The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Prologue

Wisdom cannot be owned. It can only be shared when found from wherever and whomever it is found and is accredited to no one man, woman, child, Saint or aged book who found it the same way.

Wise man today, fool tomorrow, wise man the next.He is one and the same natural man.He is one and the same natural male, as natural as He always was.

Yet this time He has come to make a difference and is looking both ways, always, and in all natural ways

These are the living secret words. I am the light that is over all things

I am that I am. I am all. I am not who you think I am Yet, I am who you think I am not, as I have always been and will always be in all ways natural.

From Me all came forth and to Me all shall attain.

This time I come to make a difference. This 7th time in the 7th Universe I come to light a natural fire. And I will guard it, until it rages naturally, in all

Natural knowledge protects. Unnatural Ignorance endangers.This 7th time for you I come to stay. I will not leave you in your coming times of need. Split a piece of wood. I am there. Lift up the stone and you will find me there

This 7th time I come not to raise the dead to think. This 7th time I come to raise the living to feel. Look both ways and be Universal Love, for that is who you really are and always have been.

Look both ways. You are not a part of me. Yet, I am a natural part of you. Together we are One.Together again, as always, for the very first time.

Quo Vadis: LOOK BOTH WAYS

1

He had sampled their unnatural fires of hell and damnation, of egotism and racism, of fear, intimidation, and disloyalty. He had sampled their man-made fires of religious jealousy and hatred, and of unnatural gender indifference. Their searing fires created in the daily living hell of all were unnaturally hot. He had not taken any sunscreen with him and their fires of injustice and harm to others, he did not like. He still didn’t.

They could look ‘both’ ways, now, but they would never see him approach. They might ‘think’ they can sense his words and spaces of announcement, but they will never ‘feel’ him arriving in full, until he had. They would hear him and they would feel him, but they would never see him, until he was there. Then it would be too late.

This time, he would put out their unnatural fires and start natural flames of his own, in all. They could run from his natural fires, yet, for as long as they had breath in the bodies their only one God gave them, they could never hide. They would not want to. It simply wouldn’t ‘feel’ right. It wouldn’t feel ‘natural.’

This time, he did not have to control the unnatural uphill trudging of the thinking minds of all. This time, he would control the natural downhill flow of their feeling hearts. They still did not know there was a difference between the two. But they would, he thought, as he gazed up into the evening sky, wondering if it was going to rain or not, as he walked along – this time they would.

He smiled, feeling that the even clouds just might decide that he needed to cool down, just a little. He was happy and unseen, as yet, by most, even though they might look ‘both’ ways. Yet, they never will see, he smiled, a little sadly—not with eyes that only look. And they will never hear, he still smiled, letting go of his sadness for their natural joys to come to all – not with ears that only hear.

This time, if they did not listen and see, they would certainly feel, not because of an assumed-missing chapter one, yet, because of a continuation of what has always been in progress, ever since he left.

For many timeless years and timeless times, he had been gone, but to where, he now knew not. And from whence he had come before that, he now knew not, either. He only knew that the illumined-named were not so, at all. Yet, sadly for many, they knew it not.

He knew also that he was there, he was now, and, he was alive. For some reason though, standing there in the pouring rain, right in the middle of the busy five-way intersection of a town near you, as evening settled over the city, like a dusky, shimmering blanket, he did not mind. In fact, it was perfect.

Did he influence the control of the minds of others, he wondered, or did the unknown plight of others control his mind?

He blinked again, loving the clean coolness of each and every drop of rain, for they were not just little raindrops.

No, he then concluded happily; the plight of the many would never be worn as a yoke around his neck. And it wasn’t their minds he influenced to control. It was their hearts, only they never figured it out. And they still haven’t.

He smiled once more toward the rainy heavens above and below where he stood in the water with his once shiny shoes. The needs of the many would always outweigh the needs of the few.

He sighed at the thought of events that lay ahead, yet, happy within his integral whole self, just the same. If only they knew, he thought—at least then they might listen to the natural spaces between his words whenever they happened to pass by him when he was speaking. Who know, he smiled then – they might even use the ears of their natural fluid heart to hear. The spaces and words they might hear might make them hot in a natural way, but they would never be burned, no matter how intense his spaces were. He loved them all too much.

And so, he would start a simmering fire in the very depths of their natural fluid hearts. It would spread naturally upwards to their thinking minds, but this time he would guard it, until it raged unstoppable, in all. They would never be burned, but he wanted them all, both males and females, to become hotter than heat, itself, and they weren’t even in hell, yet. They were in their own man-made hell of fires that could be put out, only they didn’t seem to want to know how, let alone try.

