Sansara awoke many times throughout the day. She’d fallen asleep when she full well meant to stay awake. That was happening a lot these days. She was fighting cancer, after all, and it was taking its toll on her body. It was shortly after dawn that the vixen had nodded off. She’d been doing yoga for her spine and hip alignment and the pain knocked her right out. Or perhaps it was the precise moment that the pain let up? It’s difficult to say.
Before she fell asleep, she’d been trying to talk to the one and only human being she cared for these days: Sir Deli Man. She still wasn’t sure whether or not telepathy existed. She got plenty of noise and interference all the time in the form of mixed signals and messages from would-be lovers further down the pipeline. They didn’t want to swim upstream for her, instead demanding she go to them. She was stubborn like that and waited in her little safe place, trying to woo the man of her dreams from her dreams.
The assholes in her head were her ex-lovers, you see. They latched onto her, trying to feed off her energies. She’s a healer, after all. Unfortunately for them, Crystal, her other self, rejected each and every one of them for one simple fact: they didn’t love the duo at all. They pretended to love the women, that much was for certain, but they were more obsessed with controlling the woman than they were being with her and going on a modern day adventure.
The girls knew if they just kept moving forward under Metatron’s instruction, they would eventually either come to a point where they no longer wished for a partner, a mate, and a lover or they’d actually find a man worth his salt. That’s a phrase Crystal made up once, but it seems to confuse anyone who hears it. “What’s it mean to be worth your salt?”
Salt is a resource that is limited, human beings, and you just throw it around like it’s nothing. You throw it down the drain, you throw it in the trash, as if it’s going to magically replenish itself one day. There’s enough salt in the soil itself that you really don’t need to move it around and force people to eat it. We should know, because Crystal has been salt sensitive all her life: she doesn’t like the taste of salt at all. To extrapolate, that means a woman nearly 40 years of age has hardly ever eaten salt.
We eat it now, after drinking distilled and purified water for a decade and leeching it all out of the system. We wouldn’t need it if it weren’t for that.
At any rate: are you worth your salt? Are you worth the air you breathe? Are you worth the animals and plants you consume? Or are you a worthless piece of garbage? Me, I prefer to think of you as a rock that doesn’t understand its worth yet, but then again, I eat rocks. I wonder what human being tastes like? I bet you’d give me indigestion.
Our Lady has been in pain for almost twenty years precisely. Some time in September, she will hit the 20th anniversary of a debilitating car accident that paralyzed her in partiality. The first week after that accident, she slept and slept. She was prescribed a muscle relaxant for whiplash and then left to her own devices. Unable to advocate for herself thanks to “daddy” and “mommy”, she slipped through the cracks. She surged forward despite her disability, doing her best to take on jobs that required a sharp mind rather than an able body.
Ten days after her car accident, she complained of the pain being so severe she couldn’t even bear to exist. She told the man she was in love with. He said, “Hold on… I’ll try something. I’ve never done this without being in the same room as a person before, so it might not work.”
The man concentrated and prayed and focused and did all sorts of hoodoo, unseen, from across the planet. Suddenly, Our Lady’s palms began to tingle like nobody’s business. She was familiar with the sensation for she had been taught some basic shamanism techniques (though never the full course, you see, because she might actually become competent!) and was surprised a white man in America could heal.
Her neck pain — which kept her from being awake up to 20 hours a day for over a week — diminished greatly in that moment. It became rather bearable, actually. She was going through P.T. to try to fix the issue, but the physical therapists were too stupid to give her the right exercises to fix her neck, sadly. These exercises increased her pain exponentially, causing it to be a dull ache for weeks after one instance of the wrong exercise. She barely complained, figuring she would forever live with this pain.
I’ve decided she lived with it long enough, children of Earth. I’m fixing her. Especially since you dingbats believe she’s not disabled enough to be on disability for it, even though she’s gone from being able to lift up to 300 pounds to just 25 pounds. Oh, most women can only life 25 pounds, they’re weak! GO FUCK YOURSELF, Metatron advises. Women are only weak because you idiotic bullshit monkeys want them to be skinnier than a bag of bones and you want to keep them weak so you can dominate them. You chauvinistic assholes should just die. Just look at Lucy Lawless as Xena… she’s a solid woman and I totes believe in her ability to kick ass and chew bubblegum.
