Medina, Saudi Arabia

Fictional Mirror of the Star Wars Universe

Flexing with Light

Evil exists in many forms, some of it is fiction.  The audience internalizes its culpability from the screen and digests it without a second thought.  But these things are real, as if we're watching a staged play, a rehearsed act, an informal dialogue between character and actor.  It's as if all the things you've imagined are flush on the screen.

This is what happens when we project our beliefs onto the world that surrounds us.  We become products of the very thing we've consumed.  This is consumerism, that fancy word for being in the role of a consumer, a person that buys or sells a disposable idea.  Like Star Wars, not that Star Wars is any different than any other product I've ever consumed, it's just that I remember my disposable toys from the early '80s, and kind of want them back.  I want the folding Darth Vader toy holder, the broken AT-AT with limping legs and a bag full of expired D-sized batteries.  These toys are intrinsically tied to my memory of becoming a healer, and they're all important in the role of a Jedi.  Good defeats evil, Luke loves Leia, Darth is dead and that's how the world works.

Mom always said the toys would be worth something, but I was too young to see it.  Too naïve to believe that the world would one day hold these things as sacred.  Light is magic and as I grew older I struggled with the role I would become.  I struggled with deciding on which role to be; first was a fighter, then a diplomat, maybe I'll become a military man with all the might of a thousand soldiers beneath me.  Then it was an artist, not just any artist, but a famous one.  A living one, a fantastical one that remained a brilliant artist that was still alive.  Then was a writer in a cramped room full of everyone claiming to be a writer.  No, actually, it was a blogger.  A blogger that wasn't committed to writing all that much, nor stifling itself through a peer-reviewed network of critics.  Because everyone's a critic, even the guy with the largest network on the planet wants to criticize you.  Because it was his idea.  He stole it fair and square.  Then he paid off the critics that he stole them from.  First come, first serve.  Buyer beware of the product you're about to consume.

Then was a prophet, the thing I saw myself doing when I was young.  I knew from a young age that it would be connected to the Star Wars' universe and that it would be blue in color.  Not red, not black.  Blue.  Blue Star Healer some might say, healing with light and color and connected with a web.  Connected with another universe beyond our own.  Andromeda may be an appropriate mnemonic device and fiction may best serve our needs with bridging a new reality into this world.

I knew then, as I know now, that I would be into my 40s until this happened.  What I didn't know then, as I do know now, is that life has many meandering bends and twists and that our own lives can have predetermined events and people sprinkled throughout.  As much as that river wants to flow, at some point you have to find peace within its movements.  You have to find peace within its direction of ease.  Can you feel it?

Can you feel this moment relax?

Relax that brow.  Open your eyes.  Nevermind the faltering policies of the Trump administration.

It's one place in history amongst many.

Lost prophets are a lot like the lost Jedi.  Loyal to their own brands, without answering to a hierarchical order of religion.  Of course there are masters that have come before them, and perhaps there are a few remaining, yet they mostly tend to their own garden.  They mostly answer to their own voice - whatever that may be.  A force for Good would surely show a path for higher ascension.  An elevation of the human spirit over the degenerate condition of things, over the degenerate condition of those things in the world which tend to corrupt themselves.