The Book Begins...

What Adora Fallbrook experienced was an incredible amount of suffering. Three decades of it. What topped it off was a diagnosis of HIV, twisting the knife held by the many men who wanted her vagina and not her soul. 

Adora Fallbrook died a slow, painful death. Not in the corporeal sense - her body was very much alive - but the one who kept letting dicks enter her vagina in the hopes of being loved by a man to whom it was attached, died. And she felt the pain and the grief of the loss, tremendously. 

On "Good Friday," April 04, 2021, before going to church - for the first time since COVID-19 hit in March of 2020 - Adora made a vow. About a week prior, she said goodbye to the 60 year-old recovered alcoholic Christian construction worker who, for a couple months, hadn't let her diagnosis stop his dick. He truly was a Christian, Adora thought - surely, this man of age, experience, wisdom, a God-fearing, recovered alcoholic practicing the principles of the 12 Steps - surely this man would be different than all the rest. But Adora realized that, like the rest of them, he didn't love her. None of them ever would. And it hurt.

Adora had left her husband in 2012 as a 27 year-old woman. Having been with "the love of her life," her "high school sweetheart" since she was 18 years old, she had no idea what the world was like. She had no idea what she was like. She was unconsciously operating as the wounded little girl who was taken away from her father at the age of 8. She was a ripe prospect for any and every man to insert his cock. While she was hoping one of them would love her, heal her, save her - they all just wanted to come and go. 53, 60, 75, and 59 - the pattern of men in the final year finally woke her up. The visceral pain of being used by so many men over the decade - 41 in total - awakened her.

To be continued...after being edited to shit and made perfect...

Satchitananda

Instead of surface-level suffering -

Getting frustrated, irritated, snapping at small things -

Go deep into gut-level, face-to-the-floor grief,

Where the inner being lies.

Get to the source of it all,

Go under the unconscious,

Deep beneath the pain and hell and terror,

And die. Let yourself die there.

After death you’ll rise,

At peace. You’ll still breathe,

But now, you are the breath,

Not the mind. Nothing terrifies you now.

The death of the self is the gateway

To Heaven on Earth. Simply created

Oneness. No desire, no fear, just

Being. Consciousness. Bliss.

Death to Self

I’ve been reading the Dr. Harry Tiebout: Collected Writings, realizing how much I’m driven by unconscious forces. I realize this over and over, always after a period of suffering, then I go back to being run unconsciously, suffer, awaken, repeat.

Dr. Tiebout is of the belief that one can achieve not merely a reduction of ego, but elimination - even if only briefly and temporarily. It requires going into one’s self - slowing down, becoming aware of what’s happening inside the body. I’ve heard this many times before by many another author and speaker.

This ego elimination is the death of the self - the “lose your life to gain it” type-thing described by Jesus. Instead of allowing myself to be propelled unconsciously by the ego in infinite restlessness, irritability and discontentment, if I take the time to go within, slow down, become aware - I may be able to achieve the death of the unconscious self that is driving me blindly into despair, repeatedly. By shining the light into the darkness, I won’t be so lost in it.

I hope I can remember this. I am going to start practicing, now. Well, for now, I’ll meditate to sleep. Then tomorrow I’ll set my timer to go off every ten minutes to remind myself to go back within. Slow down. Become aware. Allow the ego to die. Let it go. Let the “self” die. Be Who I Am.

Because I can’t take the suffering any more. 

Just a Moment

Do you ever have a moment where it feels 

Life is redundant

What am I doing

Who cares

Words on a screen

Time passing by

None of it matters

But you have to do it anyway 

Drag yourself along 

Beg God for help

Empty

Alone

You think of some way to keep going

So you can survive the Now

Intolerable at best

Dread

Unsatisfying for the most part

Except for intermittent breaths

Of gratitude 

But too far and few between

What does that even mean anyway

The road is long

I’m walking slow

Pulling a wagon with two kids in it

And looking ahead more than I look at them

Food, shelter, warmth, rest

Hopefully they get plenty of joy

Even if I’m sucked dry of it

Trying to keep them alive and happy

I should be so thankful

To give all of myself 

By myself 

A complete failure at relationships 

They’ve all ended 

I’m not enough

Except I pretend God loves me

Act as if

When really I’m not special at all

One among many 

No different

Not unique

And no one cares

A life that doesn’t matter

We all move on

Everyone is just a memory

Unless they’re with you

You’ll have to tell me what that’s like

Although you’re likely ungrateful, too

You’re no different either

Not special

Not unique 

No one has any real value

In the grand scheme of things.

Him

It never matters who “he” is,

I always miss “him”,

Until I have “him” again,

And then,

When I do,

“He” won’t be enough,

Because I’m not enough,

And since I’m not enough,

No one else ever will be.