8. Appropriate Eccentric Action Pt. 1
And the Opportunity, and Perplexity of Missing the Mark
Continued from:
From the beginning:
The ‘Problem’ is Choice Being Opportunity
Since I have chosen — and the ‘problem’ is choice as Neo said — to be not a number, then what was I to choose to do to engage in life and somehow ‘fix’ it in some way, or perhaps, simply make it less worse by reducing the assignment of numbers to the game? The Universe is vast beyond numbers, the threatening darkness a monstrous database, and my presence of mind and body finite.
Writing these essays has helped me more clearly see the truths of my heart. The explorations have expanded my courage to be compassionate with myself and others. This has greatly improved my life. If these essays have given you some of these benefits, I would be honoured if you would support my work by becoming a paid subscriber. Thank you. 🙏
As I thought about that question I became aware that it becomes less and less, and perhaps even totally, irrelevant because I had already put the horse behind the cart as soon as I had made the choice to defy social tyranny. I realise, now, that what I was actually faced with was not really what to do next: the challenge was to be fully with wtf was happening and from that interdependent connection discover anew how well I respond with appropriate eccentric action in that moment. With that, the problem of choice has been removed! Is removed! Without being conscious of it at the time, I had moved myself from planning to being. The choice I had made (with the guidance of the irrational Psyche-Somatic Resonance Awareness Process P-SRAP™) created for me an unknown path, in effect the uncharted journey of the dummling hero of myth and fairytale, who doesn’t know how or where his/her journey is going.
Or, as is well described in ‘The Matrix’ movie, I had entered the ‘systemic anomaly’ demanded by the human requirement for choice and with it [the beauty of] imperfection.
In every endeavour, [strive] for perfection like the full moon, but realise that for a mortal being, magical imperfection is more meaningful, more human, more beautiful. —Raymond Moriyama's grandfather, cited in "Devoted to Driving a 'Nail of Gold.'" The Globe and Mail, April 17, 2010, R7.
And What is ‘Appropriate Eccentric Action’? Karma? Really?
The obvious response to ‘What is appropriate eccentric action?’ depends, of course, on the circumstances! Depends on what? Circumstances, that can include state of mind, state of body, state of the cultural and social environment. And those states in turn are dependent on the moment as it is. And my experience of that moment is dependent on the choices I have made in the past, and the choices I make now. And that is karma. So, I was unconsciously alive in my karma.
Wow! This karma is so much more alive and powerful than the ‘New Age’ disempowering version that had been pushed into me as a child. That parental form of karma was Judaeo-Christian retribution and threats on steroids for ‘bad’ thinking and doing, maybe from the past, or a past life or the last thousand lives! Included in the mix was that favourite and the really nasty ‘instant karma’ thing that plucked out your eye no sooner than you had finished the plucking out of another’s. No wonder I spent much of my young life in fear of being alive: not only did my thinking have the power to damn me, compounded by the belief that I have no power over my thinking, my unknowable past lives’ were there to jump me with their karmic effects too.
Now I understand that karma is the fruit and expiation of this choice now. And with that, it would seem that appropriate eccentric action is nothing more than embracing the power that choice is karma. And, specifically, this karma-choice is the expression of what is happening in this moment as the singular expression of the interdependence of all that is and has been. It is now.
And with that I now go out of the now to look at what was happening post-choice back then in a way I was totally blind to at the time. At the time, I was busy doing research to the best of my ability, working, eating and doing yogic sadhana in a way that was appropriate for my mind-body. And that these activities were my appropriate eccentric action.
With Great Purpose: Ready, Aim, Release
As I mentioned in the last post, my research was compelling me to warn the world, perhaps Chicken Little like, beginning with my immediate communities at work and with friends and family. And the bigger world too. That feeling of needing to help save the world quickly supplanted my initial aim, which was to get an exemption from injection so I could continue with my life as if it was safe, secure and uninjected.
Really, Guy? Were you that naïve? Safe and secure with the government agencies and the news media relentlessly propagating virus-fear-porn to create public support of a sneaky hidden risk of injury and death by injection protocol? Yes, I was still in blinders from the previous few years of yoga bliss. Delusion knows no bounds, and is always the other person’s problem.
And, even more troubling, was that I wanted to be a hero. That purpose is neither a healthy nor productive state to be in.
It turns out that this was a real-life version of one of the most challenging lessons I had read many many times over the years from Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigal on the spiritual importance of hitting the target without that being the purpose of picking up the bow and arrow in the first place. Huh?
