Why you absolutely need to embrace your ‘darkness’

I have shared many things thru the years…..but most it have been trinkets.

However….What about to share with you is and will always be very powerful.

It is so powerful that it is likely to be the most profound and life changing post that you will ever read.

If you do not want your current life to change….you should stop reading and not visit this today and go and play Pokemon.

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‘What I am about to share with you will likely alter everything you believe in how to make yourself a better person. It is likely to ‘alter’ as I am convinced convention theories and formulations concerning personal development philosophies are fatally flawed. As no matter what the pedigree of these schools of thoughts. They are all unanimous that the dark side of ones character should be totally avoided. I use the term ‘darkness’ as it is an apt abbreviation to deploy only because no one, not even the subject matter experts it seems is particular interested to supply an indepth disquisition on what elements constitute these ‘dark’ matter. Frequently broad strokes are use to described these traits ranging from bag terms such anti social behaviour to anger which raises more questions than answers.

Many years during the failed Suriman Expedition on the 48th day deep in the jungle this log entry was penned…..I want you read without any assumptions or even expectations to the best of your abilities the reason be clear to you after reading the transcript…remember theres no beginning, middle or end…only the horror.

‘It came to me again. No. Correction. He. He came to me. I could hear him sitting on the protesting rattan chair in my tent. He was pulling on a cigarette, it was Turkish. He has his cigarettes handrolled in Cairo. It was the preamble period just before dawn and though the light was eireely Parker ink aquamarine blue, I could even make out his diabolically handsome features in darkness, his angular jawline, broad shoulders and swagger….it was him alright attired in his razor pressed open collar khaki field linen shirt, jodhpurs and mirror polished dresage boots. He wore his shouldered holstered revolver Ma’ai horseback style with the barrel all the way to the back. That way when he leaned across my field desk it didnt hang nervously.

The smell of the finest Turkish tobacco perfumed the tent. I knew it was him…it was beginning to lighten by then. I could make out his Hong Kong movie star swagger as if he was primed and ready to give another motivational speech. He was good at that, ladies would squeeze their legs tight when he narrowed his eyes and spoke. Men would sit at the edge of their chairs and electricity would form high above somewhere between the fan and ceiling, but it was not really him..the Cocoa planter from Gabundi estate.

You see none of us have seen a real cigarette for a very long time…a dry cigarette that can burn, let alone a Turkish blend was like moon rock. The bloody thing doesnt exist here! He could not have been real. I had conjured him up in my head. But I felt deep relief as if an immense weight had been lifted from the depths of my heart. I knew then and there. We would get out of this terrible mess.

(To be cont)