A sorting of seances

3: No small thing this obsessive compulsion to raise the dead

My mother worried, more than I knew, when I became an Umbandista. I understand why. Although, I learned the fundamentals of ritual and ceremony from her.
My very own Ur. After reading Blake, my nom de plume was Jurizen. Later it became Gilgamesh and Suns. Soon, after this picture was taken it became Dr. Omolu. Still, when I think of returning home after adventuring with Enkidu, this is where I go.
I almost wept when I saw the original Garden. Like many things in my life I haven’t understood how to be a good gardener and a nomad at the same time.
When I first started doing psychedelics I had a silly belief that paisley was a discovery of Vedic alchemists who saw microscopic bacteria long before the invention of microscopes. I learned later, microscopes are residual appendages. I care less about who these figures are than my architectural memory of the arrangement of calendar and phone. Looking at it, I remember its name was 716.671.2863, and through its invocation and applied gematria, I traveled.
“I find there is a similar sense of anxious anticipation when smoking DMT or waiting for the arrival of the gods. In both cases, a gentle libation can help.” - Doc
“When the gods arrive, there's some discomfort as past and future ancestors prepare to speak and all time-lines, even the ones we have lost, resonate together.” Doc

Well, ya’all this journey, thus far, has been glorious (For me. I can’t be held responsible for my failures to communicate clearly. Yes, the theorem of “Who else? But me” is the law, however, since everything ever diverges all at once and at the same time, what am I expected to do?) I’ll make sure I have at least one public post per week, maybe more, but it’s an ever-shifting target, I need to become and that seems to be the point, after all.

Much Love & Gratitude for joining this ride (Maybe that’ll teach ya to hitchhike.)

Con/Jur/d 1/18/2021