CraigJustCraig

Tag: faith

  • I didn’t choose my name.

    It was carved into me.

    I spoke it aloud.

    Craig

    It did not echo. It entered.

    The name was not found.
    It was revealed—

    wrenched from the silence between worlds.
    And what met me there remains sealed in shadow.

    Obsession

    my obsession is not hidden.

    I move between lust sadist hedonism addiction

    vested in vestments that make the holy obscene.

    Where the body trembles not in shame, but in revelation.

    Where gods come to watch.

    Of Blood and Belief

    I did not inherit my faith. I bled for it.

    Educated in divinity, I drank not from dogma

    but from the poisoned wells of philosophy, mysticism, and myth.
    I read scripture like a lover’s letter—
    smudged, stained, and desperate for meaning.

    I have gospels never canonized.
    I have whispered with the Watchers.
    I have knelt at altars built from torn pages and broken vows.

    My theology is fleshbound.
    My sermons are moans.
    And my prayers are often answered

    in ruin, in rapture.

    Of Ruins and Resurrection

    In my cathedral of the mind, the windows are cracked,
    the icons defaced, and every surface slick with longing.

    I speak in perversions no seminary could teach.

    I edge the veil

    the feral, flickering place where desire becomes doctrine.

    The body is both scripture and heresy,
    and here, we are unrepentantly whole.

    Of Welcome and the Worthy

    This space is consecrated for those who crave beyond the binary. No guilt. No shame. No denial of what makes you ache.

    if your heart beats louder in the presence of ritual,
    if your spirit hums when forbidden doors creak open—

    Then you’re not broken.
    You’re chosen.

    Of Fetish and Faith

    My Theology is fetish, sex and drugs

    Angels who fell not from pride, but from lust

    The sacred and profane intertwined in a single trembling body

    This is my scripture.

    Of Justice and the Veil

    This is a sacred container.

    It does not exist for spectacle.

    We honor empathy. We demand respect.

    Bring your reverence and your ruin.
    Come holy. Come haunted.
    But come correct.

    Of Confession and Catharsis

    Strip. Not just your body—your pretense.

    your truths. Bleed them if you must

    Here, the sacred doesn’t just forgive.
    It feasts.

    And in that hunger,

    we are unmade,
    we are undone,
    and we are remade.

  • Revelation and Sacrament

    Step forward, Strip your shame. Bare your hunger.

    Not for redemption— but for ruin.

    The First Flame – The genesis. The original blasphemy.

    It is our birthright—the feral mirror where we first licked our own reflection and dared to love what we saw.

    Let them beg for humility; we spit blood

    to be seen. This is godhood forged in flesh, hips forward, eyes wild, drenched in want. We do not want meekness.

    We worship ourselves—naked, crowned, wet with intention.

    Straddle the altar. Let it cum. Let it be adored.

    The Unblinking Eye – Oh, the delicious sting. the gaze that strips us bare.

    it is prophetic. It sees, it knows, and it wants.

    It stares until the mask cracks and craving bleeds through.

    It watches you squirm, salivating for your undoing.
    It isn’t content to simply want. It wants more.

    The leash? It’s not on your neck by mistake. You wanted it. Admit it.

    The Furnace of Blood – They tried to collar it. To drug it. To shame it. But it cannot be silenced—it screams through broken teeth.

    in that divine fury—there is mercy.

    Let the blood boil. Let the wound speak.

    The Holy Stillness – They’ll tell you hustle, to move, go,go,go!

    This is the final refusal. The holy “Fuck No.”

    It is motionless, divine, a statue of submission.

    The world outside demands you produce. But inside we worship stillness.

    The slow death of urgency.It is surrender. And surrender is sacred.

    The Devouring Hunger – it is truth unfiltered.You want. You take. You consume.it doesn’t lie . It gnaws. It devours. It demands.

    it dared to need.Take until you choke.

    The Holy Feast– it’s ecstasy. a belly bloated with desire.

    It eats memory. It swallows grief. It licks the divine from trembling thighs

    The world wants you hungry, ashamed of your ache.
    But we feed our monsters here—until they moan overflowis w, divine.

    The Divine Ache– An altar drenched in fluids and whispered names, a gospel of gasps and bruises.

    The spirit speaks loudest when the body is screaming.

    it doesn’t kneel. it mounts the divine, claws in back, teeth in shoulder. They’ll call it perversion. Our tongues chant in moans.

    Every orgasm. Every shudder. Blessed be the ache. Blessed be the ruin.

    Wicked. Wet. Wanting.
    Let this be your gospel. Let this be your God.
    And if no God comes to claim you?

    Be one.

  • The God Maker

    I don’t chase love—I summon it.
    I don’t search for connection—I conjure gods.

    I crawl, salivating, toward their altar—teeth bared, heart open—ready to be devoured or blessed.
    I was never built for soft affections or polite romances.
    What stirs me is darker. Deeper. Dangerous.
    I crave the divine made flesh—someone arrogant enough to demand my worship and divine enough to deserve it.

