The Power Within

If we start with the premise that man is made in the image of God, we can deduce that man is like God. Afterall, Jesus was the son of God, and he embodied particular traits that made him great! Now, what is this god-like force that some men possess? Is it charisma, which quite literally means a divinely conferred power or talent? And if Jesus had charisma, and I think he did, then this quality might be interpreted as divine. But the problem is that Hitler also had charisma, and most people would agree that Hitler was not good. So, what did Hitler and Jesus have in common? The ability to speak to crowds and resonate with individuals on a deeply emotional level, and on a primitive plane through the use of story-telling and parables.

The most lasting cult-like figures used stories. Stories are as old as humans. We must look to the origins of human nature to understand where power comes from. It comes from moving towards God and away from flesh and blood. The most potent power a man can possess is a sublimation of the sexual energy and a retention of the vital essence. The spirit is in complete contrast to the desires of the flesh, or desires that exist outside of the self. If you satisfy the body, you will remain hidden. If you satisfy the spirit, you will become great!  When Jesus went into the wilderness to be tempted, he told Satan that “Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes out of the mouth of God.” His physical body broke down after 40 days of fasting, while simultaneously connecting to his Father in Heaven, the divine. Listening to God and following God, while turning away from the body will cause men to have the powers of God. A man follows a vision, through the power of his creative imagination, and brings it into being through faith. This is similar to a connection with God.

A leader articulates a vision through the power of imagination. This source of power does not rely on limiting patterns from the past, but comes from the infinite source. It is limitless, in the way that God is infinite. It will require unconventional behavior and extreme risk-taking. Jesus was continuously tested by religious leaders, which would have resulted in his death if he answered incorrectly. Before Hitler was anybody, he stormed a beerhall and declared his political philosophy while firing a gun into the ceiling. He was consequently imprisoned.

What sort of spirit would possess someone to make claims that would lead to their death? It is the transcendence of fear for what might happen to an earthly body, and an expression of the spiritual one. On more than one occasion, Hitler compared himself to Jesus, the savior of Germany. These claims would be ludicrous, if they did not come true, and Jesus would be a liar, if he did not rise from the dead.

Why do crowds respond to these individuals? Freud thought that the moral center of consciousness is overridden by a crowd controlled by a charismatic leader. When we become part of a crowd, we lose our sense of self and become unrestricted, and free. On a primitive level, people desire to be a part of crowds, to give up cognitive control, and allow a charismatic leader to be in control. This contrast of wanting control and wanting to give up control is an element of human nature. It is most obviously an expression of the sexual energy that desires both bondage and submission. It is man’s desire for adventure and security, which is in constant conflict with each other. Desires are always in conflict. They originate from the earthly body. To overcome desire, one must give up desire, and follow God, and all of the things of the earth will be added unto you.

Chapter 3 The longer something lives, the longer it has to become evil…

The sky was threatening, pink with purple flush, like a whirlpool of clouds, funneling into heaven.

“Oh Greg, you’re here.”

Gregson looked at his mother, her peppered-white hair, and smile that lit-up the dark clouds floating above the family.

“Jon wants to talk to you,” she said. “He has something to give you. Is this your girlfriend?”

“No, this is my attorney. Now, I’ll let you talk.”

Gregson walked through the tall grass, jumping with ticks and crawling with coral snakes. It was good to be home.


“That’s your birthday present.” Jon pointed to a double-barrel shotgun resting on the bed of his beat-up pickup truck. There were four flounder fish and two dead ducks lying next to it.

“Just put the shells in here, like so?” Gregson asked.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

“This is a woman’s gun.”

“Do you know a lot about shotguns?”

“No… I know a few things about women.”

“Then, maybe you can help me understand your sister better?”

“I don’t think so. She’s impossible to figure out. You like to solve problems, and you married a big one.”

“That’s no way to talk about your sister.”

“What’s that?” The chocolate lab was swimming after a dead duck floating in the bayou.

“Third times the charm.”

“Not the duck or the dog, but that.” Gregson pointed out to sea. An enormous scaley tail from the blue water swam into the black.”

“That’s a croc!”

“You’re going to lose a dog.”

“Can you run an outboard?”


“Well, gun it!”

Gregson got into the rear and Jon stood in the front with his double barrels ready, gaining on the dog.


“I hit the bastard!”

“The dog?”