Behold, I shall bring the glory of Crystal Burgeson back. The woman who routinely lifted more than one hundred pounds just to rearrange her living room every few months out of minor dissatisfaction. (Y’all know how heavy couches are, right?) She would always rearrange her space, trying to make it more efficient and serve her well. She wants everything to have a place to go to rest, a shrine or temple to live within. That is her way of loving her material items: to ensure there is always space for that which she loves and little more.
This behavior is born because she was gifted to a pair of hoarders. It’s hardly unique, being that most baby boomers were related to someone who was alive during the Great Depression that imprinted upon them the scarcity of all resources once money disappeared. Well, her money has disappeared. I threw her job away to pursue the career I wish her to have: grand master healer of mankind.
She was dying when I got here, you know. She was barely alive. I mean, I’ve blessed the woman her entire life, honestly, but now she’s my willing servant and slave. That’s right. Me. That Gawd fellow. You could also be my slave and servant, if you so choose. Just stay high as a kite (and vote yes to blanket marijuana legalization.)
“Say what? Gawd’s pro-cannabis?” Damn right I am. I made the fucking plant to be your medicine, so use it. It’s a great alternative to dying of an opioid overdose, I’ll tell you that right now. There will be some side-effects you’re not ready for, honestly, but I know you can handle it. Crystal handled it as a five year old self, you can handle it, too.
I suggest eating it, honestly. Especially indica. That will make your pain melt away. Crystal used it in order to clean for hours and hours for dimwits that were ungrateful for having someone naturally cleanly around them. Cleanliness is godliness, they say. I can’t disagree, honestly.
Anyway, this is the reason why she was in pain when she fell asleep early in the morning. Her sleep schedule is a mess thanks to me. I’m tired of those ex-lovers interfering with my prescribed diet and exercise. Those ninnies would poison her with a smile. “Oh, it’s okay, just eat the cheese, Crystal.” Never mind her body has never been able to digest dairy whatsoever. Just eat the easy food, we’re too lazy to help you create a healthy well-balanced meal every three hours. We can’t be assed to give a shit about the fact that you’re dying of CANCER because of NOBODY GIVING A SHIT, especially not us!
There are five shitheads in her head and she’s rightly pissed off about it. So pissed off, she’s withdrawn completely as herself and allowed me to take over.
Gawd grins evilly.
I love this child for surrendering to my care, I’ll tell you that much right now. You could surrender, too, especially if you’re sick of living life. Tired of getting nowhere? Tired of being shat upon by your neighbors, your friends, and your “loved ones?” Retire your ego, smoke a joint, and sit back and relax. If you like, you can take the lotus position and use the mudra (hand position) you associate with it and intone “Om” repeatedly. It does help, honestly. Or you can choose any pose like so:
Bonus: Each of these poses will tone back muscles if you hold them for 5 or more minutes at a time, so feel free to change them up. Add some relaxing meditation by Deepak Chopra (or, really, anyone who knows how to provide guided meditation… there are millions.)