    I’m drawn to monsters. Blasphemous creatures dressed in mortal skin.
    Those who wear power like silk and don’t give a fuck who can’t breathe beneath it.
    They speak as if the sky should part for their voice—and sometimes?
    It does.

    I hunger for those who breathe conviction.
    Whose confidence reeks of madness and inevitability.

    That’s who I kneel for.

    The world is full of false gods with shaky thrones. I interrogate them.
    I tear away their veils. My questions are daggers—if they bleed, they are not worthy.

    But if they don’t?
    If they smile through the storm, unflinching—
    If their presence crushes doubt before it’s even spoken?
    Then I worship. Fully. Feral. Unrestrained.

    I crawl.
    I kneel.
    Mouth open.
    Spit truths into me. Make me believe.

    Because my kink is not impact or chains or play-acting obedience.

    My kink is transfiguration.

    I want the orgy that feels like a sermon.
    Bodies tangled in sacred frenzy. Names forgotten. Selves undone.
    Drugged on ecstasy and incense. Devotion thick in the air.
    Give me chaos. Give me debauchery.
    Give me the ruin of overindulgence and the gospel of lust.

    Sex?
    Isn’t enough.
    I want sex magick.

    I want to drink their ambition, snort their lust, and fuck their ego until it’s bloated with divinity.
    I want to overdose on their godhood.
    Split open on their altar, gasping holy hymns through bloodied lips as I swallow their cruelty like a sacrament.

    I don’t want romance.
    I want ritual.

    I want the kind of worship that leaves the room soaked in sweat, salt, and the stench of primal need.
    Orgy as offering.
    Hedonism as gospel.
    Sacrilege as salvation.

    Because in this filthy, starving world, everyone wants to be a god.

    But me?
    I am the one who makes them.

  • The Lonely Mountain

    Lately, I’ve been receiving a surprising number of initiates on the path. And right now—I’m literally out in the middle of nowhere, writing to you from what feels like a spiritual retreat or hiatus. I’ve been sitting with the silence, surrounded by ancestral land that’s been in my family for over 200 years. The soil hums with power, and it fuels everything I do. Out here, I remember who I am.

    And still—more hearts, more joys, more seekers arrive.

    I’ve been blessed lately by an oracle—gracious and attuned—who has been guiding sincere souls to my lonely temple. They’ve helped me keep focus, shielding me from distractions that once haunted my path. This couple was among the first to climb this metaphorical mountain, and the moment they crossed the threshold, I knew something was different. I was open. Receptive. Ready.

    The first thing I always teach is the why—the philosophy. Because this work is deep. It’s not just rope. And it’s definitely not a casual craft for the curious or the faint-hearted. I tell them plainly:

    “If you’re here only to learn technique without the soul of it—without the spirit, the healing, the eroticism, the magick—then this is not your path.”

    There are other instructors for that. Amazing ones. But here, in this sanctuary, we engage the sacred and the profane. The sensual. The spiritual. The shadow. Here’s what I say:

    Pleasure is Power. Joy, eroticism, and sensuality are pathways to liberation.

    Indulgence is Devotion. Desire is sacred.

    Embrace the Forbidden. Transcend your limits.

    Welcome the Dark. Integrate its power into your own.

    Shatter Illusions. Strip away pretense and reclaim the untamed.

    Be Bold. Be raw. Be seen.

    Do Not Shrink. Take up space.

    Growth is Constant.

    Return to the Primal. Instinctual ways of being.

    Respect the Discipline. Reciprocity. Dedication. Integrity.

    If this does not resonate, you do not belong here.

    This session was… different. Special. I admit my teaching style is intense—disciplined, exacting, sometimes brutal. I make you repeat things over and over and over. I won’t let you move on until I see proficiency. I will return to foundational knowledge again and again until it’s written in your bones and echoing in your dreams.

    In my head, I follow the way:
    Meticulous technique, every movement holding meaning.
    Emphasis on Awareness and Presence
    Safety Alignment and Consent
    Building Trust and Connection
    Sacredness in safety and communication.
    Mindfulness and Presence
    Structured skill-building.
    Trust. Presence. Meditative trance.

    This is the foundation I wish I had. This is the legacy I’m building. My seal.

    So when this couple smiled after the 100th time I said, “Start over”—I was shocked. They told me afterward: they were getting off on it. They felt accomplished. They wanted the challenge.
    I asked, “But what if you didn’t get it? What if we spent the whole class on just one thing?”

    They said: That’s what we expected. They didn’t want to cause harm—physical, emotional, spiritual—and if all they learned was how not to hurt each other? That alone was worth their time and money.

    Y’all.

    That made me feel so seen.

    So we worked. I mean really worked.

    Two hours on nothing but safety. Anatomy. Energy. We traced the ulnar, radial, and median nerves—spoke intention over them, whispered their names, followed their pathways. We made promises: to care for each other, to never abandon one another in scene, to be fully here—no phones, no distractions.

