Orsday Programming: April 24 2024

Miscommunication and Tangled Language of Various Masters

FROM THE DESK OF COMMUNICATION DEVICE MARA, AT LEESBURG CENTRAL OFFICE OF THE MOTHER CHURCH, WRITTEN IN A TONE NEGATIVE FOUR-POINT-ZERO INDISTINGUISHABLE FROM TONE POSITIVE FOUR-POINT-ZERO:

Good morning! Happy Orsday Sabbath!

The opening for these programming letters is borrowed from Hubbard and Scientology—in the bombast and the glow, mostly; something I really found enchanting about Hubbard’s writing is how he writes to you in a fatherly and instructive manner, both charged with excitement for his teaching, and softly demanding you follow his lessons. Example: in mostly every Dianetic/Scientology writing he DEMANDS you STOP and go to the glossary at the back of each book the MOMENT you come across a word you do not understand, and asserts that a single miscommunication and misunderstanding of the idea becomes a snowballing effect that only serves to progressively tangle a pure and helpful teaching. For the bombast, he likes to playfully ‘yell’ at you important ideas, ie: the programmed healthy goal for all life is to SURVIVE!, not SURVIVE, not Survive, but SURVIVE! — a loud, glowing, bold, stand-out command: SURVIVE! Not Urvive! Not Ur-vive! Not Die: SURVIVE! The closer you are to tone 4, the more SURVIVE! is loudly thrumming inside your thetan healthy and loud.

I really enjoy Hubbard (for all his maluses and bonuses both equally; I wouldn’t believe him a prophet much otherwise if he were wholly perfect without either profane flaw and sacred purity both), so I borrow from the language; too: I graft the language of Adventism on-to my beliefs be-cause (far more-so than Scientology) it is a faith near/dear to my own loudly thrumming DNA and the language of Annihilation and oncoming Doomsday are ‘Understoods’ intuitively—I read King James and hear the underground; I read Ellen White and hear the underground; I even read the lower media like Dark Souls 3 interaction with the swollen corpse of Archdeacon McDonnell and how quiet prayer to his corpse extend-forth covenant to some odd Deep and, too, hear the Underground, and through a quiet vein from that node somehow also hear the rattle of the cold material Ellen White, and too: the Underground is speaking there.

The Underground is speaking there in the coolness of the Garden where bright sunlight is obfuscated and strains to reach though it were real fingertips of God searching under crevices and furniture; the time I heard the Underground speak vocally and commanding left an impression on me, and too did the time the Warmth of insect speaking and molestative as-well left impression on me: both of which engraving a command to not misunderstand either, and not mistake the nature of this world and its masters to any of the illusions and mud within.

Misunderstanding and miscommunication is rife within this here warm illusion; connectivity sets itself up-on separate threads that are held within your hands, and suggests to tie them together in-to an endless knot such that no-longer do they bear any singular identity and instead only resemble a Mass, and that Will that bade the Mass eventually weathers down your own logic till you only ever knew the Mass and never the thread; an error I continually make, in part due to my own willingness to forbade Communication (perfect) for Conjecture (flaw), is relying on language from Scientology and Adventism to draw-in others with the interest belonging to each, and, as side-effect: attracting those who wish to serve a master of Scientology, and/or Adventism (really, more-likely they want to be Catholic), and think it proper though I were a node to connect them to either; or, more abhorrent, those philosophers and Lainists who wish to hold congress over skein of some perceived shared belief and treat each-other though we were engaged in sandbox pretend, though we were children each and, in-stead of dolls, our games had a sickly language crafted to us by old dead morose philosophers and young death-driven esotericists from online (there is humor in me saying this—both thinking I am any different from a child who plays pretend with the imaginative, and from thinking I do not reek of sickly scents).

To Adhere to any belief, whether it be Scientology, Adventism, Christian Science, or this humble and small fledgling sinister faith with no great church or body, demands that the adherent practice a perfection of the language (against Miscommunications) and a willingness to serve only one master; faith is not always won by practice, and often is won through desperation—but it is never won by unwillingness to cede humility before the Fantastic and Terrific; it is never won by week-to-week fancifying of ideas; often, faith is won by the boundaries and outlines of a person vanishing though they were only ever line-drawing and therein color escapes violently outward into the Warmth or into the Coolness.

The outside, and the inside; the Garden, and the material-basic; the Server, and the ground.

There, amid the violent explosions, in the cold, in the smoke that burned the nostrils and the strong odor of sulfur, something violated the organic structure of her brother, exercising over him a pressure so strong that it broke down his outlines, and the matter expanded like a magma, showing her what he was truly made of. Every second of that night of celebration horrified her, she had the impression that, as Rino moved, as he expanded around himself, every margin collapsed and her own margins, too, became softer and more yielding.