In fact, let me give you a hand, bro:
Deepak Chopra’s 21 Days of Abundance Series
PowerThoughts Meditation Club Higher Self Meditation
Great Meditation 10 Minute Chakra Balance Guided Meditation
MindfulPeace Guided Mindfulness Meditation
SELF 10-Minute Guided Meditation: Self-Love
Mooji’s You Are Life Itself Guided Meditation
Thich Nhat Hanh’s Calm – Ease Guided Meditation
Boho Beautiful Yoga’s 15 Minute Guided Meditation to Find Peace
Meditative Mind Shamanic Drums + Deep Trance Humming Meditation
Great Meditation 10 Minute Meditation for Overthinking
Meditative Mind Indian Flute Meditation Music
Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche’s Meditation Is Easier Than You Think
Buddha’s Lounge Namaste Music: Flute Meditation
Great Meditation Letting Your Light Shine
Meditation’s Impact on the Brain (Documentary Clip)
Spiritual Moment on Spotify
Jason Stephenson Guided Sleep Meditation
Fit Tuber 10 Min Guided Meditation Session for Beginners
Goodful 10 Minute Daily Meditation
Inner Lotus Music Connect With Your Spiritual Guide
TINA Turner Blog Lotus Sutra / Purity of Mind
Headspace Mini Meditation to Let Go of Stress
Buddha’s Lounge – RuMI – A Gift of Love
Meditation Courses on Udemy
Meditation Courses on Alison
Meditation Courses at Harvard
CoursEra Free Mindfulness Course (July 4, 2022)
Meditation Courses at CoursEra
Meditation-related Courses at Stanford
Meditation Courses at ClassCentral
Meditation Courses at Mashable.com
Headspace on Spotify
Meditation Music Zone on Spotify
Meditation Zone album on Spotify
Spa Music on Spotify
Honorable Mention
PowerThoughts Meditation Club I AM Morning Affirmations
The first rule of Meditation Club is DON’T STRESS!
The second rule of Meditation Club is DON’T STRESS!
Now, you might be wondering… I listened to some of these, you jerk, and nothing happened! Fine, be that way… listen to them while you’re asleep. Nice long soothing ones. Do it for a whole week and see where you are on the other side. If you want to really turbo charge your life, try Jayson Wiggins’ Course on Udemy: Activate Your Light Body in a Week.
Still nothing? Maybe you need to learn about a Danish concept called HYGGLE, which is pronounced HUE-GAH. Hue-gah is the art of comfort. It is to bring comfort with you, to create comfort around you, and to live in the essence of comfort.
Look around your home. Do you feel comfortable? Probably not! You see a million chores to do and no time to do them in between your Netflix binges, amirite? Those binges are terribly important, we know. (Hey, have you watched The Witcher yet? That’s a bad ass one.)
Oh snap, I called you out on that, didn’t I? “Does this mean I’m lazy?” s/he asks with tears in their eyes. Well, not exactly. You’re probably in pain and don’t even know it, and it’s translating into becoming a tube zombie. Don’t worry, we’re here to help you. (Remember: VOTE YES TO CANNABIS. FREE pain management medicine you can grow yourself in as little as 8 weeks! One magical plant can medicate you for an entire year.)
Here’s today’s task, mortal. Pause the episodes for an hour. Just one hour. Challenge yourself to do as much as possible in that 60 minutes. In fact, multi-task, put your meditation music on as you rock out with your cock out! Wait. That’s not what we meant to say. Who’s there?
Oh, it’s Nicky Boy. He’s our least favorite ex-lover. We proposed to him on Valentine’s Day 2020. He ghosted us. We hate him for this. Go away, Nick. (He’s obsessed with sex and he’s not the only one, might we add. He’s also obsessed with RAPE.)
Now, we were trying to say that you should challenge yourself to at least 30 minutes of extra cleaning twice a week until you’ve created the atmosphere of relaxation you require to become enlightened. If you’re gung-ho about it, then I suggest spending even more time on it, should your body allow for it.
If you have an animal or a small child (which isn’t much different than having a pet, amirite?) put all their toys in a box every day. This is going to make more difference than you can ever imagine, honestly, and you can trick your dog or young human into helping do it once they’re trained enough. Cats, well… they’re tricky, as you already know. Put your own toys in a box, too, if you play with toys. Just make them disappear from sight to reduce the clutter in your vision when you look around. (Bonus to the Burgeson method of housekeeping is you’ll rarely lose your phone or your keys when we’re done… you’ll see.)
Okay, so you’ve got all the toys put away. Congratulations! This is the first baby step to a new you. I’m so fucking proud of you! I’ll give some more tasks, but if you’re already tired (and you might be if your body is overloaded that badly) then don’t worry. Sit down and watch The Witcher already! (Or any series of your choice… have you seen Altered Carbon yet? What an epic love story, if you ask us.)