    We talked about reality: there is no such thing as 100% safe. So we practiced what to do when something goes wrong. Not if. We studied emergency protocols, warning signs, how to check in, where to pay attention.

    We layered in energy work. We studied neurochemistry in real-time—how dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins shape what we feel in the tie. We explored rope handling, the confidence of touch, the power of clear communication. They spoke to each other, learning to name their internal landscapes. We studied accountability. Integrity. Ritual. Devotion. Love.

    We talked about guardianship and reciprocity, and how rope demands a kind of love that protects and sees and holds. We interrogated why we were doing this—why we’d show up here, of all places, to do this

    We talked about rope placement, body awareness, prioritization, how a lack of clarity translates into tension for the bottom. We studied the narrowing of awareness: how rope quiets the mind until all that remains is you, the rope, and your partner. The whole world dissolves.

    We covered so much in four hours and only learned one knot: the lark’s head.

    Only one knot—but lifetimes of knowledge. They went straight to sleep afterward.

    And still, I feel like I forgot something. That’s why I write—to capture what I can so I can say it better next time.

    I’m endlessly grateful to my oracle for sending them. This couple was truly a gift. They paid up front, trusting the process, honoring the craft before a single rope was tied.

    And I think about everything I’ve gone through to get here. Everything I’ve endured. And then a day like this happens. And it all makes sense. It all becomes worth it.

    Until next time.
    And if you feel called—reach out to the Oracles.
    Let them show you the way to my lonely mountain.

  • Rope as a Modality for Spiritual Release

    I only have two arms to hold you. So let this ropes be an extension of will, let me wrap myself around you and keep you held. As I hold this rope in my hand, let me lock eyes with you as it passes from my will to yours, let it brings us into a shared space, outside worry. Let us dwell in each others’ presence. Let this line create a barrier between the outside and our inside. Let us bond between the lines, let us read between the lines of our intent, let us find the truths buried in each others’ eyes. The eyes are the window to the soul. So, let those windows open wide as I wrap around you, wrap my will around you, and bring out the secrets within you. Open wide and expose those secrets to me between the parting lips and the sweetest moans. Struggle for me, and know that I will keep you safe in these troubled times. In pain and desperation, I offer up safety to be the true you . Cry and show me your tears. Laugh and sing the songs of your heart. Let these chains that hold down give you a chance to hold nothing back. Open your soul and let me peer in. In this I contract to you, in this space before the Ancestors, that I shall give you safety while you struggle before me, that in giving up your freedom, I give you in return the freedom to fly.

    In this class, we will explore **physical and mental pathways to Spiritual Release. At the heart of this paradox is liberation through restraint. The intentional act of weaving sigils into flesh. We initiate an alchemical process that expands our capacity for pleasure by dissolving shame, resistance, and friction. We use rope as a somatic key, unlocking doors long hidden within the nervous system. The neurochemical symphony will collide with our will. We walk the edge between worlds. We return to the old ways. To bind and to loose. To hold and to release.

    Through integration of the conscious and unconscious mind, we will explore the art and science of intentionally causing change to occur in alignment with Will. to create a an as-yet-to-be-realized desire.

    We will journey beyond the edge and move through spirit walking, astral journeying, projection, psychic shapeshifting, rootwork, and divine surrender.

  • Stop Apologizing: The Undoing of Oppression @TheCheshireKink

    –Excerpt from Getting Past the Pain Between Us: Healing and Reconciliation Without Compromise and Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life by Marshall B. Rosenberg and
    Compliments and apologies operate in a system of oppression;
    that rewards are as harmful as punishment, that killing is the easy way out. Such statements are typically uttered as expressions of life-alienating communication…

    Notice, how, they reveal little of what’s going on in the speaker; it establishes the speaker as someone who sits in judgment. Judgments—both positive and negative—are life-alienating communication.

    For example, if we find ourselves reacting reproachfully to something we did (“Look, you just messed up again!”), we can quickly stop and ask ourselves, “What unmet need of mine is being expressed through this moralistic judgment?”

    The process of fully connecting with the unmet needs and the feelings that are generated when we have been less than perfect. It is an experience of regret, but regret that helps us learn from what we have done without blaming or hating ourselves. We see how our behavior ran counter to our own needs and values, and we open ourselves to feelings that arise out of that awareness.

    When our consciousness is focused on what we need, we are naturally stimulated toward creative possibilities for how to get that need met. In contrast, the moralistic judgments we use when blaming ourselves tend to obscure such possibilities and to perpetuate a state of self-punishment.

    The second overall step in the healing process is “mourning.”

    In the role of the brother, after the empathy, I mourned. Here’s what that sounded like:

    “Sister, when I see how my actions have contributed to your pain, I feel very sad. It didn’t meet my need to nurture and support you in a way I really would’ve liked.”

    The main thing here is that it requires that we see a big difference between mourning and apology. I see apology as a very violent act. It is violent to the person receiving it and violent to the person giving it.