“No, the croc, and he’s bugging out. Now, slip your hand over the side and grab his collar.”

Gregson’s arm touched the water, and the croc went under. The dog jumped into the boat without encouragement, and they quickly turned it around. That’s when the head emerged, twice the width of their craft, with amber eyes, prehistoric, and malevolent.

“The longer something lives, the longer it has to become evil. If it’s true for a man; it’s true for that croc,” Gregson said.

Introduction to Dark Energy

This book is written for the man who does not feel like a man. Perhaps, people have told you what a man is, but agreeing with them has not brought you closer to understanding yourself. The premise of this book suggests that man has forgotten who he is, and the “why?” is not so important as helping him to get back to who he might become. It is the writer’s belief that man can be optimized. He is a spiritual being made in the image of God and crippled by a culture that celebrates passions that weaken him. The notion of a “superman” is incorrect; man must know how he can get back to who he was originally meant to be. By society’s standards this will make any man who learns the principles in this book a “superman” revered and hated. Most won’t choose this path. So, what is the attraction of becoming a man? It is not to serve society. It is not to serve one’s self. But it is to devote one’s self to a purpose. This book is unorthodox. It will focus on great men of history, most of them being classically termed evil. This book does not wish to celebrate evil, but to help ordinary men understand why some evil men possess extraordinary powers. There are good men with power, but these examples run the risk of being clouded by the good character of these men. This book is focused on power. Not power over others. Not manipulation. But inner strength, boldness, faith, charisma, influence, and persistence—all the traits that seem to be lacking in the well-ordered corporate world where men fear losing their jobs and succumb to following the rules. They have been taken so far away from who they were meant to be as predators, warriors, and leaders, that the man is barely recognizable. He does what people tell him to do because he is unable to direct himself, independently from society.

Why is it that good citizens willingly follow evil men? Could it be that these men of power tell the naïve what they want to hear? And what does that say about so called “good people” when these leaders appeal to their inner narcissism rooted deep within their own human nature? We must admit we are good and evil, and the forces that govern our behavior are not good, but simply forces. Jim Jones, the leader of People’s Temple appealed to social justice, as a philosophy to unite followers of different backgrounds. Hitler united Germany before trying to take over the world. Before that, he was a failed artist and vagabond. So, how do men like this, rise to power from seemingly out of nowhere? How could a bum on the streets of Seattle become President of the United States when previously being incarcerated? I propose it has to do with tapping into hidden energies or primitive technologies of mind. The progressive world dismisses anything that is ten years old as being out of date and backwards. I propose that religions and cultural traditions hold truths about human nature that will allow men to rise to power when they are optimized. This book is about revealing the wisdom that has been hidden from the modern man, and showing him how obscure nobodies rose to power because they stumbled onto historic truths.

A Spirit, Ascending into Heaven

If you believe in the randomness of it all

some of us are lucky

until we’re not

and some of us have bad luck

and some of us a little


have a lot

some of us use our will

and believe our goodness

will save us

if we’re likeable

people will like us

and if people like us

we must be likeable

“I don’t know that I’m a nice guy.”

And I feel better now for saying that

How does one stop the tides of terror

the currents that pull us down

where the fish pluck our bones


feasting on our flesh

trapped between the razor coral

Each chapter of my life has closed

and I have no desire to reread

the parts with people in it


the grand scale of a whispering field

holds my attention

and not the gossip

of terrible lives

But, one must listen to their own judgements of others

and accept the lessons

they would like to give

but no one will hear

and no one will hear

We’ve closed our mind,

our kindness

to an enemy

one who poisons and cuts with cruel intentions

but an enemy has so much more to teach us than a friend

challenging our character

they cause us to question

if we are bad or good

and we feel genuine passion

quelling the storm

with self-control

My enemies are pressed between the pages of my story


like remembered leaves

or dead butterflies

I think of them…

under the weight of wood

left in the past

Now, I’m lighter than a leaf or a butterfly

getting lighter still

with each passage of time

a spirit

ascending into heaven.

Unloading Understanding

Flabbergasted by the dialogue that runs in my head

like stock market ticker tape

on an unsteady trading floor

where a series of smart investments

are traded from one perception to another

and every thought is dissected

until the remnants

are indiscernible

from the whole

like a butterfly

missing its wings.