‘You have described only too well’, replied the Master, ‘where the difficulty lies. Do you know why you cannot wait for the shot and why you get out of breath before it has come? The right shot at the right moment does not come because you do not let go of yourself. You do not wait for fulfilment, but brace yourself for failure. So long as that is so, you have no choice but to call forth something yourself that ought to happen independently of you. And so long as you call it forth your hand will not open in the right way—like the hand of a child: it does not burst open like the skin of a ripe fruit.’
I had to admit to the Master that this interpretation made me more confused than ever. ‘For ultimately’, I said, ‘I draw the bow and loose the shot in order to hit the target. The drawing is thus a means to an end, and I cannot lose sight of this connection. The child knows nothing of this, but for me the two things cannot be disconnected.’
‘The right art’, cried the Master, ‘is purposeless, aimless! The more obstinately you try to learn how to shoot the arrow for the sake of hitting the goal, the less you will succeed in the one and the further the other will recede. What stands in your way is that you have a much too wilful will. You think that what you do not do yourself does not happen.’
‘But you yourself have told me often enough that archery is not a pastime, not a purposeless game, but a matter of life and death!’
‘I stand by that. We master archers say: one shot, one life! What this means, you cannot yet understand. But perhaps another image will help you, which expresses the same experience. We master archers say: with the upper end of the bow the archer pierces the sky. On the lower end, as though attached by a thread, hangs the earth. If the shot is loosed with a jerk there is a danger of the thread snapping. For purposeful and violent people the rift becomes final, and they are left in the awful centre between heaven and earth.’
‘What must I do, then?’ I asked thoughtfully.
‘You must learn to wait properly.’
‘And how does one learn that?’
‘By letting go of yourself, leaving yourself and everything yours behind you so decisively that nothing more is left of you but a purposeless tension.’
‘So I must become purposeless—on purpose?’ I heard myself say.
‘No pupil has ever asked me that, so I don’t know the right answer’ (p58-61).As I was writing this I stumbled into a great synchronicity. I had by random selection been listening to ‘Anabasis’ which introduced me to the very old group I’d never heard of before, Dead Can Dance. I wanted to hear more by them and by ‘chance’ picked from the YouTube search list a piece of music called ‘Mushin’. It is about a Zen archer defeating mara with a well loosed arrow.
Bushido Busted: Missing the Marks
The request for exemption appeal, after my initial religious exemption request had been denied, is a relatively gentle introduction to the ‘science’ of the mRNA technology and a simple risk-benefits analysis of the health benefits of the injection versus the adverse events. It is actually a somewhat safe argument for people unsure about taking the experimental injection or not. (You can read “Request For Exemption Appeal” in Google Docs if you are curious.)
It missed the mark, and was ‘stamped’ rejected. My argument was so sound, imo, that even though rejection wasn’t a surprise I asked for a face-to-face meeting with the CEO and other executives of my employer. I felt that if I could actually talk to someone about the potential for human disaster and the liability risk the executives faced in possible future law suits I would get them to understand, to see the human destruction they were participating in.
In order to get to see them there is the corporate (quasi-military) chain of command structure to get through. I began the process with seeing my two immediate levels of management. They didn’t specifically stop me from proceeding to the executive. I did stop, though, because of the ‘nice and reasonable’ way the 2nd level manager was completely oblivious to my argument and dismissed it as an ill-informed and useless opinion. ‘Did you read it?!’ I wanted to yell at him. ‘It isn’t an opinion!’ I remained mute with my anger and disappointment.
His perception was my next level of waking up. My world of reasonable people had been replaced by zombies looking to hurt and kill themselves and others. My appeal to reason had missed the mark. Without the arrow of reason, what else was there for me to use in order to create understanding?
In the meantime, I had compiled the complete list of MLAs and MPs in Canada and emailed them a copy of my research and a strongly worded caution about what they were going to be liable for if the injection was found to be as injurious and deadly as my research said it was. Subject line was: Science Data Shows that the Experimental Gene Therapy mRNA Injection, aka 'Vaccine', is Dangerous. (Click on the link to read the letter in Google Docs.)
Now came the next level of waking up: it was the sound of absolute total dead silence.
I had loosed the arrow of science and reason, and it dissolved into a void as if it didn’t exist. From the 400 plus recipients of my email I got 3 or 4 automatic form acknowledgments of receipt. That’s it. And nothing from anyone in the subsequent days, weeks and months.
