In The Beginning was word...

In The Beginning was word...

”WOW! I can really see things now!” He bubbled out of shere joy when he came to terms with life. Life with all its edges and blunt angles. Its shapes and forms and social structures. But before that? What had happend to him? When where and why? He for sure was a cowboy in his past life. He had come back to meet his Indian friends again and again. But before that?

He was a psychologist from the start. He was born in the 50s and grew up a wild child in the 60s. All was there. Everything and anyone. In any way. In all ways. From all kinds a situation, styles, positions, angles and four winds. Plus the element of the sun moon and stars. Position that trained his blown-out mind to grab things as soon as they passed. Winds turned into storm. Breeze turned into whispering.

To search for truth was as easy as a cake or as easy as f- freedom. It roamed the world from San Franscisco to Växjö up to Stockholm, down Berlin and away it blew. Blowing in the wind. Who can grab it? Who can hold it fast as a beaver? Quick as a beam shot off from the furtherest star? Stars shot and gained in the cup of wine. He simply could not bother. Yet he did.

For sure. He had several ways to search it all. Like he did know deep down in his soul. But how could he blow his mind off, to let it be settle down on a piece of furniture while he rode off to the biggest party. All was still there….

Democrazy, film, TV, books, melodies stung by bees and bees as sure as flowers. He knew. No he knew nothing yet.

Riding off with the gang. Beers and wine. Cigarettes. Taking a kind of acid. Wow….Taking a blowing off the mind to search the inner realms.

He woke up one Sunday morning. Hang-over. Head had no clues what he had done. Slept with his best friend´s girlfriend. Was that a big deal? Had to talk it over. They did so…

In his past life he had been a monk somewhere in a kind of Germany. He for sure hated that priest who came running around with new ideas because of religion. Protest against the Catholic church? Marthin Luther. Well yea, he himself was a munk. Well yeah, he had slept with several nuns. Was that a deal? Perhaps his karma told him to sleep once again with nuns. Virgins was the best to get. Was that a deal between him and heaven? And perhaps he had been a yogi and studied the Vedas back in Ganges. A BIG DEAL. Study to blow his mind out, to settle the soul apart from humellidrummelii of life´s biggest issues. Gotta have a job. Gotta serve somebody. So he studied psychology in Lund. A big deal. A big gesture to enemies and friends and dad. He had to serve the soul with pretty heavy stuff. Tons of things...NOW HE COULD SEE WHY HIS VISIONS BROUGHT HIM OUT ON THE PATH OF LONGING! HE COULD SEE IT NOW!

He pulled off from life´s big drama. Gotta serve the Lord. Just to become the Vaxjo monk, writing down his holy scripture. The world got nothing to do with him being that monk. Goota serve the donkey...

To tie one thought to next thought took him ages and it took him lifetimes. To bind the structures to a common vision of God´s light. Could no one else see that?

His Neptune gave him an understanding of how to connect the one to the other. In this sense he worked himself up and down the spiral of time and space to reshape and reform it all. He gave his visions to his clients as he was the one psychologist. Did he know for sure?

But then again. Reincarnation was nothing. The lonely soul was one. One was it all. As the Vedas brought everyone to know. We are all in it. Everywhere is as everywhere as any road can link San Franscisco with Berlin Madrid London New Dehli Bombay and Tokyo...till Stockholm – way out west...Moscow as well. Connected to it all…

Now. Being that monk that pulled off from the pathway, as he had gone a long way on the roads. He had been to all inns. And now he sat there in the bar drinking wine vodka and beer. He thought about his roads. Gotta write it down someday.

He grabbed the phone to get in touch with his friends. BB lift the phone to answer: ”The war. Theee waaar? What it got to do with me? Phone some other jerk! Just go ahead...”

And he swallowed no more his pride. He had clues. About friends he had met on the roads to oh….that place!

It´s like they were all Indians from past life Americas. All of them. Friends enemies jerks clown and one girlfriend here and there. Reincarnation was too holy a crap. Brought around too much illusions. Like being prisoned in the Materia. Lin had a way to talk about it. ”Well see, you gotta pay me my debt. I was your nun. You slept with me, although you knew I was screwed up holy. Is that not a big deal to you?”

Materia. Life. The stream of consciousnessran through him, from one chakra point to the other. Had to know. No then again no. He had a clue from the start. His nuns? Gotta serve his dames. Both visions and tantra. TANTRA FOR A CHRISTIAN NUN??? She must have got it all wrong this Lin. Artist of a kind. He had met many. On that inn.

”You gotta serve me that book. About that tour on the way to the holiest of places. That innkeeper gotta show up….somehow somewhere!” Got it.

Lin told him about the big Chaucer. A British poet that wrote down the journey to Canterbury. That´s what he had to reread once again. To get to the next step in the story. Several people on their way to the destination. An allegory for the search of the spiritual stuff. A Zen vision. But then again.

He took up his writing the next day. The hang-over had blown itself out the door. A fresh new start. A vision from Neptune. Hang on two seconds. He wrote down the prophecy. He knew it then. He had been a writer back in Jerusalem. Had to co-write that book. He searched for the truest words.

He had it all written down in the Bible. He knew it all from pages to pages...He was the innkeeper...