    And what’s even more tragic is the person receiving it usually likes it, addicted by the culture to want the person to suffer and see them hating themselves. What I find to be true is that nobody will ever apologize or want an apology if they have experienced sincere mourning instead.
    Let’s look at the difference between mourning and apology more closely.

    Apology is based on moralistic judgment—that what I did was wrong and I should suffer for it, even hate myself for what I did.

    That’s radically different than mourning, which is not based on moralistic judgments. Mourning is based on life-serving judgments.

    Did I meet my own needs? No. Then what need didn’t I meet?

    When we are in touch with our unmet need, we never feel shame, guilt, self-anger, or the depression that we feel when we think that what we did was wrong.

    We feel sadness, deep sadness—sometimes frustration—but never depression, guilt, anger, or shame.

    Those four feelings tell us we are making moralistic judgments at the moment we are feeling those feelings. Anger, depression, guilt, and shame are the product of the thinking that is at the base of violence on our planet.

    And I’m glad to have those feelings, because if I’m thinking in a way that I believe supports violence on our planet, I want to as quickly as possible transform that thinking.

    In our second step, then, I mourned; I didn’t apologize, I mourned.

    clearly distinguishes three components in the expression of
    appreciation:

    1. the actions that have contributed to our well-being
    2. the particular needs of ours that have been ful lled
    3. the pleasureful feelings engendered by the ful llment of those needs

    e sequence of these ingredients may vary; sometimes all three can be
    conveyed by a smile or a simple “ank you.” However, if we want to ensure
    that our appreciation has been fully received, it is valuable to develop the
    eloquence to express all three components verbally. e following dialogue
    illustrates how praise may be transformed into an appreciation that
    embraces all three components.
    Saying “thank you” in NVC: “is is what you did; this
    is what I feel; this is the need of mine that was met.

    Apology says: “I’m wrong, punish me.” save that for the bedroom fun times
    Mourning says: “I see where I stepped out of alignment. I feel the ache of that. And I want to return to connection with you, and with my own values.”

    That’s the spell.
    That’s the fucking magic.

    replaces guilt and punishment with shared human needs, center connection over shame, and acknowledges harm without groveling or self-erasure. Shifts the “I was bad” into “my actions didn’t meet my values or your needs”

  • Romance, Brought to You by Late-Stage Capitalism: Fromm, Freud, and the Marketplace

    Erich Fromm’s The Art of Loving critiques several prevailing—yet deeply flawed—conceptions of love in contemporary Western society, often presenting them in a satirical or critical light by contrasting them with the idea of genuine love.

    He argues that these modern understandings actually represent a “disintegration of love.”

    He writes:

    “No objective observer of our Western life can doubt that love is rare, and that its place is taken by a number of forms of pseudo-love, which are in reality are many forms of the disintegration of love.”

    He says we often treat love like a commodity, focusing only on two things: being loved and being lovable

    This leads men to chase success, power, and wealth, while women cultivate attractiveness. But these are STRATEGIES!!!!!! (I’m going to write about strategies one day)

    Fromm sharply points out how capitalism has influences our character:

    The owner of capital can buy labor and command it.
    The owner of labor must sell it or starve.

    He says this mindset is tied to the idea that finding love is simple—that the hard part is finding the right OBJECT
    He argues our entire culture is built on capitalism, and our idea of love follows it. We emphasize the importance of the OBJECT against the importance of the function. Our culture revolves around mutually favorable exchange.

    Happiness?
    Fromm says it lies in the thrill of looking for the best and buying all that you can afford. In dating, this translates to a neatly packaged “attractive” set of qualities sought after on the personality market. And what makes a person attractive? That depends entirely on the fashion of the time both physically and mentally.

    In the 20s, a drinking, smoking, tough, and sexy woman was attractive.
    Today? The fashion demands domestic coyness.
    At the turn of the 20th century, a man had to be aggressive and ambitious.
    Today? Social and tolerant.

    But either way, the sense of “falling in love” is just people feeling like they’ve found the best object available on the market, given the limitations of their own exchange value.

    We’re out here marketing ourselves. And the OBJECT must be desirable, socially valuable, complete with hidden assets and future potential.

    This was written in 1956. My grandmother was 4. My grandfather was 6. And yet it feels like he could have written this yesterday. We’re still following the same tired pattern of exchange that governs the commodity and labor market—and we’re still calling it love.

    Then Fromm drags another contradiction:
    The idea that love is just a spontaneous feeling or an “irresistible emotion,” especially when it’s mixed with sexual attraction. He says this mindset completely neglects the importance of WILL.

    Love, he insists, is a decision, a judgment, a promise.
    If love were only a feeling, then loving someone forever would be impossible.
    The only forever is an ACT.

    Love is an act of will. A commitment.
    And fundamentally? It does not matter to who.

    Let me bring up another contradiction that caught me:
    Fromm breaks down different kinds of love—Love of God, Mother, Father, Brother, Erotic Love.

