Weird Things... and The Society

I had the weirdest sensation yesterday. Weird. Unique. But lately not unusual. Let me explain.

I've been baristaing near my place. With tips it's just enough to get by so it keeps me smiling even if it's fake (not always). By the end of my shift I can't stand the smell of coffee so I treat myself with a boba nearby. I was sitting, and someone touched me. She just wanted me to move my chair, but it affected me so much I literally just stood and ran away. 

I am a weirdo.

What was it?! As her hand lifted to  reaching for the middle of my back her pinky grazed against my spine. Immediately I froze. My pinky on my right hand started to twitch.

Then her hand lowered onto my spine. First her thumb... I clutched my boba and gasped... then her index finger... and like that some invisible tumbler in me clicked. 

And I ran. 

Pinky. Thumb and Index.

Like some song I know by heart, my hand starts doing it on my wrist as I hug it close to myself. Pinky. Thumb and Index. Thumb and Pinky.

Pinky. Thumb and Index. Thumb and Pinky.

Pinky. Thumb and Index. Thumb and Pinky.

What is wrong with me?

Weird right? But not unusual. These things have been happening to me all the time. 

I told you yesterday that I can't seem to remember anything prior to three years ago? Well I think my parents are to blame. I think they either have damaged my memory or there's something so damaging that I'm blocking it out. Either way, wouldn't you agree that a child should know these things? A child should not just be allowed to forget their trauma. Because now I am having to figure it out alone with no clues to guide me except the confusing images that surround me. Memories I know I haven't lived. Memories of my loved ones, my parents, Beverly, as children. Memories of that act like some time machine into my curiosity and feeds me with moments my heart seems to manufacture.  

The new footage of my dad that Eubanks has found ALSO very upsetting. Was never told he was in The Society. I couldn't even mention them growing up, but no of course not, they never had anything to do with it. Quiet Troy and Amy of Montauk never let on. Might have been good to know. 

It's no wonder I have a hard time telling fact from fiction. 

Anyway, speaking of 

The Society

Some of you are intimately aware of what The Society is... on the surface. Hell, some of you are low level members. 

And others of you have been assiduous researchers and journalists, interviewing subjects and going on missions up into The Mountain for The Bobo. 

But sometimes it's helpful to remember what's important. 

(For those looking for a primer, I think Chris Wollman's long form piece in Haunting does a better job than I ever could. Not all his findings match my own, but I'm no arbiter of The Truth.)

So when it comes to The Society, what are...

THE IMPORTANT THINGS:

1) They want a moonchild.

The Society believe that a certain combo of magical elements can create a godlike human capable of great destruction or great healing depending on the circumstances of their birth.

2) It matters how and where a moonchild is born.

A moonchild that is born in pain, born in confinement, is gonna fuck shit up. 

3) Mary is being held against her will and is due any day now. 

I'm Back, I'm Not Sorry, and I'm Defining Boanthropy

Well, first of all I want to apologize.

I want to apologize but I won't.

I want to apologize if you read those first few posts and expected me to say more right away. I want to apologize if you met me at the Harvest Moon and wanted to know I was okay. I want to apologize for giving you the impression that you had access to me, to my thoughts, to my daily life, because I had opened a Facebook account and told you some of my story. 

I want to apologize.

But I won't. 

Instead I want to start with gratitude. 

None of you have asked me to apologize. That urge for forgiveness I feel, the voice that tells me that I am failing you and failing the Resistance, the voice that insistently shames me for turning away from my purpose and shutting my eyes to the truth: that voice is mine alone.

If you are still following, I am grateful.

In that spirit, let me forget myself for a moment and get you up to speed not just on me and my own little LA life and how are things with Beverly blah blah blah, but let's see where we are.

Let's begin with TheBoanthropic.

Since the dawn of time there have always been gurus. Teachers who calls upon followers to enter into a greater understanding, to expand horizons, and nourish and enliven the spirit. 

But there have also been the flip side. Anti-gurus -- let's call them "urugs." These urugs may look and sound the same, but ultimately their goal with their followers is to to separate them from the world and limit their understanding. They bind the soul and starve the spirit. Under the most skilled urug, the follower will be subject to such total negation and abuse that they will undergo a kind of soul death. She will become boanthropized. She will become like cattle, a piece of meat and a tool for the master. 

But...

The soul can never die. Or so the story goes.

When someone is boanthropized, their soul is in accessible. Everything about that person that a loved one might recognize has faded and is unreachable. Memories, familial ties, even the recognition of common sounds, smells or symbols are sometimes lost. We don't know as much as we should. Scientists have carefully avoided any rigorous studies, though cultures around the world have names and stories of the phenomenon. In the 20th century we thought of it as being "brainwashed" or "programmed." But these lacked the fundamental other half of the equation. If the spirit is dead but the spirit cannot be killed, where does the spirit of the soul dead go?

It escapes into TheBoanthropic. 

It is TheBoanthropic.

Many metaphors have been used to describe TheBoanthropic, but what works best for me is a cloud. A cloud is made up of a gajillion water particles, but we don't think of it as a collection. It is one thing. It moves and breaks apart, it gathers and holds energy, and it strikes with a collective force on particular spots when the conditions are chaotic enough. 

We are living in the age of the lightning bolt. The static memory created by The Society's abuse has reached a tipping point. The souls of those taken too soon will no longer be silent.

Next, The Society.