I was infused with the attitude of a contrarian in my genetic makeup. I have always existed at odds with the collective. Many in society would consider the trait to be a dross gift, the dregs of Santa's bag, worse even than lumps of coal in the stocking earmarked for the naughty list. However, despite the associated challenges with going against the societal grain, I consider my propensity to embrace the adversarial in the face of lemmings a great gift, bestowed by a universe in desperate need of individuals comfortable with embracing their individuality. Those of us who don't go along to get along tend to be at the forefront of change, of eschewing the status quo to instead seek transformation, to innovate away from the routine, for the obliteration of the mundane plaguing society with mindless conformity.

am reading a book that nauseates me, similar to the disgust I experienced when reading Nabokov's book, Lolita, which immerses in the mind of a pedophile in the process of seducing his preteen step-daughter. The book that has my attention now is set in the 1600s, in what the colonizers renamed from Wendake, 'The Island' in the Huron language, to Ontario, Canada. The book, Orenda, centers on Bird, a Huron elder, Snowfalls, an Iroquoian child, and Christophe, a French Jesuit priest set on stealing their souls for Christianity. The book is rife with violence. Physical violence in the clash between the warring Huron and Iriquois is described in graphic detail. And the spiritual violence inflicted by the priest upon the people, a priest obsessed with converting the people to a view of life arising from a Stone Age tribe dwelling in the Middle East on stolen lands. It is this soul violence that makes me want to retch.

Since my early youth, I have been enamored with words. My earliest word recollection is their arrangement into the Hardy Boys Mysteries, which I would devour whenever I could convince my mother I was in desperate need of yet another book in the series. I vividly recall the time I was reading in my bed on a summer's day when she forced me to go outside to play on "such a nice day." I obeyed, reluctantly, remembering some fifty years later, and am still a bit irritated at the overriding of my personal autonomy. As I recall, my malicious compliance was to sit on the back porch and sulk. Unfortunately...

have long believed the sign of a quality mind is the ability to change even the most strongly held beliefs when contrary evidence is presented. To do otherwise exposes a dearth of intelligence, a condition detrimental not only to the individual but also to society. Imagine a society that operates on dogma at the expense of data. What a flippin' mess that would be. Correction. A reliance on dogmatic proclamations has helped send the US into a state of chaos not seen since 1941, with the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor. The current tumult has made the US a global pariah, not that we were loved anyway. Grudgingly respected only by nations willing to accept our dogmas because they, too, exist in a knowledge vacuum, making them prone to believing the irrational.

It seems to me all, but the ardent sociopaths or psychopaths are acutely aware they have a darkness dwelling within. The same applies to our bright side, which is also inaccessible to those suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorders (APD). On the whole, humans are a balance between dark and light, evil and good. A dualistic nature possessing innate capacity for both profound compassion, empathy, and altruism, dancing alongside selfish and destructive tendencies. We are inherently complex. If dark is evil and light is good, humans exist in shades of grey, strains of muted...

recently experienced what I can only account for as a eureka moment. A pure flash of clarity emerging from the business end of an incense stick, releasing a heady scent of sage mixed with sweetgrass, two sacred plants. When I inhaled deeply while purifying my energy, the prayer smoke took not only my utterances but also my vision to elevated heights. I floated out of myself on the wings of the smoke and was left floating above. From the elevated position, I watch my seated self in front of my personal altar. I was wearing a serape hoodie. The color pattern is predominantly orange, interwoven with thick black and white threads in a pleasing pattern born of reason. As is my norm, I was meditating by putting dark blue ink onto thick, off-white paper. My body is luminous

he American mythos is embodied in the mythical Marlboro Man, ruggedness and independence, extolling the virtue of individualism, a right enshrined in our foundational documents, guaranteeing the right to pursue our own happiness. So important is the idea to our collective legend that children across the country are indoctrinated into society's collective hallucination with a daily school recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance. It wasn't until 1943 that students earned the individual right to exercise their choice not to salute the flag, stand during the pledge, or even recite the jingoistic pledge.

Possibly, the saddest twist of human existence is the failure of most individuals to recognize their inherent divine nature. Followed closely by the heartbreak of people glomming onto external concepts of the divine instead of dwelling within their personal divinity. In the West, where I am a dwelling deity, it is ingrained culturally that we are born unworthy because we are saddled with a sin nature. A curse passed from generation to generation to generation, originating when the first humans were unjustly punished for committing an act they could not possibly know was wrong to do. It is a form of mental prison that kills logical, rational thought. As is apropos, coming from an evil god concept that would punish others for the imaginary breaches of arbitrary rules and regulations.

Religion threatens us with the mythical gates to hell for all eternity unless we diligently adhere to the oft-conflicting commands espoused in self-proclaimed holy tomes, despite being littered with errors. Not being a theist of their ilk, I understand the threshold they fear is actually the doors of perception, exposing truths the sacred books prefer to keep hidden behind closed doors, for fear others may pass through the veiled portals of the divine and finally understand we are all gods. Had they opted to skip around the thresholds of their dreams and trudge through the aperture of awareness, then stand in the midst of the arbor of atonement, they would have become acutely aware that their gates of heaven are nothing more than an egress to anguish and save themselves from an eternity in the bunker of bitterness.

Powaqa invades my dreams...conclusion