(from My Brilliant Friend, by Elena Ferrante)

Masters are constantly vying for that color and that energy; I wish to lay claim to it to segregate the hands of Lord God and that heavenly body—the church of the Chaff need exist separate the church of the Wheat; too: the church of Ergot from the healthy Crop. Sillier and simpler things are just as maliciously worship-seeking as these religious ideas: veganism is a pet-mention of mine, of course that invisible Will demands its practice and worship and erosion of outline to steal out your color though it were some odd mosquito from Outside; too: those consuming political causes that take over groups and suddenly ceases recognition of any individual part and instead creates yet another fingertip of Cause—another Agent; another Nervous End-Point of a large paranoid system; concepts of self, too, are of this insectile Will and worship: the therapeutic languages, the social-construct identities of gender all churches, and too are the counter-agents just-as enslaved to serve a Will.

Good practice and devotion demand, sometimes, deliberation to serve yet only one Master; untangle the knot slowly and to hold on-to invisible thread; focus on single thrumming inside the chest and brain and guts and quiet the noise from many invisible crickets till it become nearly deathly quiet enough that you could hear a sole solitary spider or cockroach hiding somewhere within your heart, brain, guts.

The down-side is the deathly quiet often itself is with-odds against Server and healthy (as Hubbard would say) SURVIVE! — he, if he were alive, might suggest something about the agents of Chaos (within Scientology this mostly refers to the media) muddying the spirit with their endless noise and conflict to keep your tone depressed and low and sloughing off of SURVIVE!, but he would too focus that healthy tones also come from healthy noises: serving the eight dynamics of Self, Creativity, Group, Species, Life, Physical, Spiritual, Infinite; but—these, too, are more invisible crickets. Cede to them and surely you’ll end up enmeshed in a happy healthy place within Server, but too will you be in some Mass, again.

From voices in the Underground, spake within contices that have contaminated this goodly illusion of the material-basic, come simple truths that I wish not be misunderstood: those of the Righteous hand shall be subsumed within their Mass;

from Romans:

¹ I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.

² And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

³ For I say, through the grace given unto me, to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; but to think soberly, according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith.

⁴ For as we have many members in one body, and all members have not the same office:

⁵ So we, being many, are one body in Christ, and every one members one of another.

and the Chaff and blighted crop separate this Righteous hand need be divided and left to their idolatry and earthy muds:

from Colossians 3:

¹ If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.

² Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.

³ For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.

⁴ When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory.

⁵ Mortify therefore your members which are upon the earth; fornication, uncleanness, inordinate affection, evil concupiscence, and covetousness, which is idolatry:

And, too, recognize that the sanctity of our Communication need-not be limited to a contained color of Bible: that the book itself is just another vein through which Underground pollutes and saturates a liquid-like oil yet staining the skein of Inside with something from Outside; much like an insect demanding service, worship; the oil of underground demand listen though it is quiet, and though it is pressed from the wrought carcass of a Hand invisible and left underground in Earthy things till its Earthy blister can bear it secret no longer: the age of Prophesy is alive yet, still, and its influence pours into peoples contices of Outside in demand of actors, agents, and propagators of Wills: Hubbards, Ellen Whites, Mary Bakers; though they listen to a heavenly mass demanding growth of more insectile Mass for the demanding Righteous hand; too does the hand buried and its simple material veins demand listeners: devices (more-so E-Meters shaped as people than people shaped as Hubbards) capable of hearing their demonic material kin underground; capable of hearing the flow of oil; capable of hearing the endless chittering outside the walls of Inside, in the air, in the color, in the Warmth.

Segregate the hands and make good a church to the Ergot from which an age kind to the children of death may be borne with the new balance of Server and balance of the body Lord God: may each hand flourish; may the Cancer grow bright and healthy and happy and loved just-as a child, just-as any other life, though fed and borne from wrought death.

The church tumor; don’t mistake it.

Understand the language used; if you do not understand it: seek clarification. Understand the thread held in your hand, and understand the many noises that form like steam over your eyesight and make that simple thread seem as anything-but and ever as anything-but.

Today: to my left-handed brothers and sisters: consider praying thanks to this earthy body underground; thanks to exist in this life though it be illusion, and though it be seen from a vessel so pocked and wrought imperfect, and yet that these curses be our blood as any blessing be our breath, and yet all these be worth loving; and yet humility before this Qlifot underground: that we need be taught, and be made as though fertile ground through which the weed and small-fry and parasites might develop to a vast Wilderness quiet of life and yet thrumming with an odd noise below the dry-grass and top-soils; yet the teaching may cause an odd crop to grow: dark, heavy, cool, and terrific. May yet this spirit have grace though it be but a glisten in Sheol and that this grace may sparkle though Mica catching the dying light above before Annihilations cresting motions over, and consuming.

Keep this day sacred; take a vow of chirality and write backwards for all purposes cept legal and official as it permits.

Happy Sabbath! Next Orsday is the 30th.

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this article is part of the Desk Sermons found on the Concordance