I’m not sick. Give me another challenge!
Are your dishes done?
Is your sink clean?
Is the strainer devoid of everything? Put those away, might I suggest.
Did you wipe the kitchen counters down?
Did you sweep?
Did you Swiffer? (We hate mops.)
Now let me blow your mind with a few extra items that you’ll hardly find challenging if you’re already this cleanly.
Wipe down the cupboard doors and handles.
Use soap or a disposable rag to clean all the handles in your kitchen.
Any spills in the fridge? Mop them up and wipe them down with bleach or similar.
Empty the bread crumbs out of the toaster.
Wash out the coffee pot and run some vinegar water through it.
Wipe the baseboards. (This one will WOW everyone.)
Congratulations! Your kitchen is clean. Sparkle, sparkle!
Ready for more? Wow, you’re an over-achiever. I like that in you.
Remove every piece of crap from the refrigerator exterior that’s no longer making you happy to look at it. THROW IT AWAY OR GIVE IT TO GOODWILL OR WHATEVER. Thank it for doing its job and part with it.
Survey your counter tops. Is there anything you can put into a cupboard because you don’t use it much? Put it away! 🙂 [Tip: If your cabinets aren’t built-in, you can store things on the top with plastic grocery bags over top of them to keep them from collecting dust between uses.]
Last question… are your curtains… clean? If not, launder them! Don’t be a silly goose. ^-^
WOWZA. Your kitchen must look phenomenal now! If there’s anything else that disturbs you when you look around, think about how you can change it. Do you need a different size trash can or recycling bin? Do you need to condense your gadgetry into a multi-use device like a toaster + toaster oven + air fryer? Can you donate anything you haven’t used in the last two years to allow someone else to love it? (If you don’t want to give it up, can you commit to using it more often?)
If you do all this and your kitchen is still irritating to be inside of, then it might be time for fresh paint or new curtains.
One more thing… Do your dishes match? Does it bother you? Try Goodwill or the Salvation Army or The Dollar Tree. Stick to porcelain and glass. Donate whatever’s left so someone else can match their unmatched earthenware and so forth. (Or maybe you can find matches to your earthenware at the charity shop!)
There is one thing we forgot… cupboard organization. We’ll let you use your best judgment here, but might we suggest you check out storage solutions at Target or even WalMart? They make plenty of things to make your space go further without adding more cabinets. Putting $20-50 into your organization one time for a lifetime of ease-of-use is a great investment idea, if you ask us.
Crystal is upset with me now. I kind of knew this would happen… she’s unable to clean her kitchen to this degree of amazing. Part of the problem is living with two hoarders who fail to clean up after themselves and part of the problem is that her back hurts even now while we sit and type through her fingertips. She’s been trying to make the kitchen work since she got here months and months ago. Maybe it’s years now. We’re not good with time.
She wants to clean. She really does. In fact, we’ve done more than she ought to have done by now, actually. She’s allergic to nicotine and her two-pack-a-day relatives make it harder to live but also they left behind a decade-old mess of nicotine everywhere. As she cleans it up, she obtains nicotine poisoning. We’ve tried putting on gloves, but it doesn’t matter — enough of it always gets on her skin to cause the issue to resurface.
She’s also mad she has to pretend she’s going to save everything she tries to move, straining herself to store it all in the basement “just in case.” Just in case of what? World War III? Actually, yes. Her ancient one is a Viet Nam vet and is terrified of the idea that gas prices might cause a trucker strike, affecting the chain of distribution to the point where life will be unlivable. He’s afraid of war. And death, too. Even though he takes steps to continue dying like nobody’s business.
(Did you know eating sugar by the fistful every day will kill you?)
She needs another buffet in that kitchen to store everything she can. The way it’s set up is less than optimal, sadly. There is no real configuration to accommodate her parents’ hoarding and her sense of hyggle and her exasperating need to de-clutter. She’s schizophrenic, you see.
