The Inner Sanctums

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I became aware of the abstract concept of projection several years before I got involved in learning esoteric systems. The systems I'm referencing are the oldest systems for thinking about things that can be re-membered (populated). Astrology IS Sophia. Some think she's been surpassed by other, more modern systems for thinking about things. That's why they're called esoteric systems. Sophia be-co-me-s practically invisible to most who like to think the jig is up. Nothing could be further from real-time.

Astrology is not so hot to use as a lingo. Many people's reaction to hearing all those strange words is sorta of like the reaction some of the wisdom books like the King James Version of the Bible does when used in a passing conversation. Using either of those lingoes to express your own thoughts is a dead give away that you're probably operating a secret agenda. Just start talking science around people who haven't offended themselves by gaining some snooty exclusivity with those academic systems, and as sooner than later, you gone be dead meat to them. Road kill. Curiosity kills the cat. Life on the streets, and even within the inner sanctums, is a lot about lingoes, and the more the merrier.

Words matter to people. Most people don't want you fucking with them by using strange words to get the upper hand. You start using words, terms, and expressions other people don't recognize, they liable to think you may be plotting their death in unknown tongues. That's why travel broadens. If and when you make the Return. If not, then living as a stranger in a strange land buries you. Lions stalk the streets looking for weakness.

86 Jesus said, "[Foxes have] their dens and birds have their nests, but human beings have no place to lay down and rest."

http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm

I got into the occult "sciences" out on the road one day. I've described many times how playing catch-as-catch-can will leave a po' boy mighty hongry sometimes. I run into this fellow who had a blanket spread out on the sidewalk, I think it was in Boulder, and he had his paraphernalia laid out on that blanket, and he was reading Tarot cards for the passerbys for donations.

I squatted down to watch how he did it without getting in his way. People won't getting in line to have their cards read, but he had a steady business. After a while he recognized me watching him, and he waved me over. When I approached, he looked out from under his bushy eyebrows and he asked me, "Whatta ya want, Bud?"

I tried to soft pedal my interest by explaining that I was merely curious to see how he did what he did. I told him how haphazard my way was for getting something to eat without stealing or robbing people. He immediately empathized with my plight. He quietly explained how he had worked a similar mojo before he got the card thing going.

I asked him how he learned to read cards. He replied that nobody taught him how to read cards, they taught him how to do the layouts. The reading part just came naturally. Generally speaking, he said, if a person sorta figures they can do it, then they probably can. He asked me how much I knew about astrology. I replied honestly that I didn't know much. He told me if I wanted to do readings I might ought learn at least a little bit. Then, he suggested I sit on a spot to his left, just behind him, and watch him do what he did close-up for a while. I did that.

After a couple of hours he asked me if I was hungry. I was always hungry. It seemed to come with the territory. I nodded, and he started gathering up his stuff into a neat package that was easy to carry, and used his head to indicate to me that I should follow him.

He went to a cafe and we went inside and sat down. A pretty young waitress smiled when she recognized him, and eagerly came over to take our order. I barely had enough money to order a plain hamburger. It was obvious that all I could afford. I wasn't trying to hide it. I looked like it. I smelled like it. It was the widow's mite. I was spending my last dime to follow him around. He told the girl to bring us a steak. Then, I really, really wanted to learn to read the Tarot deck.

We took a long time to eat them steaks. We talked. We had similar stories. We went everywhere by being aimless. We each had our own rules of conscience that shaped the way we looked to the world. The big difference was that he had them cards to bring in a little cash to ease the pain.

He told me he was on his way to work a money-laundering construction job some families up North were building on Key Largo to make their money legitimate. The only requirement to work for them was keeping yo' yap shut and be willing to work. They paid good money.

He told me that if I wanted to go with him, he'd get me a job as a helper, and he'd teach me the layouts at night. He'd been traveling alone for a good long time, and allowed as how he might enjoy the company. I was delighted to say "Fine."

That's what we did. We hitch-hiked to Florida from Boulder, Colorado and when we got to Key Largo, he knew about an abandoned vacation cottage back in the semi-tropical woods. It was located about a hundred yards (91.44 M) off US 1 but a fairly quiet place to camp.

Toward about dark time he reached in his duffel and pulled out a plastic sandwich baggie that was a little over half-full of little white pills, opened it up, eat a couple of them, and asked me if I wanted some. I wanted to know what I was getting into, and he told me they were a mild form of speed. When I looked them over I saw the grooves in them, and knew immediately they were pharmaceutical White Crosses, and I popped a couple of them in my mouth. He started teaching me the layouts that very night.

When we went to the job site early the next morning he was greeted by several of the workers who appeared to know him. He indicated that I should wait while he went into the house trailer the company was using for an office. In a couple of minutes he stuck his head out where I could see it was him, and waved for me to come inside.

My friend left me with this gruff looking fellow who didn't seem very talkative, but told me to sit down at a nearby desk and fill out the W-2 forms. When I was done, he told me I was hired, and that I should go out on the job and find my friend. That was all there was to it. Hardly a word was spoken.

We worked as laborers and helpers. We did whatever we were told to do. It wasn't hard work and they weren't slave drivers. They were just part of group of people that had something to do to make the upper echelon happy. The government could see all the right paperwork and the band played on.

At night, when we went back to our hooch, we usually stopped at a convenience store and bought some sandwich supplies and some beer to chase it down with. When we got settled in each night and popped some more speed we usually did layouts all night without sleeping. The next morning we'd eat some more of those White Crosses and work tirelessly all day. Our bosses liked us because we were always looking for something to do. They knew for sure we were wired to the gills.

It was only a matter of a few weeks before I had learned all the layouts, and it was time for me to go. I was gonna go to Key West like I habitually did in winter. It was only a hundred miles further south. I felt more emotional about leaving this guy than I expected to when I did move on. I knew that he had done me a huge favor. I was gonna still be a bum, but less and less a beggar. I never saw him again. I might not recognize him if I did. That was a long time ago.