Life is like a room full of models made from past experiences, choices we’ve made, people we know, want or hate, as targets begging to bear blame. The fool blames many targets while the wise man blames nothing and no one. Blame is irrelevant. Blame is a waste of time in the form of judgement. Yes, we should judge ourselves but, to rescue honesty from the occult, not to blame.
A Capricorn will act like a Capricorn, and they can’t be blamed for doing so. They know little of faithfulness, everything about wealth, something about freedom, and a little about bondage. Saying that a Capricorn must behave and believe like a Leo would be insane. “Morality” therefore can’t be based on other’s templates, and thus choices, so long as the choices are inline with who they are. Personal morality and Social order are separate behavior constructs. Plus, when we consider the universal truth, that human “love” is based on the usefulness and fulfillment that the object of that love brings, and ends when it leaves, how fickle and perverse is the concept of human “love”?
You’ll notice this post is quite different from the rage, rant and humor on the posts preceding it: Deeper, introspective, philosophical, and perhaps more fatalistic. Truthfully? More suppressed. Why? Well, for weeks now, I’ve been becoming more chemically “depressed”. Yes, me. The Arch-Seraph \ Human Hybrid. I’m still unfortunately affected by biological chemistry. Depression is poorly understood and, in fact, “sadness” is only one of many possible symptoms. Depression does not mean sadness, and it irritates the fuck out of me when I tell people, “I’m Depressed”, and they say, “Ah, don’t be sad.”. I’m not sad, you dumbfuck meat sack, apes with clothes. I’m Depressed.
In my case, the symptoms are, mental blankness when queried on technical issues. That really sucks being that I’m an engineer who troubleshoots Information Technology. The most frustrating part of Depression is, being part meat sack. Also, when I relax, my mind goes completely blank. Sounds like a vacation, IF I didn’t have a slew of shit to control, whose controls fail when this happen. It’s not like I’m keeping 1/4 of hell restrained behind the gates by my Force of Will, or anything. Tee hee. So yes, there are sincere needs for me to get my Force of Will back to 100% for 100% of the time.
Another annoyance is my personal goals have stalled. Regaining physical strength, continuing my self-education, building my website, continuing to oil paint and, entertaining my husband have all fallen to zero. With five months until my move… and you can personalize all the “whan” to you own needs so, let me stop going on. There are simply times to admit and act. There are times when all-you-can-do is not enough so, you must reach out.
Being that I’m not a danger to my environment, job, self or any entity due to my depression, therapy is irrelevant and potentially distracting. I’m not “sad” but, I am becoming annoyed, confused, frustrated and blocked. An increasing amount of spiritual power is being engaged in keeping me emotionally stable. A doctor would be needed had I not already gone down this road in the passed and know which TYPE of antidepressant I need. That’s important for people to know because, Prozac can cure one person and make another far worse. Strattera can cure ADHD in adults and cause younger men to commit suicide. This isn’t a game. One thing on this planet which bares the complexity of The Creator’s fingerprint is the human or semi-human brain. Complicating the matter further is, you apes don’t really understand how brain chemistry works or why certain antidepressants work. Sweet.
It’s super important to keep a good blog or journal for yourself, when and if you experience “Depression”. A pattern will emerge and a record of reactions to treatment can help “Medical Professionals” (Goddamn, that’s hilarious) better point to the correct banana to prescribe. Nothing is more important in diagnosis than finding the correct class of drug, when drugs become necessary. One thing which becomes severely obvious in the case of serious shit, like bipolar or schizophrenia disorder: recreational drugs are the WORST idea. Why? Because they allow for something which is not allowed. When you ‘cheat’ on mental and spiritual conditions, there is a repercussion which makes a hangover look like flea bite. The Son of EL put it like this: “When an unclean spirit goes out of a man, he goes through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none. Then he says, ‘I will return to my house from which I came.’ And when he comes, he finds it empty, swept, and put in order. Then he goes and takes with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter and dwell there; and the last state of that man is worse than the first. That is the exact definition of someone trying to use pot, meth, booze, crack or amps to “cure” depression or, using the wrong meds.
It’s also very, very important to remember highly emotional times in your life according to WHEN they occurred. I flippantly jested about “January” in my previous posts. The truth of the matter is, my Mother died in January-February. My Aquarius lover dumped me in January-February. My 13-year long work contract ended in January-February…These and many more over the years. My body remembers the air pressure, the angle of the sun’s rays, the humidity and general atmosphere, the “season”, the similarity in other’s behavior, and thus, replicates my responses to them from historical data. Whether humans realize it or not, this is one of the main reasons Europeans moved the birth of The Son of El to December. Celebration would help ‘break’ the cycle of suicide and depression. Stupidly, the celebration is now being blamed for it but, that’s just more about apes trying to read a manual on atomic theory than truth.
My apologies to pure-humans. I’m not angry with you or hating you. I’m pissed off about my own “humanity”. Yuck. When Celestians ‘eat’, if you will, we get stronger, more powerful. When human eat too much, we get FAT. Aging is a bitch, too. I don’t speak against or undermine or disrespect the work of the one called “Jesus”. He’s my savior as well. Chew on that one! But, I can’t help but…uh…notice. He lived, as planned, to the exact moment of the end of youth, the moment exactly before he would have begun to age: 32.5 years. Kind of wonder how HE would have dealt with being stuck in this blood bag, this fucked up chemical soup, this — sorry, in a human body as it aged. Just wondering.