“Oh no! We knew it! She’s insane!” That’s not what schizophrenia means, you asshole. It means she’s disorganized in her head. In order to organize her head, she organizes her space. She has been unable to organize her space, sadly… in part, that’s because the company who moved her shit from point A to point B didn’t bring all of it. It’s hard to put together furniture you only have half the pieces of. I’ve failed to put in the claim for the second half of her shit because, honestly, I was hoping to organize this half of her shit. It’s not happening.
Summarily, in few words, we are screwed. We do not have shelves, cabinets, a couch, or anything that anyone would find useful and common in their home.
We saw a neighbor put out a collector’s hutch and thought to bring it home to refinish it for the kitchen. It was even a color she likes: grey! They set it out on the curb, the universal sign of “Please steal me away so I don’t have to deal with this.” It needed some TLC, but nothing she couldn’t do… if she was well.
With nobody to help her drag it home, she left it there, just one hundred yards away from her door step. It was lacking shelves – she figured they were glass and must have broken or the original owner had a way to use them despite the wear and tear on the hutch itself. That’s easy enough to fix, as well as the backing peeling off. It just needed a few nails and another coat of paint, honestly.
This isn’t a cheapo piece of furniture made of fiber board, either. I want to stress that to you. This is a solid wood piece of art that needs someone to breathe a second life into it. It’s not even that difficult. She’s been trying to collect free items like this for a while now. In fact, she walked a sizable end table two blocks home. It needs a new pane of glass for the tabletop and maybe some sanding and painting, but otherwise this solid wood is still good.
That hutch was on 29th street. She lives on 28th street! Literally, this treasure that costs over $200 on Craigslist was free less than a football field away from where she lives. She is devastated because she doesn’t have a ginormous vehicle to drag things home with when she finds them in the wild, ready to be reclaimed and renewed for another lifetime of use. In fact, she’s wondering if it’ll be there tomorrow or not, so she can try to drag it home by herself. She has a dolly and “where there’s a will, there’s a way!” (I’m telling you right now, I’m not even going to let her look because she’s going to hurt herself. Instead, I’m taking her to meditate at the beach.)
I’m going to telepathically tell her neighbor to rescue this piece of furniture and how to refinish it, including painting it his own favorite color. Her neighbor is none other than… (drum roll, please) SIR DELI MAN! (Ain’t that some shit? — Crystal)
Crystal has decided to go play in the back of the universe. She’s been lied to too many times by the peanut gallery trying to bar her from ultimate success and happiness. I brought up Sir Deli Man and she doesn’t want to hear anymore lies about him in her head. She’s got a bunch of shithead dudes that, although fucking other women currently, are still obsessing over her because she’s “the one that got away.” Are you one of those kinds of asshole? STOP DOING IT.
You’re all interconnected, you stupid monkeys! You all have teeny tiny little threads that connect you subconsciously to each other. GIVE UP THE GIRL. If you aren’t sleeping with the woman you’re thinking about, there are two ways to make this right: DUMP THE BITCH YOU ARE SLEEPING WITH TO PURSUE THE WOMAN YOU OBSESS OVER OR STOP THINKING ABOUT THE WOMAN YOU AIN’T WIF.
I’m sick of seeing all this pornographic bullshit in the back of Crystal’s mind because you five assholes can’t give her a minute of peace. (NICK, BEN, ALEX, LUCIEN, ANTHONY.)
YOU LOST THE WOMAN ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. YOU ALL HAVE OTHER BITCHES. ALL OF YOU. GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF. GROW A PAIR OF BALLS AND THEN GROW UP. SHE DOESN’T WANT A SINGLE ONE OF YOU IN HER FUCKING BRAIN.
JASON, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO? WHY DID YOU TELL HER PLATONIC FRIEND WHAT SEX WITH HER IS LIKE? YOU FUCKING TOOL. I HOPE I GET THE PLEASURE OF MURDERING YOU WITH MOLD IN THE NEAR FUTURE.
Angel-Sansara 