Signs of Tyranny
The lack of any response from ‘my’ representative actually scared me and my partner. I felt tangible fear in my stomach with the awareness that I was now in tyranny and that my public questioning of the policies of the government had marked me as a danger to their plans and actions. Yoshiko scolded me for not consulting a lawyer before sending it, and I conceded that her fear was justified.
Before my awakening Yoshiko and I had come to know a lovely tiny Japanese woman who had recently come to Yukon from Belgium with her husband and two young children. Shortly after my awakening I saw her masked in the Starbucks where she worked. I asked her if she knew about the injection. Her eyes popped open wide and fearful. She put the customer tracking clipboard up to cover her mouth, looked around herself carefully, then stage-whispered to me ‘We can’t talk about that!’ ‘Yes, we can,’ I said. ‘It is dangerous, please don’t take it.’ She looked at me and began to cry with fear. ‘I know,’ she said. Later, when Yoshiko and I joined the weekly downtown injection mandate protests in the cold Yukon winter, we learned that she and her Belgium husband had left the covid tyranny of Belgium and that he had lost his Yukon teaching job because he refused to be injected in Canada.
Another great sign of the effectiveness of the fear-induced tyranny came from the most reasonable and stable-minded people. Or, I would have thought they were of that ilk pre-covid. By this time I was awake enough to recognise that we had societally entered the same paradigm as Germany in the 1930s and that some kind of nicely named quarantine camp was likely to be built for the undeserving unvaccinated. When I described that to some of the possibly more awake people in the office I was told ‘Oh, I don’t see that happening!’ And I would reply ‘And you saw me losing my job, did you?’ ‘No,’ they conceded. A few months later I learned that ‘safe houses’ in fact had been planned and that something like hostels had been contracted for ‘safe’ housing in Canada and that camps had actually been built and forcibly occupied in Australia.
And when I had the opportunity to warn my social media friends, or ask them to sign petitions to allow safe treatment, there was again, a wall of silence. Between Yoshiko and myself we likely sent close to 100 messages. I received one angry reply and that’s it. Yoshiko had a similar experience.
And with that I had the deep realisation that there was nothing here for the hero except vilification and social death. And possible internment.
I had the clearest image of Shaolin Monk Kwai Chang Caine in the TV series ‘Kung Fu’ stepping away from fighting the brutal mine guards when the miners began a revolt. When angrily asked by the other prisoners why he had stepped down – they had seen him fight earlier – he replied, paraphrased ‘Because they would have killed us then and there, and what value is that?’ (I think that this was in the episode ‘Superstition’ S1E12.)
And if being a Canadian hero was to be a form of disengaged inappropriate action, what would be a ‘heroic’ appropriate eccentric action? Was it sending emails to politicians, talking vaccine trash to my co-workers or standing amidst snow and ice waiving placards at people in warm cars shaking their fists and blaring the horns angrily at us? I have no idea!
Writing these essays has helped me more clearly see the truths of my heart. The explorations have expanded my courage to be compassionate with myself and others. This has greatly improved my life. If these essays have given you some of these benefits, I would be honoured if you would support my work by becoming a paid subscriber. Thank you. 🙏
Thank you for reading.
Continued at
From the beginning:
Song of the Epistle: Laurie Anderson - O Superman (For Massenet)
Lyrics
[Intro] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha… [Verse] O Superman O Judge O Mom and Dad Mom and Dad Ah, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha O Superman O Judge O Mom and Dad Mom and Dad Ah, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Hi, I'm not home right now But if you want to leave a message Just start talking at the sound of the tone Ah, ah Ah, ah, ah, ah Hello? This is your mother, are you there? Are you coming home? Ah, ah, ah Hello? Is anybody home? Well, you don't know me, but I know you And I've got a message to give to you Here come the planes So you better get ready, ready to go You can come as you are, but pay as you go, pay as you go Ah, ah ah ah ah And I said: okay, who is this really? And the voice said: This is the hand, the hand that takes This is the hand, the hand that takes This is the hand, the hand that takes Here come the planes They're American planes, made in America Smoking or non-smoking? Ah, ah Ah, ah ah ah And the voice said: Neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night Shall stay these couriers from the swift completion Of their appointed rounds [Bridge] 'Cause when love is gone, there's always justice And when justice is gone, there's always force And when force is gone, there's always Mom. Hi Mom! Ah, ah Ah, ah ah ah So hold me, Mom, in your long arms So hold me, Mom, in your long arms In your automatic arms, your electronic arms In your arms So hold me, Mom, in your long arms Your petrochemical arms, your military arms In your electronic arms