    What stopped me in my tracks was his take on Mother Love vs Father Love:

    • Mother Love is unconditional love. Love for the helpless.
    • Father Love is earned. Conditional. Merit-based.

    He even shows this in how religious systems reflect it.
    Matriarchal religion? That’s Mother Love: all-protective, all-enveloping, unconditional. We are all equal before Mother Earth.
    Patriarchal religion? Father Love: making demands, setting rules, establishing laws.

    Then he speaks on Brotherly Love—love among equals. He writes:

    “If I love my brother, I love all my brothers; if I love my child, I love all my children; no, beyond that, I love all children.”

    Each kind of love is different, but by their very nature, they aren’t meant to be limited to one person.

    Erotic love, though? That’s the craving for complete fusion with ONE other person. It’s exclusive—not universal. Why?

    Fromm directly challenges the belief that love is just the byproduct of sexual pleasure. He says just because two people learn to sexually satisfy each other doesn’t mean they love each other. Sexual desire is often mistaken for love. People think they love someone when really, they just want other.

    But fusion isn’t just physical.
    He says love is not the result of good sex—what we’re really seeking is relief from the painful tension and anxiety of separateness.

    Without love, physical union never leads to true connection. It remains orgiastic and transitory, leaving two people “as far apart as they were before.” So we keep chasing the high with a new person. A new stranger. Over and over again. Because closeness, like novelty, fades.

    Yo!!! Like… are you feeling that in your chest too?
    I damn near cried.

    Then Fromm goes in on Freud. Freud claimed:

    “Man, having found that genital love offered him his greatest gratification, made it the central point of his life.”

    That idea was revolutionary in the 1890s—but Fromm calls it conformist. It completely misses the mystical essence of love: the root of intense union with another person—the feeling of fusion, of oneness—the “oceanic feeling.”(im definitely going to write about the oceanic feeling or the sea of orgasmic bliss)

    To Freud, love was irrational. And the thinkers of the time?
    They were busy trying to prove capitalism matched the natural state of man:

    • That we are naturally competitive, insatiable, hostile.
    • That we’re driven by limitless desire for sexual conquest.
    • And that only society prevents us from going full feral. ( and they have the nerve to call anyone savage)

    So love, hate, ambition, jealousy?
    Freud chalked them all up to variations of the sexual instinct.

    Sound familiar?
    I’ve been trying to tell y’all—you only think the way you think because you live here, and some old fuck told you to.
    This brings me back to Yurugu (which I will write about one day).

    Freud didn’t see that the key to understanding life is not the body, or hunger, or sex, or possessions—it’s the totality of human existence. That’s a very Eastern thought, one that echoes in the Tao and ATR.

    Fromm ties this all together and says:

    Our character (in capitalism) is shaped by the need to exchange, to barter, to consume.
    Everything—material and spiritual—becomes an object of exchange.

    We are automatons with personality packages who have forgotten how to love. We seek security in the herd—and in not being different: not in thought, not in feeling, not in action. Everyone tries to remain as same as possible while remaining utterly alone—racked by insecurity, anxiety, and guilt.

    Our palliatives? A strict routine of bureaucratized, mechanical work—where you remain unaware of your desires, unaware of transcendence, unaware of unity. You overcome your unconscious despair with the routine of amusement, passive consumption, and the hollow satisfaction of buying new things—then exchanging them for others. You are sedated, compliant, obedient—and you like it. Hoping for a fair bargain.

    This shows up nowhere more clearly than in marriage—a union structured like a corporate team.

    In the Victorian age and in many other cultures: love was not a spontaneous personal experience that might lead to marriage. Marriage was contracted by convention, and love was expected to follow after the paperwork was signed. This is the background of what we call marriage: a contract to exchange objects.

    The ideal partner is well-functioning employee: independent, cooperative, and tolerant, and yet ambitious, and aggressive. Intimacy is but as a refuge from unbearable loneliness. We enhance “collaboration,” by adjusting our behaviors for mutual satisfaction, pooling common interests, and teaming up against a hostile world.

    But this, Fromm argues, is pseudo-love.

    It’s the disintegration of love. True love, he says, is an art—one that requires discipline, concentration, patience, care, responsibility, respect, and knowledge.

    And it is completely incompatible with the consumerist, market-driven, alienated society we live in.

  • Another Initiation

    I’m starting another initiate’s initiation, and I’m always trying to write down what I do and say so that I can do and say it better the next time—as well as reflect on what I did and what I said to see how I’ve changed and evolved over time. Or, even better, to see what things come back around. I call this grimoire

    This has been amazing and keeps me returning to myself in my own self-reflection. in a process of continual rebirth and refine

    I’m walking this couple through selecting rope. This time I put emphasis on the actual selection of the rope as a ritual. I asked them to get honest and ask themselves:

    • What do you plan to do with this rope?
    • What intentions would you like to set with the rope?
    • What headspace would you like to go into?
    • What roles will you take?
    • What part of your will becomes suffused into this?
    • And what message would you like to send down the rope for your partner to receive?

