178.
I am not well enough to sit on my own and write. I need to write for you and others that are sitting with me.
Elena:
You say you cannot write on your own.
Elena,
you haven’t done it yet!
That’s a simple fact and nobody can write for you, we may read it and we may help you to edit it and so on, but it is really your turn to write your story in the inner circle of the FoF.
I think your story has a chance as a warning, as a “special entertainment” (if you want somebody to recognize the weird illness of the FoF, you will have to write it with captivating stories), but there is no other person on the public square who is able to write instead of you.
Elena it is your turn, no further excursions are needed.
Is that understood?
185. elena - November 5, 2009 [Edit]Yes ma’am!!
186. Elena - November 6, 2009 [Edit]It cries underneath the skin.
It cries all day underneath the skin
It cries all day underneath the skin
187. dragon - November 6, 2009 [Edit]Elena,
no mummy stuff, please. A friend is no “mam”.
If it burns underneath the skin it will be time to write about it!
Title of your report/book… : “Underneath The SKIN”
Introduction: “ I wear a brand underneath the skin, it is the brand of a religious group with the name: “Fellowship of Friends”.
Even if I am out for XY time?, I feel that brand every day and it hurts me again and again. It is burning with such a great intensity that I came to the decision:
I don’t want to burn until eternity, I will try to release myself and I will try to warn about that dangerous group using the infrastructure and exploiting the vulnarability of our societies.
So let me tell you my story of a group living beyond the rules of our society and recruiting young persons for the purpose of a very special mental and physical exploitation process…
188. dragon - November 6, 2009 [Edit]A healing poem for unindoctrinated souls:
THE CAT AND THE MOON
by: W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)
by: W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)
THE cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet,
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet,
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.
189. Elena - November 6, 2009 [Edit]Yes ma’am!
Yes “madam” was what I meant, ma’am!! ma’am is a short form used in the South of the US… I think!
“That’s a simple fact and nobody can write for you, we may read it and we may help you to edit it and so on, but it is really your turn to write your story in the inner circle of the FoF.” she’d said, but I’d never “belonged” to the inner circle, in fact I’d never been able to properly belong to the Fellowship of Friends, a Fourth Way School of Consciousness based on the Teachings of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky and had “orphaned” the place inside just like the orphan I was outside. I’d never really “belonged” anywhere if by belonging we understand being an integrated part of a whole and as I looked back I didn’t know if it was worse to have belonged or not to have belonged… longed to be… or “long “BE”"!!
“Long “BE”" is a joke that only those at Renaissance, Apollo, Isis in 2006 and beyond could understand, when HE started talking about how a short penis was the Symbol of a short “be” and a long penis a long “be”!!!!!!! and while he probably laughed his balls out for he was after all a “Conscious Being” who knew what he was doing, “We the People” in the United States of America had been standing in the crowded room of the Gallería for half an hour before the one and only man number eight, the one and only Conscious Being on Planet Earth (as Martin would have called him), stood breathless under the paintings of young naked members depicted as semi-greek Gods and Goddesses with fully erect penises and “knew” our selves the “luckiest” people, unlike the other six billion dead that stood outside our sacred gates without the divine guidance of Robert Burton, who’d finally walk in five minutes before we’d begin to faint.
“BE” had become the one and only aim, the magic word that justified everything! “To be or not to be” was a decree that even Shakespeare could no longer call his own for we incarnated it with the conviction of twenty five years of hard physical labour in “the Vine”: the Renaissance Vineyard in Oregon House in the Sierra Foothills of California. Hard physical labor and the pruning of our previous lives, leaf by leaf, a “Conscious Process” in which I had first sacrificed my friends for I was now in the Fellowship of Friends with “true”, “real” people striving for consciousness, then my aunts and uncles who I’d inherited after my mother’s death, then my father, my sister and finally, my youngest daughter until there was no longer a trace of who I ever was. THAT WAS the aim but I never reached the peak of “consciousness” that was expected of me and remained in my god-father’s twenty two telephone books in the course of the thirty years I’d been away from home: Medellín, Antioquia, Colombia, South America.
Seventeen only in the School of Consciousness, Seventeen from the 3rd of March 1990 to the 22nd of March 2007 after my husband, Girard Haven, the Mind, the second to last in command of the Fellowship of Friends Cult, sent out a letter to the members suggesting they don’t waste their time reading, let alone writing in the Fellowship of Friend’s blog on the internet that was being sent out by invisible hands where I had written the day before and put me against the wall between cult and culture.
Girard Haven’s letter can come here- then my first post!
………………………
I said Yes ma’am! Is that good enough for a beginning? I think Crouching Tiger would be happier if we don’t publish the book before we publish the book so I’ll have to e-mail you and Nige the rest!
Thanks for the kicking-love!
190. dragon - November 6, 2009 [Edit]That’s a very good idea Elena!
and now:
Yeats’ “To a Squirrel at Kyle-na-no,” short
enough to be quoted in entirety:
enough to be quoted in entirety:
Come play with me;
Why should you run
Through the shaking tree
As though I’d a gun
To strike you dead?
When all I would do
Is to scratch your head
And let you go.
Why should you run
Through the shaking tree
As though I’d a gun
To strike you dead?
When all I would do
Is to scratch your head
And let you go.
to write!!! 
, I know it is hard and hard work for You!
, I know it is hard and hard work for You!191. Elena - November 6, 2009 [Edit]Crouching Tiger says I’m a natural writer but do you think there is anything natural about writing ten page letters every day when I was twelve years old?
192. dragon - November 6, 2009 [Edit]It is unusually for a twelve year old.
Write and after Crouching Tiger’s etc. reading through the texts it can be decided how or wether it will be compressed or something else.
You should maintain the suspense until the very last minute.
It is also possible to begin like this as a novel writer:
Let us presume there would be a mysterious organization in our midst, invisible, a cobweb of a secret society……
193. Elena - November 6, 2009 [Edit]There could be suspense all along because the reader doesn’t know any of the stories! The System’s, the Fellowship’s or mine! So it is three stories running parallel to each other together with that of the many other people that are connected. That could work! Three stories running parallel like a braid! Like life!
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