So, he would fight their unnatural daily and nightly fires with his own omni-directional fire, simply because he could. If he didn’t love them all so much he would leave them again to burn in their own fires. But he wouldn’t and he didn’t. His natural omni-directional flames were greater than any man-made fire. He couldn’t lose and neither would they, if they didn’t mind a suntan from his natural and omni-directional carnal heat. And their man-made fires wouldn’t see his flames coming. All would feel it.

Yes, he smiled, outwardly and inwardly. If they were listening for his natural spaces with their God-given hearts, upon hearing his natural words with their God-given ears, they would certainly feel his flames.

He laughed aloud then to the raindrops who cared for him with such ferocious tenderness. He would light the fire and guard it until it raged naturally, in all, even if he had to control their thinking minds, through their feeling bodies, to do it.

Even as the cars blasted their horns and their drivers shouted abuse at him, as they steered their vehicles around him, everything was perfect.

He blinked. The rain ran down his already wet face. Halos surrounded the red, yellow and green traffic lights, as they changed whenever he glanced at them through the rain that pelted down around him and over him. Steam rose in many places on the roads. It wafted around and upward eerily from the warm day’s bitumen, drifting lazily only for a second before its unique spiralling shape and form was destroyed utterly by the hard-driving rain in large droplet form.

Only now did he notice that he was standing in a puddle that was growing in diameter and depth by the second. For a moment, he thought of his shoes and their imminent ruination from the water, but then he smiled softly. That seemed perfect, too. Standing in cold rainwater that almost covered his good shoes somehow seemed perfect, too.

Briefly, he questioned his reasoning, knowing for sure that his shoes definitely would be ruined. And, so would his health if he did not get in out of the driving rain, as well as getting himself away from the centre of the busy five-way intersection. But then, he stopped that train of thought. Rather, he simply let it go; knowing that somehow his shoes and his health would be fine. He did not know how, but he knew they would. Maybe it was a secret he had yet to learn?

He smiled as the cars steered around him; their angry driver’s torrenting him with abuses as hard and fast as the rain which blanketed him. Secrets were everywhere, but only for as long as they remained secrets.

Once discovered, they became common knowledge and were secrets no longer. He knew he knew about secrets. He did not know what he knew about them, but he knew he knew about them. And some secrets would forever remain secret, even, though they were known and were common knowledge, such was the incredible domestic blindness of mankind in his domesticity. And, he knew that some secrets depended upon interpretation to be seen then be secrets no more.

Whoever finds the interpretation of some secrets will not experience death, he thought idly. Then he wondered why, as he felt the cold water begin to trickle down his back, force-fed through the waterlogged expensive suit coat he wore that had never been designed to withstand the watery onslaught it was being subjected to at that time.

His gaze left the traffic lights and searched for something or someone. Let him who seeks continue seeking, until he finds, he thought momentarily. When he finds he will become troubled. When he becomes troubled, he will be astonished and he will rule over the All. Another secret, he smiled, but only until it was interpreted, he concluded idly. And, then it wouldn’t be. It would be known then and applied to daily life and happiness in the confusing times ahead.

He felt a little strange, yet he knew he knew where he was. He was awake after thirty years of being somewhere else, in a desert, alone in a crowded room, but alone, nevertheless, and often lonely. He could not identify anywhere he looked, but he knew where he was. He wasn’t lost. He didn’t need anyone to lead him to safety or a dry place somewhere. He was there and he was now, so he wasn’t lost, and was comforted by that concluded fact.

If those who lead you say, ‘See, your real Home is in the sky.’

He thought then that the birds of the sky would precede you.

That made sense, he concluded.

And if they say to you, ‘It is in the sea.’

Then the fish will precede you.

He grinned. That one he’d have to think about, for at least thirty seconds.

Rather, the Home above is inside of you, and, it is outside of you, he thought. When you come to know your Sovereign Integral Self, then you will become known.

Now, he knew who he was, even without a name or a history, he could put his finger on. And himself now knew him. He didn’t used to, for the past thirty years when he had been sleeping. But he did now.

You will realise, he thought, that it is you who are; the living sons and daughters of the living All, but only as natural feeling-dominant males and feeling-dominant females, and not as thinking-dominant men and women. If you will not know yourself you will dwell in poverty. And it will be you who are that poverty before they who will call themselves your gods and who will wish you to choose as such.

He didn’t like the idea of being poor, but somehow, that didn’t bother him at all, if it happened to be the case. Riches came in various disguises. He knew that and didn’t think he was poor.

Secrets were everywhere, even born in the midst of rain and thunder on a cold night. Interpretations were just as many, and in just as many hearts, as there were raindrops in the dark night sky that now pelted down about him and over him, with more ferocity than they had been before.

He stood in the middle of a street traffic corner, in the middle of a busy intersection. That was not his place, not his home. Yet, he stood there, nevertheless. That was his place for now, for the moment. And it was perfect.

Smiling softly and a little sadly, as the rain pelted his face with stinging wet nettles, he knew he knew something, but wondered why he thought it.