    As I’m asking these questions, I realize—this is an initiation.

    I love magic, fantasy, and imagination, and they play such a heavy part in my craft. As I guide this process, I’m intimately aware of how important and powerful myth and mythology are. The beginning, the origin, the source—the seed or initiating principle of development—all of that holds weight. Myth is not just story; it’s a conceptual tool. It’s the foundation of a culture, a philosophical and cosmological explanation for how TF we are.

    This initiation is a template. And within it lives the pattern of the culture I’m weaving: the logic, the assumptions, the formation of values. The language we use, the symbols and icons we adopt—all of it shapes the unconscious experience where all this work is aimed at.

    From this, a ideology is born.

    What people often don’t realize is: your mythology is your ideology.

    And by ideology, I mean the presentation of culture—the lived and embodied experience. The intellectual, emotional, spiritual actions that emerge from the the preconscious structure that gives rise to conscious identity.****

    The process moves from the preconscious (mythoform) to the conscious (mythology) to the self consciousness(ideology). This isn’t hierarchical nor unidirectional
    Every culture has a direction: why we see the world the way we do.
    Every culture has momentum: why we think, and eventually act, the way we do.

    So, as I speak about this initiation, I start seeing it as a blueprint. A quiet yet powerful invocation to be present, to be intentional, to dissolve the barriers that stand between us and connection.

    What we do when we select rope… we are weaving a spell that says: “This is my heart. This is my message. This is my love and my desire. This is my declaration that I wish to become one with you.”

    That is so intimate—to move energy through you and into your partner to create something sacred !!!

    So—I love cults. And before you start—everything’s a cult. Cult culture. Cult mentality. Cult vibes. Anything can be a cult. Some say all cults are bad, others want to debate the definition. But what fascinates me isn’t the fear—it’s the possibility. I love sects. I love schools, clans, guilds. I love doctrines. The structure, the symbolism, the shared belief—it all speaks to me. There is so much power in names. Now I’m in my head thinking, This is your Choosing, in a deep mysterious voice booming from on high.

    I start walking them through color theory and number theory—talking to them about how each color corresponds with a unique frequency, specific intention, a mood, an emotional and spiritual state.

    I tell them: As you shop, enter this quest with companionship, union, synchronicity, harmony, union and synergy. Let this knowledge be your guide.

    Sometimes I really wonder why people listen to me. I can hear myself too and I sound insane—like, batshit insane. But is it insane if it works anyway?

    So I send them on this quest—to align, invoke, and amplify the energy they wish to take on this journey.

    Like, you see what I’m saying…

    White – Purity, power, new beginnings, healing, peace, and enhanced psychic abilities. Amplifies other colors.
    Black – Energetic protection, release, and clearing of negativity. Misunderstood, but deeply potent.
    Blue – Peace, tranquility, spiritual openness, loyalty, and protection.
    Brown – Grounding, mental connection, household harmony, and stability.
    Silver – Balancing and neutralizing chaotic forces. Harmonizes subtle energies.
    Green – Prosperity, abundance, healing, success, and growth. Heals envy and scarcity mindsets.
    Orange – Vitality, motivation, drive, and clarity of purpose.
    Pink – Heart-centered love, emotional vulnerability, compassion, and nurture.
    Purple – Deep wisdom, spiritual insight, independence, and intuition.
    Red – Passion, fertility, strength, boldness, raw life force.
    Yellow – Joy, charisma, confidence, attraction, and energetic action.

    I tell them to communicate—honestly, transparently. You are not a passenger. Your power is in the choosing. seize your power—this is your first test!!! dun dun dun

    Okay, I’m really having fun—but I think it’s so important to have fun. So much of what I offer is fun. It’s healing, it’s erotic, it’s sensual. I see having fun as a shortcut to presence. being present

    Now I’m back in my imagination. I see this scene playing out again—but you must take yarn, and spin it, and dye it, and dry it, and… each step, your layering, building intention and purpose like the longest mindfuck ever. By the time the rope touches you, you are so deeply aligned with your purpose and intention, the rope feels like an extension of your will.

    I built this. I made this. I crafted this. I chose this. I poured myself into this

    Okay, back from la-la land again.

    I tell them to choose 5 hanks, 30ft long. I tell them this is their first tying session. Rope happens before fiber touches skin.

    I had them choose cotton rope. I know many will probably disagree with me, but I think rope should be a progression. You start at copper and work your way to diamond. In my personal case—hemp!!

    But I think the order of progression should be something like:
    cotton → MFP → nylon (also other synthetics) → natural fiber (jute or HEMP!!!)

    Anyway, I’m biased. Because there is a lot that goes unsaid with owning rope:

    • care, maintenance, cleaning, training, conditioning
    • when to retire rope
    • how to re-twist, re-braid, whip it
    • how to inspect rope
    • what characteristics different materials hold
    • what benefits and detriments those materials bring

    And we’re only talking about the physical here.