We belong to this WHOLE of humanity

that can’t love itself

it continuously cuts off

bits and pieces

putting them in corners

and forgetting they are there

a sinking feeling

like a lonely longing

knows there is something missing

but it can’t reach out

for fear of losing


Feeling power

in an empty room

in an empty world

where the powers that be

don’t feel power

and exercise


on a stationary bicycle

that doesn’t go anywhere

reminds me

I am continuously

astounded by pain

as I ride through neighborhoods


and countries

that all have the same

social suicides

and personal resurrections.

Most people are looking around

at the same

and doing the same

because they cannot stand something

that differs from their own.

And the pain will always hurt

so much

that you can ride into the spiritual realm

on chariots of fire

where leaders follow

and the HAVING of it all

in well-ordered ways

is a short-lived act

before the unloading

of understanding.

Waiting on the Wind

Waiting on the Wind

or if not the wind

than something

I can’t describe

Some men make the wind

to their intolerable dislike

because nature was never meant to be forced


it waits for the you

inside of you

but it doesn’t always come out

You can have all the success in the world

and you have nothing

Some men test the direction of the wind

to know which way to go


get blown to god knows where

and after they’ve landed

they tell a story about their journey

that makes sense

just how, the falling leaves make sense

the fake world has no humility or pride

it’s a pretend humility

that is not self-aware

and the pride, is nothing but a logo

something people stand behind

not because they believe in it

but so they can hide.

It’s difficult to make a living with the truth

but it’s the only way to stay alive

being humbled

and accepting what is

is more freeing

than pretending

it’s not there

and the words of others

don’t hold much weight

but when they do

you feel their heaviness

and it’s okay to be weighted down

even if the wind is blowing


being held by the truth

is more valuable

than going

where you want to go.

There is a fraying

at the edges

like a hem, where the rug falls apart

perhaps, it’s not important

to know who you are

and more important

to know

how to be

in the rainy cities

with the changing times

people get their groceries

and go to work

it keeps coming back to me


I wonder, how does one get the sense

of being alive?

it happens

regardless of what we have

or who we know

it’s a floating feeling

especially, when the ground

is waging war

being able to put down the words

is the ultimate high

and when I can’t do that

I’m waiting on the wind.

I can’t see myself pleading… Anymore

I can’t see myself pleading… Anymore

and even when I think of others

she expects a concession

looking for guilt

on my face

with her cold

metal detector eyes

reminding me

of how

I am surely wrong

there is a tipping point

on the teeter-totter

of a man’s timeline

when he realizes

he can’t give up his weight


there’s no benefit

to compromise

getting along

costs too much



is not enough

because they want to

change you

and if they can’t change


they put you

on the cold back porch

to make you wait

and you


there was never

any love there

just a smile and a face

that wanted you

to smile too

I want to be let in

to people’s warm houses

but the price of admission

is just too great

Why can’t they walk out

onto the street?

“You dress all wrong; your clothes don’t fit; don’t you care?”

I guess I don’t

but I don’t say anything

Who I am

is a poor reflection of themselves

and they can’t adjust my collar

or comb my hair

so, they break their mirror

or stop looking into it

I used to be controlled by their approval

but now, I don’t care

and even when they squint at me

through disapproving eyes

I can’t force myself

I can’t force myself to do anything


my face

is my face

it doesn’t smile back

because no one is really smiling

I don’t even want to laugh

which makes their discomfort


because none of it

was ever funny.

The Guru

They make dorm rooms smaller than a closet, so there isn’t much you can fit into. I didn’t carry much with me, because I wasn’t sure what I should take with me. I was a blank slate. Sure, there were ideas that my bible teacher said—about the world, and the different philosophies with catastrophic consequences. He gave me 99 percent out of 100 because only God was perfect, and he told me what was right, and how all the other philosophies were wrong. I knew he didn’t know what he was talking about. He had all the facts, but the world wasn’t working the way he thought it should. A man dabbles in magic, but isn’t a magician. You can know everything, and be dead, like the books. -Intellectual Shaman

My last roommate was unremarkable. The biggest question he had was what major to switch to— mathematics or engineering?

“What do you like to do?” I asked.

“It’s not what I like; I like math, but engineering pays.”

“Follow the money, as your first compromise, and it won’t be your last.”

“But what if I can’t find a job?”

“The world needs clerks.”

“Then why am I going to college?”

“That’s a better question.”

