Behind me here at W’press, my discussion reaches into the nature of Ahriman coming to us by the blood. I am visually reminded whenever I walk into one of the Polish mill workers churches in Turners Falls MA. There the picture of Jesus is overlain with a Masonic compass structure of rays emanating from Jesus’ heart down to the base. One set of rays is white, while the second is red. I believe one could find evidence of a Polish Lodge believing in Ahriman and Lucifer. In any event, what I have been studing of late, or should I say studing yet again, is evident in the words behind this here trail.
Over the course of the moon span and passing of Imbolc, may she be holy, I have met what I now understand to be my Jesus initiation. Specifically because any interpretation of the events beyond the complicated set of events other than it is a Jesus initiation, are more inexplicable, and to turn the subjective into at most of objectiveness as any spiritual interpretation could be. the complications surround my spiritual study, my anthropological evaluations, prayer in proper placement, and a heavy chain of events where I eventually suspected the gravity of it while listening to something on media. Ground work is in the trail. I was researching Lomas and Knight, remembering Barry Fell of Harvard, putting it together with Arlington Mallory and his finds in the Mid- Atlantic states. And I was rereading Max Freeman Long’s “Huna Code in Religion.” This latter book began to have a history as early as Yule, and I believe I wrote using it in the trail.
A sudden event happened. Tuesday night, January 19, I slipped on the Edgehouse stairway and managed a reasonable soft tissue bouncing over just the tips of the stairway. I got somewhat wet with ice and snow so I high tailed it out to my cabin grabbed an arm load of wood and put on dry clothes. Then I went out to find my chamber pot. Seven steps later I slipped, put my hand down to slow and it slid out until I felt a pop; like I did when I fell working on another house of the designer of Edgehouse, Llan Starkweather. There I am about midnight, the temperature beast at play, a dislocated shoulder, a second set of wet night clothes, so broke I was willing to lay there and try to manipulate it in myself. The second thing was being in shock and not being able to leave the cabin to make the cold walk. I decided to tough it out until 7 AM when Mr. Starkweather gets out to get the paper. If I kept my arm laid out a certain way, it wasn’t so bad. When I started yelling Help! both Mr. Starkweather and the new housemate thought they were hearing a cat. Eventually I got his attention. He helped me dress and we drove to Franklyn Medical in Greenfield MA, the place where my first dislocation was reduced. They stuck me with a needle. The next thing I remember I heard the Doctor say, “There, it’s in.”
I didn’t feel a thing. They gave me a small brown vial of Vicodan, and Mr. Starkweather drove us home.
I once had a glorious history with the lager. I tend to shy from potentially addictive substances even if they are endorsed by the medical community. I tred lightly with the Vicodan, enduring the test until bedtime, then taking the 2 for pain. Now, I can’t tell you why. There was no way to “know” there would be pain, especially since the day’s test was not really much at all, walking around directing helpers with my left arm in a sling. A coming event in this initiation will clarify what was really happening.
Come the Sabbat.
Just before bed on Friday I took the two Vicodan for the night, having slept fairly well Thursday night. I wasn’t down long when nausea turned into the deliberate feeling I was going to eject belly contents. I deduced the simplest solution was to open the cabin door and let it out onto to frozen woodland floor, which I did, having to endure some powerful wretchings. feeling done, went back to bed. Not long after, the tough dry heaves came again, and more came forth. At this point I was thinking I was somehow heaving up chocolate from a couple of nights before. In reflection, I now see this as the moment rationality left. On the way back to bed, I grabbed one of my casserole dishes I have specifically collected because they are Corning Ware and yield no toxins to cooking. The evening began to get bazarre when I 3/4 filled that, then grabbed another vessel. I had no strength to yell out for help, nor did my mind immediately grasp the situation. In any event I passed out sometime between midnight and 6:00 AM.
As soon as I awoke, I grasped an early morning desperation. I lit out for the Edgehouse door. I went straight to the toilet and discovered real blood gushing out of me. I laid before the mantle like a cat broken. I asked Llan for a bucket and the stainless steel revealed the dark liquid to be deep almost translucent blood. Somehow between the time Amherst (MA) Emergency Medical arrived and my discovery, I had crawled over to block the door. I don’t remember the wrestling me out the door. Saturday morning, 6 something, I was thrown into the Tomb of Death. Amherst Emergency, thank you very much for your part in saving my life. I am Grateful.
Now there are some witnessed events that I’ve heard the hearsay; a nonsequitor to this story. I was deep in an induced coma. Some burst veins in my gut were the problem as I ended up in emergency surgery at Baystate Springfield 2, Springfield MA. The Baystate Hospital and staff are a most superior group of performers at all levels. I am very blessed to have been served by these people. I felt the outpouring of Grace. They are modern medicine at its evolving best. I am grateful to the teams who discovered and repaired me. Before I get into my recovery room experience, the first step in the initiation is complete, I was cut by a thousand swords of Vicodan. I had become the blood sacrifice.