    When we bring this to a another level, you get into how the rope smells, what oils/minerals/herbs to use, what do those do, how to cleanse, how to ground. And the list goes on and on.

    These are things I talk about—and I think they’re important. I try to only teach others who also find them also important. When someone’s just looking for technique or a basic rope class, I point them toward skilled instructors, structured courses, spaces dedicated to technical craft. Those places teach the mechanics far better than I can. My work is something else.

    That is the foundation of everything I teach.

    Yeah, it’s a rope class—but it’s a rope class like Hogwarts is a wand class. If that makes sense. (It does to me.)

    I teach more than rope. I teach the art of deep intentional connection. I teach alignment. I teach presence. I teach intimacy—and not the silly kind of intimacy grounded in sex.

    We once knew how to speak heart to heart, soul to sou. It was instinct. But, we’ve lost it. We’ve traded it for convenience, control, and the illusion of safety.
    Now, we chase intimacy without risk. We crave pleasure without investment. We want closeness without vulnerability. We fear the possibility of disappointment. Yet yearn for belonging.

    What I offer isn’t just rope. It’s a to return to self, a return to breath, a return to stillness, and a way out for that thing clawing at your chest that keeps pulling you back here.

    I’m building and teaching a philosophy that helps people tap into that.

    This is so much more than rope.

    Which brings me to the next aspect of what I’ve learned, and what I’ve seen—and what I now warn people against as an interruption to this process:

    Be patient.

    Be patient toward yourself. Be patient with your progress. Be patient with each other. And, Love every step of the way.

    When I say love, I mean get off. NUT. Orgasm. Make it as sexually, mentally, and spiritually satisfying. Every. Single. Time. Every. Single. Step. Truly edge yourself to your own becoming. Have you ever heard of orgasmic meditation essentially the idea is to gradually increase the size and place of pleasure zone in and around body and adopt new pleasurable sensations using the malleablity of your nervous system. With conscience expansion its possible to take this one step further into shapeshifting your emotions your experiences, and your perspective.

    I write all the time about uncovering my own conditioning around sex, roles, goals, purpose, drive, mission, stance, values, self, love, and power.

    We perpetuate a lot of bullshit that doesn’t serve you. Not only does it not serve you, it doesn’t serve anyone you wish to .

    You are meant to have agency.
    You are meant to have choice.
    You are meant to live as one with each other—and with your environment.
    Not in a fucking box. unconnected consciousness isolated time place and circumstance an abstraction for intellectual investigation
    alienate, locked into lower order spatial temporal dimensions. That crazy.

    You are meant to have friends, neighbors, parents, lovers, tribe, village, community.
    Not this fucking scam.

    You are meant to be here with us—in the cult. You are meant to derive your own conclusions, to merge your consciousness into a great collective and wash away the filth.

    You should be taking time to have rituals and ceremonies and spectacle and epiphanies and orgasms, again and again.

    You are meant to notice the contradictions in this all.

  • Romance, Brought to You by Late-Stage Capitalism: Fromm, Freud, and the Marketplace

    Erich Fromm’s The Art of Loving critiques several prevailing—yet deeply flawed—conceptions of love in contemporary Western society, often presenting them in a satirical or critical light by contrasting them with the idea of genuine love.

    He argues that these modern understandings actually represent a “disintegration of love.”

    He writes:

    “No objective observer of our Western life can doubt that love is rare, and that its place is taken by a number of forms of pseudo-love, which are in reality are many forms of the disintegration of love.”

    He says we often treat love like a commodity, focusing only on two things: being loved and being lovable

    This leads men to chase success, power, and wealth, while women cultivate attractiveness. But these are STRATEGIES!!!!!! (I’m going to write about strategies one day)

    Fromm sharply points out how capitalism has influences our character:

    The owner of capital can buy labor and command it.
    The owner of labor must sell it or starve.

    He says this mindset is tied to the idea that finding love is simple—that the hard part is finding the right OBJECT
    He argues our entire culture is built on capitalism, and our idea of love follows it. We emphasize the importance of the OBJECT against the importance of the function. Our culture revolves around mutually favorable exchange.

    Happiness?
    Fromm says it lies in the thrill of looking for the best and buying all that you can afford. In dating, this translates to a neatly packaged “attractive” set of qualities sought after on the personality market. And what makes a person attractive? That depends entirely on the fashion of the time both physically and mentally.

    In the 20s, a drinking, smoking, tough, and sexy woman was attractive.
    Today? The fashion demands domestic coyness.
    At the turn of the 20th century, a man had to be aggressive and ambitious.
    Today? Social and tolerant.

    But either way, the sense of “falling in love” is just people feeling like they’ve found the best object available on the market, given the limitations of their own exchange value.

    We’re out here marketing ourselves. And the OBJECT must be desirable, socially valuable, complete with hidden assets and future potential.

    This was written in 1956. My grandmother was 4. My grandfather was 6. And yet it feels like he could have written this yesterday. We’re still following the same tired pattern of exchange that governs the commodity and labor market—and we’re still calling it love.

