We know who we are. We are the dispossessed, the outcasts, and the outsiders, rebels with a cause who have upturned the mulch of our dead lives and seeded those fertile fields with incendiary visions of our future selves.

Having already subverted the norm, we renounce dominator culture’s status quo of everything and drift happy disconnected–babes in the abyss–wavering in the ambiguity fog of dislocation. Free-floating between old worlds and the new, guided only by the shining paths of mother evolution.

We have passed over, we have passed the point of no-return and since there is no turning back, we celebrate the momentum lifting us on the wings of perception, grace, and whatever skills we have earned from surviving the inevitable catastrophe of self.

Only when we are over, does our real life begin.

ANTERO ALLI (from The Eight-Circuit Brain: Section 2: Praxis, Week Six: Chapel Perilous)

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