an experience by Goran Zivanovic
These words haunt me to this day. I am most fortunate.
- Bliss Stone
Julian allowed me to understand the concept of death from a non-clinical viewpoint, and it somehow belongs in the field of psychological science. You will judge Julian when he enters you in his quest to understand the depths of your actions. He can be extremely vague at times, until logic surfaces and stings you with needle-sharp precision. Distress is imminent when he highlights what we have become. He tested my spirit a few times by whispering my name in an empty room.
Julian's thought processes are intoxicating. Increasingly, I felt it my responsibility to water the harvest and allow the public to sample his philosophies; to distribute the genius within this crumbling madness.
This incident was the precursor to the novel, Acupuncture of The Mind.
Aliens and The Church explores a controversial concept of the Creation Story, with ego removed from the equation. This uneasy wave of torment was originally pencilled during an intense automatic writing session that persisted until the attachment was satisfied, and the host exhausted.
This is their creation story, not mine.
The pinnacle of faith is an internal process that has nothing to do with the construction of altars or symbols. And there is no individual, or idol, holier than the next. There is no hell as described in religious works of fiction either. There is simply proximity to Spirit – the light, or the separation (darkness). Individuals choose. It is not a matter of religious instruction. Advanced beings don’t turn their backs on the light or search elsewhere for enlightenment. They go within to reconnect with themselves. They head towards Zero and look at their position along the journey.
In true Gonzo Journalistic style, Room 31 incubated during a recent hospital stay for a severe internal infection. It's the sequel to Acupuncture of The Mind.
Where do you go when you cannot go any further? This wasn’t the first time I confused death with dying, but I had solid reason to believe my time here was overdue. There were clues dusted all over Cathedral Haven Hospice, the historic building where I work within the mental health sector.
I could feel my vital organs had fused together and were ignoring each other’s critical needs. Despite the blockade, I carried the waring troops to my kitchen and started to filter my coffee. It tasted odd, my morning brew, and I poured the black water in a dying house plant. I could have sworn I saw another leaf lose colour and curl inwards. Maybe that was me?