My New Super Power Belt

Nobody knows it yet, but my new belt has given me superpowers.

Clearly I didn't recognize its latent abilities, or I surely wouldn't have picked it up yesterday. I mean, why would I want to pick something up that could help me breakthrough, to succeed?

Swiss Army belt made in China. That should have been my first clue. Either another globalization-spawned absurdity or thinly veiled code that could be read by the initiate. Clearly my subconscious said Fuck Occam's razor and zoomed in on the latter. Clearly, there was something magical here.

Purchase was through my usual (cloud-of-unknowing)-1: the slightly daft and inbred second cousin to the real cloud of unknowing: uncertainty sired from doubt instead of not-knowing.

Everything is complicated, see, when the modern day gatherer goes out to buy clothes. Made infintessimally more complicated when there is an other involved in the process. By myself, I can walk arm and arm with the ghosts of connections that spider out from me into the Kosmos: the reason I need clothes, symbols upon symbols to boost my non-existant self-image. But when the other is involved, it's a mirror for the ghosts. Some of them show their faces in the mirrors reflection of reflection, some of them don't. That makes complication**2. Or Self birthing self&self that are in apparent contraindication of each other.

Regardless, it was purchased and now sits proudly holding BOB in, and indicating that it's ostensible utilitarian function was masking far greater things.

38 was the perfect size, it turns out, to wrap around the koan I've been birthing the last 32 years. Crack open the cerebellum and pull out the paper doll chain, and have a look at the bloody and glorious miasma within. Ego first of all, solid to the eye, but on closer examination a febrible and transluscent mirage waiting to dissolve into ID who flops back and forth with shiny coal eyes that have distance without depth to the last doll cradling the large egg that has grown over the last three decades. And that egg has been

the surfaceless oval burping up paroxysm of dark light
the bridge between laughter and madness; glory and emesis
this and that

But the belt fits perfectly. Hole by hole I've been tightening this morning until the crack appeared, and the illusion started to dissolve:

My darkest enemy, who puts soporifico and relationship issues and motivation problems on the shelf like a child's tea-party hand towels, is made up of the stuff that I've dbeen trying to use to get into it.

Release the belt and it is sucked up inside again. But I have seen this morning:

OCD is the koan.

And my friend from the alps via the Silk Road has the power to unravel it.

Hsah and Namaste