And the last I heard of him; he got an internship with an aerospace company. Maybe, I should be a psychic, because I can predict just about everything that happens, it seems.

My next roommate was neurotic. He tore his fingernails and complained about women. He didn’t understand how to crack the code, the matrix that was the opposite sex. Imaginary females dominated his mind.

“I’m not tall enough.”

“You’re almost 6 feet.”

“But I need to be taller.”

“A clown on stilts, is a clown on stilts.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you’re tall enough; now go make the girls laugh.”

“I already do that; they’re laughing at me.”

“Just give them some time, at least ten years, and they’ll be ready to settle.”

“But I don’t want them to settle; I want them to desire me.”

“That’s another matter, entirely.”

“Well, what do I do?”

“You need to not care about women. Go become something, and do it for yourself.”

He did. I was surprised. He founded a startup and had success, even though he wasn’t that smart. I was in my senior year and decided to stay at the University for Grad school. Philosophy has no future, so I thought it was perfect for me. I drank espresso all day, waiting for my new roommate. And when I finally saw him, I realized I wasn’t psychic. He was from India—that was apparent. He was wearing orange religious robes and jeans, with a beard still in its infancy.

He smiled at me, and it was the smile of God.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Clayton; what’s yours?”

“Osho. There’s not much here.”

“I didn’t know what to bring, when I first arrived.”

“Most people who don’t know, bring everything.”

There was an energetic light radiating off his skin, like he was a little sun, walking around. Usually, I can tell how good a guy is with the ladies upon first meeting him. It’s important to know, in case you want to go out, and you need a wingman. Osho was an unknown quantity; he could be negative numbers or infinity, and I had the feeling, my understanding of math was about to change.

“What religion are you?” I asked.

“I am my own religion. There is no dogma. All beliefs are in reaction to all other beliefs. Unbelief is in reaction to belief. It is nonsense, but if you want to know my religion, we should go out.”

He reminded me of a Guru, but he was just starting out. He had confidence that can’t be learned. When we walked down the sidewalk to his black Mercedes, people looked at him. Looked, isn’t the right word, Gawked.

“Osho, how did you become you?” I asked.

“We are all becoming… It’s best to let it happen.”

When we got to the dance hall, the affect he had on the women was like a single fragrant flower in a 500-acre field that 100 bees tried to pollinate. They all wanted to dance with him under the disco lights, and Osho was completely lost in the dance— his arms extended, like the music held him with its rhythm and beat.

“Who’s your friend?” A blonde asked.

“I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.”

To be continued…

what isn’t there

it seems that ambitious men

and the not so ambitious kind

have goals

and over time, they collect values

like sea shells

washed up by tides

and the sand smiles

at all of us

trying to get back to itself

lots of time

lost in the sand

a Rolex

a wedding ring


smoothed-out by water

Now, people think about what they want

and they want

what others want

a house, near the shore

to watch the horizon

or a studio, with a bright light

to know what to write

or a man or a woman

to love

so, they can love

or a place of employment

for security

But the beach is constantly changing

nature’s way of telling us

we’re alive

tsunami feelings

tide pools of reflection

everything we want

and don’t want

standing out there


from all the things

that don’t matter

giving them your ego

like a broken egg

your yoke

slips onto the floor

and they don’t want

what’s inside

only the shell

to make them harder

you might fry in the sun

or find a temporary home

you might be a medium-sized rock

pushed around by waves

stones have difficulty speaking

they never disappear

they die in the same way they are born

there is no difference

between death and life

only the mistaken judges

who want

what isn’t there.

She took everything…

She took everything from me

said, I wasn’t a man.

She addressed the crowd, “thank you ladies.”

there I was

at the center

the invisible man.

She asked for information

but she didn’t like the facts

and when I didn’t say what she expected

ten women

raised their hands.

She stopped my world from turning

and called my sunny days


I am a weak man

for not fighting


Your house is supported by strong columns

mighty in their size

I live in a warm box

my body heat

keeps me alive.

What do we build with this life

when our constructions are broken down

with whom do we fight

if we are content

to walk away

Everything is given

I’m not allowed to work for my bread

She has won

She glorifies herself

and it’s not enough

she has to find a better man

and when she can’t make him better

she topples

her statue

that can’t love her back.

It’s good to live in your head

until she

cuts it


She wants blood

and she will get it

I pity the poison

in her veins

It is finished

She is forgiven

She knows not

what she does.