Thepsyche ontheseat ofaTerrestrialBar

Illustration:
Background are symbolic wings of the mind, which aureole bubble to the hands of concentration psychic, streaming the cognitive biorhythmic to the physical organs and a surgical bypass of the willpower.

Who is our mindi?

The mind is that ghosting genie rising from the fleecy forest coat, its ephemeral and ethereal existence across smoky mountains. The mind is that clearing, the dew pearls at the tip of every grass blades which, at first light carpets a glistening refraction of intelligence across lawn enclaves. the mind is that breeze through the undergrowth flirting with trunks, teasing a brushwood of in leaf canopies. The mind is the keeper of psychic launched projectiles, exploding a fireworks of ideas and billowing an in leaf fleece number of thoughts, shaking clusters of twigs, and fluttering pensive palms of leaves. The mind is that bubble of brooding wings, silent as a mother hen radiating warmth to a cluster of chicks. The mind sits on a ground trail casing the living chicks migration through the forest. The mind is the mother of psychic hand concentrate, which cups the scalp of a newborn, insulating the canned cauliflowerii of the skull germinating grounds for the interfacing tree to a cosmic rain forest.

willpower's physical limitation

The writer evokes the reality of his experiences with the supernatural, and expressed the stories and One a chronological order, aware of the difficulties in out in a the technical form,detailed in might have forgotten that toddler we were hidingstyle, with thread by "another way of crawl space, whether it be playing under wide and low hanging branches such a thinking," while committed to improving readability and understanding by controversial subject which in reality is a lifetime thesis aimed at reaching the 7 to 77 old.

of a bush, or under a table listening for falling war debris to stop, or wishing to escape the harsh firing words deeply hurting our feelings. The willpower is that physical level of anxious moments at re-discovering the comfort of the womb prior to birth.

Voluntary messenger of the soul

When the willpower defies the mind, the spirit bottlenecks with a squeezes transcendence and one might as well try another voluntary route, that of trance which, contrary to sheer force degrade the porosity of the latexiii skin into hibernation of the mind. the mind, of the spirit and out of a universal vacuum. The spirit is vacuum and slave of the soul, for which the body is a cognitive laboratory of the free will, evolving from a passive force to animal force, and feeding the supraliminal knowledge bank, a leading atmospheric, gravitational and physical existence. I was led by the genie of my soul my master overbearing a giant notion over my shoulders. Presence that father leading me as a little boys with the clasp of a hand on my neck. That day in Lille, I bungee jumped, confused whether voluntary or, involuntary coerced by my spirit. A spirit ethereal as ever, serving the flustering breeze of butterfly wings, the veil of hands at the string of the harp orchestrating the puppet of my body a soul's logic unconscious that the focus of my interests were being taken another higher level, in answer with the gift of a vision. To add, to a phenomenal number of esoteric experiences through my childhood, and rolling a social life over my adulthood. The spirit and active servant which reflected my narcissistic soul, the conscious face and moral eyes of a cognitive notion at the supraliminal hideout in the depth of the infinite blues at loss of light tinted with a shade of gray. The vision of a white cloth was left to imagine the invisible pinch of a thumb and index finger. magical, the fingers pulled the corner of a white handkerchief, and in an elegant slow motion appeared from the breast pocket of a tailored made wedding suite. Only that I saw by the beacon of sight in the middle of my head, the tight woven fabrics being pulled from the temple of my head. the cloth unfurl its thinning psychic concentrate. In an evolutive unfurling air billowing deep folds. The edges broke down, pulverizing the embroidery of a metamorphosing white trail of a veil in the wind and breaking away from my head at the soft temple socket of an in-and-out easy gateway. The veil morphed with an ongoing outbreak and spread of white feathers shaping the veil into the wings of a white messenger pigeon. wings taking flight in slow motion opening without a bird's body. Slow and in a single powerful wide spread lift, I was carried away with a sense of relieve and without a thought at the impressive spirit homing in on its soul. Be it a white dove that took flight from the tree-of-life out of a forest, my heart at the bodiless wings, which break-up feathers against the pastel blues of the sky. in an ongoing thinning spread to a school rafting of feathery down, I rose out of the atmosphere, conscious of emerging freer from the burden of my body as I took height. the initial joy grew explosive while transcending to a mere white flour Milky Way spill carried by a breeze, which left me with a possessive joy at the touch of a whole conspicuous world with nothing to fear .

Resistance to control
there came a period that I felt a vacuum of conscious returning to my apartment in Lille. Thinking about this strange suicidal notion, I begun preparing for the jailbreak and stretched my body in all comfort on my bed. I started up concentrating, separating the elements of my existence. Gripped onto my psyche filling cauliflowerish my brain my psychic the dose of impulsive concentration through the armature of the skull, and my brain the virtual rotor element of a vacuum cleaner's electric motor. I held the nozzle of the suction tube at my temple, concentrate, with a psychic sucking the volume inside my skin occupied by my spirit I soon sense that I was up against a spatial vacuum blown by my physical growth ballooning years of growing up prior to birth, with a psyche that had played a few interesting tricks at my body with an alchemist blending glairiv to give my bodily skin that latex and doll aspect where my spirit stows away in comfort. For a moment I held good Illustration turning the brain into a virtual against the vacuum vacuum cleaner: pressure with a fist The symbolic cauliflower brain, in a fireworks of of concentration in thinking, inside and not shown armature of the skull, against the virtual mechanics of the red and blue my head, and soon [psychic} magnets, spining the rotor of the motor. the motor of my brain over heated, by the unrelenting suction at the elastic tenacious spirit's ill will to be drawn to my temples, and exit gateway. It didn't occur to change tactics, to imagine for a moment my spirit an insufflated vacuum, showing how short sighted I had been, against all expectation thinking that the atmosphere on earth is the rule of our existence, rather than a physical element being ruled through the vacuum of space. My head under the pressure of the vise by my psychic determination, my impatience taking the better without giving the motor a rest. Before my head had cooled down, I made another all out effort while scheming through the next attempts. I begun revving the motor, and as before bounced back the little headway to figure out the collar of my neck and the volume of my body. I tried feeling the pinch of my Psyche in the corner of my temple against the elastic vacuum, which didn't allow to be bypassed. By my psyche I went out into the stretching through the diminished volume of my right arm anchored and pulled to feel the unyielding resistance. crawling further down to my wrist, an attempts at my hand in vain. I turned to concentrate my efforts at the volume and tip of my index finger, without relenting its keep. As a last resort, I pinched from the inside what one does either less hygienic with a bit of teeth and pulling each glove finger until the gloves slips off the hand. given the same elastic on the latex glove of my skin, I came away from a Tug of War effort abandoning the bow tie marker of pulls and resistances at the gateway of my temple. I passed a moment to think where I came from during my attempts seeming a long stretch of hours, and feeling the burned-out mental exhaustion, I had one thought left; 'Starting again after a good sleep.' but, later on waking up disorientated to find twenty-four hours of my life had gone lost, but sprightly I had a thought about that suicidal pocket where I fell.

Consider the psychic hands as the parasol able at pulverizing human living blessings and grudges that are hurled into space by the force of its ideas or, thoughts in other words the weather of goof or evil spells! ii Symbolic a brain, assimilating the pure white mental cloud from which emerges the holographic image of a mental vision. iii I am emphatic about this esoteric bodily volume of the spirit's vacuum, delimited by a latex doll skin that disintegrates in trance until death dissolves which, equal the physical volume of the body. iv I'll get the link in due course with details over the glair of luminescent particles that form the base of matter.