Not a Comfortable Recovery
No doubt about it. When I caught a glimpse of a dark haired, dark skinned man in dark clothing, later turning out to be purple, and him asking, “Do you know where you are?” my first impression was “Syria?” I was hallucinating. A little while later, I looked to my left to a former lover, and she said, “Robin, do you know where your birth certificate is?” Her name is Robbie. She came through for me. I am grateful. My dillusional paranoia asked “How did they drag her into this?”
She then leaned closer and said, “Knolls and Jesse are out looking for your birth certificate, do you know where it is?”
I started an explanation and then, zip! I was out again. These events were all happening on Wednesday afternoon; 1-27. I had been, in their words, hanging by a thin thread, was still very much at risk. Sometime in the dark of the recovery room I awoke with Alisha’s, Stephan’s, sons Knolls and Jesse, and best friend ever Matt. Later Mr. and Mrs. Starkweather, estranged, showed up with flowers. My surgeon came through, and as he asked the much repeated question, “Do you know where you are,” in his somewhat Middle Eastern sounding accent, I heard, “Lazarus, pick up thy bed and come forth.” I managed a marginal aware “in the hospital?” That was because I was then lucent enough to realize the restraints were for all the IV’s and stuff they had in me.
Before the end of the night, I made a foolish move, and dislocated my shoulder again. No one could be found to put it back in until Thursday morning. In the morning another Baystate angel came, and without a hint of drugs or knock outs, she slipped my should right back in. As an occupational mason, master carpenter, project manager, and general contractor, let me share with you that some Americans are the best in the world; right there with gastrointestinal doctors who grew up in Lebanon.
Over the next few days, Knolls stood watch with shifts exchanging with Matt. They both had to leave so on Sunday morning, 1-31, I was laying in an experience of faith, based on a very competent and magnificently timed set of medical emergency events, family and friends with love, and precisely due to events happening, precise events as much as timing, in a net of uncertainty. Feeling gratitude very early in Sunday’s darkest hours, I turned on the television and hit on a televangelist. I recognized he was discussing a biblical story I recently read Max Freeman Long’s account of, so I committed to finding the book “Huna Code in Religion” that had become ghostly in it’s appearances, frustrating the study I will write about up the trail from here, if I am granted such Will by my Perfect Mother Father Higher Self. The preacher was saying John the Baptist was in jail for offenses, and had become conflicted of his faith. The idea of confliction began to race through my brain. I pushed the up button on the great electric beds Baystate has. I listened intently as the preacher laid out how John lost his faith, fell, and then wanted reconfirmation from Jesus, who became irritated and said “Of course I’m the one.” The next important concept that came forth from that preacher was that faith is great, but we must Speak It Out!
I must say I love you Matt, you are a guide in my healing.
I must say thank you my children for your part in my healing, you have grown to fine young men. I can’t just leave it in my heart, it must come out. That was the message. I can be conflicted or I can speak my faith and not be conflicted. During the day I contemplated that, found an article doubting global warming in 2007 Harper’s, and basically relaxed into healing as Matt was also due back Monday, I enjoyed the relaxed solitude.
Monday Matt showed again in the afternoon. The teams decided I could go home after my ultrasound. I’m patiently waiting for a “messenger” to push my gurney back to my room when an old workman went by. He snarled to his younger companion, my knees are killing me. Confliction jumped out! I saw with absolute clarity that unless he find faith to say my fat ass and belly are ruining my knees, his Mother Father Aumakua will provide the knee test. I know I was slipping. I was becoming conflicted. My Aumakua (Guardian Angel for you Catholics) had been warning me, but I was getting back to taking my will. In a slow steady progression these events began to unfold until the moment of the first slip down the stairs. I believe I was even a bit egotistically cocky inside that I had done the slide well because I had a smooth desent on the handrail and a handfull of cedar needles off a tree limb I grabbed.
The Confliction removed by Aumakua
I had become agitated with my two years of accumulating poverty and unemployment due to being a General Contractor with a disabling disease and a person of diversity. Vicodan was really a bad guy with my underlying condition, I looked back through the experience to a clarity I was escaping and looking for the numb, even though the second time dislocation really didn’t hurt that much. I was conflicted.
I had prayed to my Aumakua to rid my blood of Ahriman. I lost about 3-4 pints in my cabin alone. My side was pierced and the blood sacrifice made. My Aumakua threw me into the Tomb of Death, four days. Jesus came and called me out. Home, awakening in the middle of the dark morning February 2, 2010, Imbolc, which carries the meaning “in the belly,” Precisely one year from when I drove out of California looking for sanctuary, 2009, alone where it all began, I have my Transformation. I had been dreaming when a womanly figure came into the dream and said, “Now, who’s will shall be done? Welcome to your Jesus initiation.” I snapped awake almost expecting to see a nurse next to me. The next two hours became an ecstatic experience of Robin Marie knowing, Thy Will Not Mine Be Done.
I’m going to edit/spell check this tomorrow.