wielding His axe in his left hand and a Brick in his right.
Out of the Corner of his eye he notices The Losers frantically writing Down his every word.
Yells out: “Spelling mistakes are fatal!”

*

In any room full of people A woman always knows who is Likely to rape her.
To have Coffee with him is her choice.

*

The mechanic asks Abraxas: “Are you a Sign writer?”
“Yes,” Abraxas smiles, “I suppose you could Put it that way.”
“Do you always write that small?”
“Only when I laugh!” laughs Abraxas.

*

*

We change frequency to that very Burgundy bar just off Lower Main Road

*

Abraxas spots an Angel, asks her what Baggage she’s carrying.
She slaps him.
Slaps Him again.
He says “mercy” and buys her A glass of unpasteurized milk
that she promptly pours Over his head.
He moves to the open window And drips onto the glue-sniffing street Kids
that litter the Observatory pavement.

*

How deep you go Abraxas! Mocked the Fly from Its illustrious position on the wall.
“But the Young girls don’t want deep, Abraxas, they want Party, Party! They want shake it! Shake it!”

*

Abraxas the sleep walker: always on time.

*
A man in an Hawaian shirt winks at Abraxas. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Abraxas, confused, Punches the man, who bleeds to death, rapidly.
“I’m really sorry I did that”, Abraxas laughs, “This round’s on me!”
Everyone in the bar cheers. The corpse is covered with blind roses.
A Touch of the wind in the circle.
Abraxas is Intrigued by how well the homicide has gone Down with the crowd.
“I might become popular After all!”, he chuckles to himself.

*

What is a maniac?
Abraxas frowns.
Someone who dares not to be grey
In this make-believe world.

*

The only thing between woman
and her true sexual nature
is false morality.

*

*

The journalist lady asks Abraxas what he’s Writing.
“I am writing about the abyss that Is at the core of all us happy shoppers. Writing about the void we try, vainly, to fill Up with bargains, discounts, and specials.”
She hands him her lip gloss.
He is unsure What to do with it. Rubs it under his arms.
She snatches it back from ‘Brax, horrified. Rushes back To the crowd.

*

Abraxas, bored, leaves his table and sits at The bar. The wine is Boschendal’s Le Pavillon Rouge 2000. No, no, they can’t take that away From me. One reaches the age when that empty Bed is simply too unappealing.
Wild whores Couldn’t drag Abraxas away from his desolate Bar stool.

*

Abraxas the evocator: He thinks no evil and there is none.

*

*

Abraxas fills an entire notebook With unanswered questions and crude Reflections. Meanwhile his barmaid Carefully lowers her boob-tube. On-Lookers suspect they might be having An affair. People do not understand That Abraxas needs candle-light and Virgin’s blood to make his heartbeat Race.

*

Now it’s after midnight again, Abraxas Removes the “reserved” sign from his Bow-Tie. “Tell the Truth and Shame The Devil”, his bar-maid demands. Abraxas reaches through the hole in His pocket into his soul and leaves her A soiled lament for a tip.
“Beautiful!” She scoffs and scalds him with boiling Laughter.

*

Some chicks go for the troubled look.
Some chicks go for fun.
They all like it if you pay for the drinks.

*
A visiting puritan asked Abraxas if he Was selling his notes. “not a bad idea,” Abraxas mused, rolled up a page, placed It in a bankie and asked a German tourist For thirty rand.
“Shot man!” The German Tourist got high. The puritan was out-Raged. Abraxas spent the money on a Second-hand magnifying glass that he Used to enlarge his Penis.

*

Just before he left the bar on his Suicide mission, Abraxas asked for A doggy-bag to wrap his tears in. None were available so he used a Sanitary vowel instead.

*

There was a debate in the bar concerning The collective noun for a group of horses. Outside the street-kids sniffed their Glue out of sawn-off milk cartons, And doggedly refused to participate In the shambolic discourse of the Alcoholics.

*

*

When Abraxas reached the bottom Of his abyss, he lit up his candle, Reached into his pocket, took out His 9mm Rotring Pen and wrote in His notebook:
“This sentence is all I am.”

*

“What wisdom can I learn from you Tonight my dear?”,
Abraxas asked His barmaid.
Laconically she replied, “Tips make it all worthwhile.”

*

There has to be excitement; one of the Customers quipped. A white lady whose mind had been opened on A trip to Budapest.
“I can’t tell you the effect of seeing White street sweepers had on me. I realized how controlled by the official Media I’d been.”
Abraxas listens.
Abraxas broods.
Abraxas crawls to conclusions.

*

“Have a Sambuca”, the Devil smiled wryly, Zipping up his fly.
“Never again!”, Simone the Blind Rose Seller Got up off her knees and spat out his Thorns.

*

Abraxas plays chess with the Devil. Wins. They play again. Wins again. Stakes are high. Best of five: Winner gets to keep the loser’s soul. Third game goes to the Devil. Fourth too. Devil looks ‘Braxie in The Eye. ‘Braxie is back; plays the Rubbish defence. Long, slow, Arduous game. Afterwards Abraxas Has to buy a soul-hanger and a Cupboard to hang it in.
Devil, De-souled, joins the Health and Raquet Club. Loses some weight.

*

It is never when eyes are looking at you that you can find them beautiful or ugly, that you can remark on their colour. Abraxas’ look hides his eyes, he seems to go in front of them.

*