    Then Fromm drags another contradiction:
    The idea that love is just a spontaneous feeling or an “irresistible emotion,” especially when it’s mixed with sexual attraction. He says this mindset completely neglects the importance of WILL.

    Love, he insists, is a decision, a judgment, a promise.
    If love were only a feeling, then loving someone forever would be impossible.
    The only forever is an ACT.

    Love is an act of will. A commitment.
    And fundamentally? It does not matter to who.

    Let me bring up another contradiction that caught me:
    Fromm breaks down different kinds of love—Love of God, Mother, Father, Brother, Erotic Love.

    What stopped me in my tracks was his take on Mother Love vs Father Love:

    • Mother Love is unconditional love. Love for the helpless.
    • Father Love is earned. Conditional. Merit-based.

    He even shows this in how religious systems reflect it.
    Matriarchal religion? That’s Mother Love: all-protective, all-enveloping, unconditional. We are all equal before Mother Earth.
    Patriarchal religion? Father Love: making demands, setting rules, establishing laws.

    Then he speaks on Brotherly Love—love among equals. He writes:

    “If I love my brother, I love all my brothers; if I love my child, I love all my children; no, beyond that, I love all children.”

    Each kind of love is different, but by their very nature, they aren’t meant to be limited to one person.

    Erotic love, though? That’s the craving for complete fusion with ONE other person. It’s exclusive—not universal. Why?

    Fromm directly challenges the belief that love is just the byproduct of sexual pleasure. He says just because two people learn to sexually satisfy each other doesn’t mean they love each other. Sexual desire is often mistaken for love. People think they love someone when really, they just want other.

    But fusion isn’t just physical.
    He says love is not the result of good sex—what we’re really seeking is relief from the painful tension and anxiety of separateness.

    Without love, physical union never leads to true connection. It remains orgiastic and transitory, leaving two people “as far apart as they were before.” So we keep chasing the high with a new person. A new stranger. Over and over again. Because closeness, like novelty, fades.

    Yo!!! Like… are you feeling that in your chest too?
    I damn near cried.

    Then Fromm goes in on Freud. Freud claimed:

    “Man, having found that genital love offered him his greatest gratification, made it the central point of his life.”

    That idea was revolutionary in the 1890s—but Fromm calls it conformist. It completely misses the mystical essence of love: the root of intense union with another person—the feeling of fusion, of oneness—the “oceanic feeling.”(im definitely going to write about the oceanic feeling or the sea of orgasmic bliss)

    To Freud, love was irrational. And the thinkers of the time?
    They were busy trying to prove capitalism matched the natural state of man:

    • That we are naturally competitive, insatiable, hostile.
    • That we’re driven by limitless desire for sexual conquest.
    • And that only society prevents us from going full feral. ( and they have the nerve to call anyone savage)

    So love, hate, ambition, jealousy?
    Freud chalked them all up to variations of the sexual instinct.

    Sound familiar?
    I’ve been trying to tell y’all—you only think the way you think because you live here, and some old fuck told you to.
    This brings me back to Yurugu (which I will write about one day).

    Freud didn’t see that the key to understanding life is not the body, or hunger, or sex, or possessions—it’s the totality of human existence. That’s a very Eastern thought, one that echoes in the Tao and ATR.

    Fromm ties this all together and says:

    Our character (in capitalism) is shaped by the need to exchange, to barter, to consume.
    Everything—material and spiritual—becomes an object of exchange.

    We are automatons with personality packages who have forgotten how to love. We seek security in the herd—and in not being different: not in thought, not in feeling, not in action. Everyone tries to remain as same as possible while remaining utterly alone—racked by insecurity, anxiety, and guilt.

    Our palliatives? A strict routine of bureaucratized, mechanical work—where you remain unaware of your desires, unaware of transcendence, unaware of unity. You overcome your unconscious despair with the routine of amusement, passive consumption, and the hollow satisfaction of buying new things—then exchanging them for others. You are sedated, compliant, obedient—and you like it. Hoping for a fair bargain.

    This shows up nowhere more clearly than in marriage—a union structured like a corporate team.

    In the Victorian age and in many other cultures: love was not a spontaneous personal experience that might lead to marriage. Marriage was contracted by convention, and love was expected to follow after the paperwork was signed. This is the background of what we call marriage: a contract to exchange objects.

    The ideal partner is well-functioning employee: independent, cooperative, and tolerant, and yet ambitious, and aggressive. Intimacy is but as a refuge from unbearable loneliness. We enhance “collaboration,” by adjusting our behaviors for mutual satisfaction, pooling common interests, and teaming up against a hostile world.

    But this, Fromm argues, is pseudo-love.

    It’s the disintegration of love. True love, he says, is an art—one that requires discipline, concentration, patience, care, responsibility, respect, and knowledge.

    And it is completely incompatible with the consumerist, market-driven, alienated society we live in.