What could have been, he knew well, is not what should have been. And what might have been is what is not, which left him with only the here and the now, to choose for his Self; to move one way and get dry and possibly stay alive. Or, he could remain where he was and get wetter than he was, and possibly, even more dead to many than he had always been, until they realised he was there, and had never really left them.

Then he grinned, knowing that he was exactly where he wanted himself. Why look back on the past with depression, or forward to the future with dread? He wondered, when he could get wet in the here and now. Without wet, he knew that the dry could not be appreciated. Then he wondered why some would rid the world of evil, of themselves?

He glanced across the road and into a dark alleyway. He saw a homeless drunk, running and staggering to get out of the driving rain. He wondered if the old man, even older in days to come would not hesitate to ask a small child seven days old about the place of life. If he did, he knew the old man would live.

He wondered if the old man knew also that many who are first will become last, and then they will become one and the same.

He glanced down at his shoes and smiled. The horns blasted and the drivers shouted angry curses at him, some he had never heard before, which made him smile even more.

Same shit, different day, he grinned, as his eyes stung from the peppering raindrops. The water depth of the puddle in which he stood lapped just below the rim of the upper heels. In a short while it would flood his shoes.

He smiled. Never a matter of how much, only how deep. Then he chuckled. His smile softened. That would be okay when it happened. In fact, it would be perfect, and in that he could recognise that all nature was perfect and could never make a mistake.

His smile saddened. Human nature was made just as perfect. It, also, never made mistakes, but it was often interpreted incorrectly, not recognised for that which it truly was and would be with the natural passage of human nature through time.

Recognise what is in your sight, he thought, as the cold water began to flood into his shoes, and that which is hidden from you will become plain to you. For there is nothing really hidden, in the sky or beneath the ground that will not and was not destined to become manifest and discovered.

He began to laugh as the water rose around his ankles. All he had to do was to take one step to the left to higher ground, then be careful and walk across to the footpath and out of the way of the traffic. He looked at it. Only one step, but he didn’t.

He laughed harder instead, quite sure that if he hadn’t lost the plot completely, then everything was exactly the way it was meant to be. Everything was absolutely perfect, or, he was absolutely crazy. And the rain pelted down even harder. Then it stopped, but it had not.

He glanced slowly up toward the sky and saw a yellow roof. He turned his head to his left to see a woman in her late twenties or early twenties standing beside him. She held an umbrella over the both of them. The rain still pelted down and just as hard, only now, not on him, and not on them.

The look on her face said it all. Her lips did not have to say a word, even though he knew they would at any moment. His laughter had subsided, but still he smiled, waiting for the words or something similar he knew she was about to deliver, so that the look on her face could be reconciled formally with the feelings inside of her. The rain pelted down hard around them, but not on them.

‘You must be sick or crazy!’ She shouted at him above the din of the rain coming down, and the lightning and thunder. ‘You’re standing in the middle of a busy five-way intersection, in water up to your ankles!’

He looked down at the puddle in which his shoes now lay submerged completely. Then he began to laugh again, as his gaze returned to find her eyes wide and astounded at his mirth. He watched as her lungs filled with her next breath in preparation to shout at him once more.

‘So are you,’ he said softly, but she knew what he had said. He had said it slowly and clearly in ceasing his laughter. He knew she knew because she looked down immediately to find her own feet disappearing into the rippling lagoon at the bottom of her calves. Her gaze returned to his, as the air left her lungs in a rush.

‘Shit!’ She said softly, but he knew what she’d said and he laughed again, and, within three seconds, so did she. And the rain pelted down just as hard around them as ever, but not on them.

‘Are you drunk?’ She shouted above the rain on the roof of her yellow umbrella, as she held his eyes in hers.

‘No,’ he answered her softly, but she had heard him.

‘Are you sick?’

‘No,’ he replied softly.

‘Are you lost?’

‘No,’ he smiled. Even the look on her face was perfect, he decided.

‘Where is your home?’ She shouted.

He thought for a moment before answering. His smile softened with his answer.

‘Here,’ he said softly, ‘with you,’ then added, ‘standing in this puddle.’

Then he began to laugh again, not hard, but softly, just enough to make his shoulders shake.

‘What?’ She shouted at him, but she had heard his answer. He knew that. ‘Do you have a car?’

‘No,’ he said softly above the din on the roof of the umbrella, but she heard him.

The endless stream of cars wove slowly around either side of them, blasting their horns as they passed. The people looked and stared, some laughed and shook their heads, and some cursed and shook their fists. And then they passed.

‘They think I’m just as stupid or as crazy as you!’ she shouted at him. She was only a little shorter than he was.

‘Maybe you are,’ he smiled warmly, but he knew she heard him, because she laughed. And then he did, too, for a little while, but only for as long as she did.

