On Becoming A Warrior

I'm not supposed to remember. They have techniques which they've developed to erase the memories of their test subjects, accurately and selectively. Actually, they've gone way beyond the experimental phase with their programming of human subjects. But I've broken the major restraint, so maybe that's why I've started to remember how they programmed me. Yesterday, I shut off my electronics, hiked out into the desert and smoked a joint of some top shelf organic sativa. I sat on a rock on the top of a ridge overlooking the wilderness in which no man-made thing was visible. I was there all day. It was dark by the time I got back to the truck. Man I was high. But where I was at, it would have taken anyone a considerable amount of time to reach me and I would have been well aware of their presence at a distance. It is quite an exercise to hike out into the desert where even the rocks are sharp enough to cut boot leather. Luckily, I was able to move in such away as to avoid serious damage and I didn't fall down. But you don't venture out in the mountains without incurring a few cactus spines and putting in a real work out. So I sat up on a high rock, next to a giant sahuaru, on the top of a cliff, overlooking the desert, and did nothing. I guess you could call it meditation. This is the kind of thing that warriors have a tradition of doing throughout the centuries and even millennia of our history, the history of our folk. I had my kaffiyeh draped over my head to shield my face from the sun. My bush hat held it on my head against the steady blowing wind that carves stone into intricate crinkled shapes and sharp edges. Certain types of stone with diamond hard particulates ensconced in the aggregate will become dangerously sharp, almost untouchable. But the top layer of stone on this particular mountaintop is a fine soft soapy smooth rock with minute grains of mica within its structure which makes it smooth and rounded in the constant wind. The rock on which I sat is large and flat topped, flaky and soft, perfect for sitting. I huddled down into my British desert cammo field jacket with my Palestinian kaffiyeh wrapped around my head and neck and munched on peanuts, tossing the shells off of the rock and into the liquid wind.

This is
the most beautiful
place on Earth
that I know of.

I wrote in my green spiral bound waterproof notebook. My friend sent me an old book of haiku poems and very well preserved. Yes, I actually do have friends. One or two or maybe three. Certainly no more than you can count on two hands. Ha ha. I made a joke. Warriors do laugh you know. We smile occasionally. I am a warrior of a certain ancient sect. A sect which is so old that very few people remember our name. I have received extensive training from childhood, the most obvious portion of which is that I eschew violence. The first principle of warfare is to avoid conflict. Very few men escape conflict unscathed. So not very many people have had the opportunity of seeing my combat techniques in action and you won't be hearing any descriptions from them.

It's a mountain
that's why
its so much bigger
than you.

I could have sat out all night, but the desert gets cold at night, and I did not bring enough gear for that. Ha ha. I made another joke. When I was... hmm, how should I say this... living rough, I slept on the ground, in a t-shirt, with no fire, and woke up with frost in my beard. It was fine. No harm done. Some people might have died, but I didn't. Mostly I preferred to have a fire and a blanket, but you've got to make due. In any case, the surplus German rucksack full of survival gear that I carried yesterday and the clothes I wore would have been a dream come true during some of my... er... rambles. Maybe tonight I'll sit out under the stars until dawn. Maybe I'll never come back. Not sure why I would. Except that I still have several objectives remaining to accomplish.

Look how fast they walk
how effortlessly, how fluidly
they stride
down the mountain.

It may be that I am doing exactly what they programmed me to do. Perhaps, I'm supposed to be writing this and teaching you people. But I don't think so. A rogue operative introduced a flaw in my programming which has enabled me to escape. I'm not sure how long I'll be able to remain rogue and yet above ground, without being recaptured. But they've taken my other blog away from me without entirely deleting it from the net. You can still read it, I just can't edit it or add to it in any way. It's not in my control or mine in any way at this point. I escaped my programming through a maze-like passage, a back door in the code, which I discovered some how. The spirit longs for freedom. The spirit will search out a passage if the will is strong. And I found it. I'm told I have a very high IQ, somewhere north of 212 perhaps or even 233 or higher. The determination gets very fuzzy in the outer ranges and the man who tested me said that no one could have predicted that I would be so intelligent from the looks of me. But here we are.  Now they're not quite sure how to take me back into a controlled environment without a lot of valuable assets getting damaged or destroyed. And there doesn't seem to be any harm in letting me run loose, except that I'm posting these blogs and releasing classified intel to you people. Well, it's not actually classified per se, as I'm not an asset and I never was in any official capacity a member of the military or government. I mean, was the Buddha releasing classified information? Most people may not realize this, but yes. If you have no ability to identify classified knowledge, you won't know it when you see it.

I hike slowly
with a limp.
My war-wounds
cause me pain.

But I don't think about this stuff when I'm out in the desert. My mind is empty, like the space between two mountains, and the wind blows through the valley that is my mind. I'm speaking in haiku. That's how I know it worked.

My mind is empty
like a valley between two mountains.
The wind blows through me.

All day my mind was empty because my training began very early and was both broad and deep. If you wish to become a warrior, first train your mind. Your mind will enable the body to survive, but even more than survival, the goal of the warrior is to experience the fullness of existence. How can you know what it is to be human, if you have never disconnected yourself from the programming? There are two types of people: those who are passively programmed and those who experience life. The purpose of your existence is to experience life and your ultimate goal should be to escape your programming. This is classified information which I am releasing to you because I love you. In order for you to continue and contribute to the human endeavor, you must become the angelic being which is at the core of your self, buried beneath the layers of programming. The warrior exists in the space between the self and the world. The warrior is the emptiness between the self and the world.

So, I remembered part of my programming. It was really a form of torture, especially for a small child. First, they isolated me, so that I was without all support and reassurance. Then they deprived me of all positive affirmation so that I knew only shame, guilt and condemnation. They created within me a great need for just one small positive affirmation. That's how they control you. You will do anything for any reassurance that you are an accepted member of a social unit, rather than just a meaningless speck of organic life disconnected from all forms of community. This is why conformity is such a powerful force in modern society and may be used to control the masses. I have to watch out for assets who know my trigger words. I don't want them to be able to initiate some buried program within my psyche. I know these things happen because I've seen it. Generally, it occurs through the induction of a profound emotional response within the subject. The Buddha has said that to allow others to provoke an emotional response within you is the abandonment of freedom. To allow oneself to be controlled in this manner is not the way of the warrior. There. Now you have your doorway. Follow it out.