View Related
“To practice death is to practice freedom. A man who has learned how to die has unlearned how to be a slave.” – Montaigne
After a fortnight at the Academy, I was ready to go home. Not home in a physical sense, to my meaningless existence on the treadmill of life, but home to my true self. My various addictions and aversions had already begun to dissipate, and the group felt that I was now ready for the next step… suicide. Not literally, of course, but symbolically. Jay said that unless a person dies consciously, whilst still in this world, then their physical death would be meaningless, for they would simply continue on as before, trapped by their own mistaken sense of identity and the inherent limitations thereof.
Having contemplated actual suicide on a number of occasions, I had no qualms about taking part in a ritualistic equivalent. And so, within a few days, I had eagerly gathered together everything that I needed, including my birth certificate and a-level results. The point was to create a ‘bundle’ which could then be sacrificed during the ceremony. I wasn’t told specifically what it should contain, but Jay said to include symbols of anything that I had inherited or borrowed from the world, and derived a sense of identity from.
When the big day finally came, I carefully wrapped my chosen items in the flag of St George, and then again, in the Union Jack, forming a bundle about the size and shape of a rugby ball. I then fastened it all together with my various metal studs and rings. What I once embraced as an aspect of free expression, I now saw for the contrivance that it was; literally, a social engineering project devised by old men in dark suits. I felt so foolish for having once believed that putting a ring through my nose, or a stud through my tongue, had something to do with freedom and non-conformity. Martha was right. I wasn’t a misfit at all – I was a robot, just like everyone else.
As the daylight faded, we all made our way, on foot, to the designated stone circle, which was about twenty minutes away. The entire group had come out to take part in the ceremony, and the subsequent celebration. There was to be music, and food, and dancing, perhaps lasting the entire night.
It suddenly felt rather magical as we approached the sacred site. The evening sky was clearer than I had ever seen it before; the odours of the countryside were more intense; and the crickets, they were louder! But let’s not get maudlin, for this was no sugary New Age indulgence or religious pilgrimage. It was about a young woman renouncing the world and reclaiming her power and sovereignty – an event so rare, so significant, according to Jay, that whenever it happens, the universe itself looks on in amazement.
I had chosen Metallica’s ‘Eye of the Beholder’ for the first part of the ceremony, which included the gathering of twigs and leaves for the fire. Everyone helped in this task, but only I was permitted to enter the circle itself, where my bundle would soon be set ablaze.
Helen then delivered a short speech, which concluded with the following passage from the Bible: “Don’t you realise that friendship with the world is hatred towards God? Therefore, whoever wants to be a friend of this world is constituting himself an enemy of God.” It basically echoed what Jay had already told me about the need to be in the world, but not of it. And it made me feel more determined than ever to free myself from its powerful grip.
The group looked on in silence as I respectfully entered the circle, barefoot, and proceeded to kneel down in front of my bundle, my lie, my enemy. The moment had finally arrived. And with Metallica’s exquisite ‘To Live is to Die’ now playing eerily in the background, I struck the match that would change my life… forever.
After what can only be described as a ‘blast’, I found myself lying on the ground, gazing up at the stars. What had happened? I suddenly felt elated. The fire was burning with such intensity that I could no longer see the others. Were they even there? I seemed to be on a disc floating through the vastness of space. All that remained was the music…
When a man lies he murders some part of the world
These are the pale deaths which men miscall their lives
All this I cannot bear to witness any longer
Cannot the Kingdom of Salvation take me home
[This was Part 3 of an ongoing series of articles. For more information, please see our main site]
suicide : mystery school : enlightenment : self-realization :
suicide : mystery school : enlightenment : self-realization :
What are Tags?. View articles or events that contain the above words.
Post Article:
Submit Your Own Article