‘Have you been hurt?’ She shouted, looking both ways and then all about her, at the passing traffic, as lights changed from red to green and from green to yellow and then to red.

‘No,’ he answered her softly, and she heard him. He looked down at her feet, or where they should have been able to be seen, were they not submerged in six inches of cold rainwater.

The puddle was perfect, he concluded happily. She was perfect. Her coming was perfect, and, her umbrella was perfect.

He shivered. She dropped her gaze from his to the puddle in which she stood. And then she looked left and right. She looked all about her. Then she looked both ways, before finally looking back up at him.

‘Do you want to get dry?’ She shouted, as the rain pelted down even harder than it had so far. The din was deafening, but he heard her perfectly.

He thought for a moment before replying, then shivered again.

‘Yes,’ he answered, wondering how he was going to achieve that little piece of wonder. He didn’t know where he lived. He knew he had no money on him. And the clothes on his back, the wet clothes, the saturated clothes, seemed to be all that he owned in the world, at that moment. Yet, he was not worried. He should be, he knew. Yet, he wasn’t. And somehow, even that seemed perfect.

She stepped sideways out of the puddle and balked several times, as cars began to halt and stop, start and stop and blew their angry horns. She had black shoes, wet black shoes now, with flat heels. Her arm stretched out to hold the umbrella still over him. She was getting very wet, and very quickly.

He stepped out of the puddle and beside her onto not-so-wet bitumen. She stopped getting wet. His shoes had squelched when he had moved. He smiled, as the traffic stopped for her, for them.

‘I don’t live far!’ she shouted, as her umbrella kept them both out of the rain again, but it was too late for her. She was saturated. ‘Want to come?’

She looked like a drowned rat. Her hair was plastered to her face. Her mascara or eyeliner was running. She was pretty. She looked funny, with the black stuff beginning to drip down beneath her eyes. Yet, she was pretty.

He smiled. She looked like a circus clown, who had been interrupted, halfway through putting on her clown makeup. He did not laugh, but he did smile.

Then his smile softened when she linked her arm through his elbow and gently pulled him forward, giving him a lead to follow. He did. He followed her lead, as she followed his leaning toward her in just the right way so she could always continue moving forward.

Her arm in his felt warm and perfect. He was a complete stranger to her, and in her mind, she could believe he was a crazy one at that. Yet, her warm arm was linked through his. She didn’t feel like a stranger to him, even though she was. He wondered why she felt so perfect, draped on his arm, as they walked and he followed her leading steps across the angry rows of traffic until they were safely on the sidewalk.

For a brief moment he wondered where he lived. Then he wondered where her house was.

My house will pass away, he thought, and the one above it will pass away, as it will with hers. Then there will only be one house, as there always was, where the dead are not alive, and the living will not die. In that house, will be the days when we consume what is dead. Then, together again for the very first time, we will make it what is alive, so that all will feel and live long and happily, in the confusing times ahead.

And when we come to live in that house, he puzzled, what will we do on the day when we are one, when we become two? And, when we become two, what will we do? He wondered. We are all learners, all doers, and all teachers, at some point in time, when we need to be. Then, his smile saddened a little. You will all need to be, he thought.

Then they were at her door, two doors, two tall doors, after having climbed only six steps. They stood under a large eve, while she fumbled for her keys and shivered. She had let go of his arm to find her keys. Yet, he felt its loss, its missing. His arm felt cold now, empty, as if something meant to be there, was now missing, like a missing limb—the phantom limb syndrome.

He held the umbrella and then collapsed it down, watching it drain while she searched through her bag for her keys. Maybe this wasn’t her house, either? He wondered, as he watched the umbrella drain into its own created puddle.

Keys rattled. Perfect. It was her house, after all. Right then he was glad that at least one of them had a house.

He shivered again and felt it through to his bones, as she opened the door to her apartment block. It wasn’t actually a house, but it would do for a home, until he found his own again, wherever it happened to be. It had a roof. That classified it as a house, in his book.

A thousand men can make a camp. He knew that. Yet, it took only one woman to make that camp into a home.

No, the thought suddenly came to him, not a woman, a natural female. He then reclassified her house as a home. She was a perfect natural female, he concluded, as she led him inside and shut the door. He wondered if she knew that, that she was perfect? Now it could rain as hard as it liked, but it wouldn’t rain down on them.

They were inside her home, and inside was just perfect, too. He was a stranger, mentally unknown and physically stronger than she. She was a woman, vulnerable and much weaker than he was. She could be in danger. He knew she knew that. In fact, she was in danger, in her future, in the confusing times ahead, but not from him.

Yet, she wasn’t now, he knew that. Yet, she could be, and he knew she knew he shouldn’t be there with her, alone. Yet, he was, and, it was perfect, just like nature, human nature, always had been, since time immemorial. Perfect, for just so, had it been created.