the unthinkable story/ madness 03.18

The following is a continuation or actualisation of the unthinkable update and contains mainly fictional elements and is not advisable for sensitive souls and tender hearts!

 

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Once upon a time a bunch of good sorcerers were living far, far in the east close to the himalaya.

They wore colorful robes and lived in monasterys and were practising meditation, ceremonies, rituals and mantras for the well-being of all sentient beings, because there was a lot of suffering in the world.

As they needed successors, they sometimes had to take little children from their mothers and out of their homes to raise the boys and teach them the ancient teachings and secrets according to the sorcerers rules.

One day a terrible storm raised and developed into a taifun. It destroyed the monastery and some of the little boys were blown to other countries, into the western world.

Here they continued their studies as good as possible and tried not to forget what the wise old sorcerers have taught them.

One of the young men became a famous teacher in the western world, like some of the other young men also did.

The only difference was that everything that young man touched seemed to turn into pure gold. People thought that he had extraordinary magical power and profound spiritual knowledge that was transmitted to him by his old teachers from the east.

Everybody wanted to be around him and share a glimpse of his magnificent spirituality, it was a bright and blissful success for all his entourage. He gathered many people to continue praying and practising for the well-being of all sentient beings and to reduce suffering in the world.

But unfortunately the master started to become ill. Something wasn’t right, maybe he was kind of homesick, missing the himalaya, his old friends, the food or at least something was lacking. Nobody really had a clue what it was and why he felt unhappy.

No antidote could be found and his illness deteriorated, he even became aggressive, violent and sometimes was raging in anger. People thought that maybe he was just having temper tantrums and after a while he calmed down again and continued his teachings, ceremonies, rituals and meditation practice for the many people that wanted to see him and were longing to be his followers or students.

He told people that it was all an illusion, a part of a bigger picture, a higher spiritual context to get detached from the desires, fears and expectations of a limited mind. And many people wanted to achieve that higher state of mind to suffer less and be able to live a good life that would benefit others.

Over the years some kind of routine and errors crept in that weren’t actually helpful in a way to reduce suffering, but they even created more suffering. Some people in his community started feeling ill, getting sick and thought that it must have been their mistake, they must have done something wrong or not have practiced enough or misunderstood the teachings. After all they just wanted to make the best they could to spread the alleged blessings from their master.

They totally forgot that their sorcerer also was able to use his power in a harmful way, they trusted him unconditionally, as that was what he taught them in the first place.

So nobody recognised that he was no longer wearing his colourful robe, but changed into a darker shade of cloth, which sometimes even appeared to be deep black with bloody spots on it. They were not able to see it.

He repeatedly had drunk from a special cup, so some people got paranoid that there might have been some drug or poison in his cup, but he denied.

The master had gotten so ill and mad that he was even on the verge to destroy all that he and his people had been working so very hard for all their lifetimes.

His tribe needed a successor, but it would have to be one that was able to cure and kind of repair the damage and suffering that had been caused. But how could that happen, when nobody was allowed to have the courage to acknowledge how bad it really was?

The castle, the premises, the meditations, ceremonies and paraphernalia, everything had dark foul spots, rotten smell and crumbled beneath ones‘ feet. There seemed to be no safe and holy ground anymore.

It was like a dark veil or fog had come down on the community and from underneath an abyss seemed to open up with a freezing cold threatening breath.

 

 

[…to be continued…]

 

 

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